Sin (Vegas Nights 1)

Fergus pouted.

“That’s the second time today,” Damien said, looking at Fergus. “I’m surprised she doesn’t already know.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly put you down as a reference,” Fergus snapped.

My jaw dropped. “Oh my God! You—holy shit!”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Now who’s being dramatic? I stripped. Started in college and left when I got this job.”

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m just surprised.”

Damien choked back a laugh. “How else do you think we know each other? No offense,” he said, glancing at Fergus, “but he’s not someone I’d generally meet in a bar.”

I opened my mouth and closed it. God, I had to look like a thirsty fish doing that, but I was shocked. I couldn’t imagine Fergus naked and dancing on a pole. More to the point, I didn’t want to imagine Fergus naked and dancing on a pole.

“None taken,” Fergus said. “I wouldn’t want to meet you in a bar either.”

Damien grinned.

“Wait! Is that how you met Reggie?” I asked, gripping the edge of the counter.

Fergus nodded. “He was only at the bar three weeks when I asked him out. He thought I was joking—a lot of the guys who work in the gay bars aren’t gay, you know? And he was in the closet, so it was a long process.”

As much as I loved him, and I did, I didn’t want to hear about his dating exploits with Reggie, given the current state of that relationship. Fergus had a tendency to over-share. Not that his dramatic streak made that obvious at all.

“Right, yeah, well.” I scratched the side of my neck. “Barry is helping Abby with the order. Do you think you can control yourself now?”

He sighed. “I didn’t recognize him without his beard. If someone had told me…”

“We try to make sure he’s not around when you are. For this reason.”

If he was offended, he didn’t show it. “Well, thanks. Maybe if he were around, I would have noticed.”

I couldn’t win with him. “Fergus?”

“Yeah?”

“Go work, would you? The books all need checking to make sure they’re in right places.”

“But—”

I stared at him flatly. I wasn’t interested in his displeasure in the job, because it was part of all our jobs, and I’d just done it last week. The schedule said it was his turn, so it was his turn.

He got up from the sofa with a sigh so loud it was as if I’d just asked him to birth a baby giraffe from his asshole. Thankfully, he didn’t complain as he left the room. I was pretty sure he mumbled under his breath as he went, but hey. He went. And that was all I cared about.

Double bonus because he shut the door behind him.

“I’m exhausted.” I slumped against the counter. “It’s like looking after a child when he gets like that.”

“Try running a bar full of them,” Damien drawled. “That looks like heaven after some of the scenes I’ve witnessed.”

“Try being a girl in high school.” It was all I had to shoot back. Also, it probably wasn’t that far off the mark in general.

“I’d rather not. I much preferred looking at the girls in high school.”

“Cute. You think you grew out of that.”

“I did. I look at women now.”

“Good for you.”

He grinned, his eyes finding mine. “It sure is when you’re the woman I’m looking at.”

I pursed my lips. “You’ve gone from tolerable to annoying real quick.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he said quietly, closing the distance between us in a split second. “Annoying you works in my favor often.”

“It really doesn’t.” I straightened, turning to face him fully. “And to think, this morning, I almost liked you.”

Damien planted his hands on the counter on either side of me. Dark eyes met mine for the briefest second before he dipped his face, rubbing his stubbled jaw against my cheek as his lips found my ear. “You like me a lot more than you pretend to,” he whispered. “A hell of a lot more, Dahlia. Your pretense is nothing more than amusing now.”

“My pretense? The only thing I’m pretending against is my desire to kick you straight in the balls.”

“I like you.” His lips never left my earlobe, his hands never moving from their position on the counter on either side of me. “I like you a lot, sweetheart. I like the way you purse those pretty, red lips of yours. I like the way you hate me so much with your eyes. I like the way you shiver when I touch you, the way you pretend I don’t affect you and carry on. But I do, don’t I? I affect you more than you care to admit, which is why you fight it so much. You don’t hate me because I’m an asshole—you hate me because you like the fact I’m an asshole.”

“You sound like a dick jock from a teen movie.”