Emerson thrust a fist into the air. “My ride is here. Catch you later, fools.”

“You’re not coming to watch the band?” Braden called after him.

Emerson kept going, but turned and jogged backwards. He lifted a hand in a farewell wave and shrugged. “I’ve seen enough bands play, and I don’t give a shit about seeing Bri play anymore.”

“Fuck you, too,” Bri called after him, giving him the middle finger.

Emerson laughed and turned back around. When he opened the back door, heavy metal music poured out. Someone handed him a joint from the front seat, and Emerson shut the door. It wasn’t long before the car peeled out of there.

Braden cursed, “That’s a record. Five minutes he’s back and that crap happens?”

Bri was still biting her lip.

I skimmed an eye over her and said to her brother, “It doesn’t matter. He’ll crash, and the Terrible Twins will sweep him back up.”

Braden grunted. “True.”

“Terrible Twins?”

He answered her, “Our managers. They’re twins, too, remember? I told you.”

“Oh, yeah.” She glanced at Priscilla who was conversing with the city official. “I’d forgotten.”

She hadn’t. I knew that much, and when she cast me a glance under her eyelashes, I saw the question in them. She wanted to know if I had slept with Priscilla. Well, fuck that. My jaw clenched. It wasn’t her business anymore.

“Luke!”

My eyes snapped open, and I groaned. I didn’t need to check my phone to know it was early. Priscilla banged on the bar’s door again. “Luke, come on! I see you on that cot. Get up. We have work to do today.”

It’s too early.

I rolled over and moved to the edge of my cot. When she kept banging, I groaned and cradled my head in my hands. Jeezus, woman.

“Luke!”

“Shut up!” I glared. She could see me through the door. “I’m coming.” Stalking to the door and flinging it open, I snarled, “You have to take a dump or something?”

“What?” She tightened her hold on a bunch of folders she held against her chest.

“I was sleeping. Give me a minute to collect myself.” I glanced down to make sure there was no morning wood. There was, but I readjusted my jeans. I had slept in them. All the clothes in my bag were dirty, and I’d forgotten I had no clean clothes here.

“Let me in.” She shoved past me. Surveying my new home, she scrunched up her nose. “This place reeks.”

“It hasn’t been aired out for a while.”

She started to walk toward the hallway. “Where’s the bathro…” She trailed off, her finger tapping against her chin. “You have an apartment back there.”

“I do.”

She rotated around and pointed to the cot. “But you slept here, in the middle of your bar…on a cot when I can see the corner of a bed in there…”

I rolled my eyes and went behind the bar. I needed coffee, and then I needed to find a painkiller. My head was trying to murder me.

“Luke.”

“What?” I shifted through a bunch of stuff until I found the coffee maker. Sweet Lord. Why the hell was it all the way in the back?

“Why are you sleeping on the floor of your bar?”

Because the apartment wasn’t home. Because bars had become like home and because I didn’t want to go back to my other home. Too many bad memories were there and too much of Bri, just too much. I would’ve felt her everywhere. I growled at Priscilla, “Because I wanted to. Stop poking your nose into my personal life. This,” I indicated the bar, “has nothing to do with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, the name of this place is fitting. The Shack. That’s what it looks like you’re doing, shacking up here. I still don’t understand why you got this place, but whatever. You seem touchy today.” She gestured to the coffee maker. “As soon you get some of that, I want a cup, too.” Then she raised her head and fixed me with a pointed stare. I’d come to recognize that look, and I had enough time to brace myself for whatever she was going to throw at me, but she only said, “Emerson is going to be a problem.”

After starting the coffee, I leaned against the counter behind the bar and folded my arms. One of my eyebrows went up. “You say that like I’m going to argue with you.” I held up my hands. “No fight here. I agree with you, but he’s my problem, not yours. We’ll deal with him.”

“Okay.” She placed both of her palms onto the table. This was when she usually dropped the ditzy attitude and shocked whoever her prey was with razor sharp ruthlessness. I smirked. It wasn’t going to work on me, but she could try. She did. “Let me give you some facts—”

I laughed, cutting her off. “Save it. Emerson is ours. We’ll take care of him.”

She clamped her mouth shut, glaring for a moment, and then switched as she scanned an appreciative gaze up and down me. If she thought I was going to be turned on or become uncomfortable, she was forgetting one thing. I shook my head, smirking at her. “Priss, I’m a rock star. Your cougar preening does nothing for me. All it does is show your age and your claws.”

“I have very long claws.”

The coffee was done, and I poured a cup. “I’m sure you do. Sharpen them elsewhere. I’m not the pushover I was a year ago.”