The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(63)

We ordered a beer and Tom Collins and swiveled to look out at the dance floor. People a few years younger than us were grinding, already drunk, hours before last call.

Dean’s had been a regular spot for us the past couple months. It had a nice variety of country dancing, karaoke, pool, and an upstairs that was quieter for when you wanted a calmer atmosphere.

“That used to be us last year.” I pointed to the drunk girls on the dance floor, gyrating their hips to the beat of the music.

She pursed her lips as if to say ohh, girl. “Please. We looked way better than that.”

I smiled and sipped my beer. “True.” Or at least the alcohol made it seem that way. “Remember that one time you danced on the bar at Malone’s like you were in Coyote Ugly?” I giggled and pressed my lips to the top of the beer bottle.

“No. I really did that?” Tequila was Zoey’s kryptonite. Two shots and the girl went from southern belle to Pretty Woman in the span of an hour.

“It was the night you broke our toilet seat and then wore it around like a necklace.”

She shuddered. “Yeah, I’m so glad we’re over that phase.” She lifted her Tom Collins as a salute to our younger, alcohol-hazed college years.

“Me, too. I was one hangover away from giving up drinking until I turned forty.”

“Thank God it didn’t come to that.” We clinked glasses, and I settled into the bar stool.

I grabbed Zoey’s arm and bit my lip. “Thanks, Zoey.” If she wasn’t around, I’d be home, sulking. Which sounded really pathetic, seeing as I didn’t have anything to really sulk about. I refused to pity myself. If my mom was strong enough to make it through chemo, I should be able to make it through the night without thinking about my boss. And his dimples. And his cooking skills. And his complete inability to play vintage video games. And his way of making me smile even if I was having a crappy day.

Yeah, I was doing a fine job putting all that behind me.

My completely unwanted fantasy about my boss was ruined when a guy in need of a good shower and deodorant sauntered over to us at the bar.

“How’s it going, ladies?” As he put both hands on our bar stools and stood between us, the odor of his pits was enough to turn my wavy hair into corkscrew curls.

“Good.” Even if I did want Pepé Le Pew to take a hike, preferably to the nearest shower, I didn’t have it in me to tell him off.

“What are you drinking?”

I held up my beer and breathed through my mouth.

He leered at both of us, and I had a sudden urge to expel the contents of my stomach onto his shoes. “Need a refill?” he asked.

“We just sat down. Listen. This was very nice of you, but we’re just trying to enjoy a girl’s night.” I gave a weak smile and turned back to Zoey, trying to politely give him the hint to screw off.

“Oh.” The tiny little hamster wheel in his head spun for a moment, and his eyes brightened. “I get it. I’m all for the lesbian movement.” He lifted his fist and said, “Right on.”

Zoey spit out the contents of her Tom Collins in a spray across the bar top. “What?”

“If you ever want to expand your horizons, I’ll show you what a real man feels like.” He wriggled his eyebrows and cupped his crotch. That, paired with the BO, was enough to get my gag reflex going.

A hand gripped the guy’s shoulder, and he was pulled away from us. “Take a hike, buddy, I think if she wants a real man, she knows where to go.”

My beer bottle froze midway to my mouth as I took in my boss in a grungy bar, with his hands on Pepé. Brogan postured, his chest puffed out, a very primal display of f*ck off.

“I didn’t mean nothing by it, man,” the guy stuttered. He was at least six inches shorter than Brogan, and even without the height difference, my boss had the intimidation factor in spades.

“Go home. Shower. Sober up.” Brogan commanded in his boardroom voice, and the guy stared at him in awe. “Go,” he said once more, and Pepé sped toward the door.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, not quite fully comprehending that he was here. In the same bar as me. Hell, was he here for me?

“Friend’s birthday party.” He nodded over to the group of guys by center stage, stumbling with mics and arguing over the black binder of karaoke songs.

“Thanks for being our savior,” Zoey said.

All I could do was stare at Brogan in his bicep-hugging black T-shirt, wishing that he’d pull me into a much-needed embrace. His tattoos were very visible tonight, and as I glanced around the bar, many of the girls were sending appreciative stares his way. I felt a full-body burn, starting at my toes and ending at my scalp, both from Brogan being this close to me and the fact that I’d ruined my chances with him. Any girl in here could wind up going home with him tonight, and a spear of jealousy sliced through me. See, this was why flings were a bad thing. Obviously, I was way in over my head and turning into a crazy person.

A jovial smile played at his lips, but his brows were pulled together into dramatic slashes. He seemed just as uptight, maybe even more, than last night.

Zoey cleared her throat, breaking the long moment that I’m sure we were standing there silently staring at each other.

I regained my composure and remembered that these two hadn’t officially met, unless behind-a-tree-stalking counted. “Brogan, this is my best friend and roommate, Zoey. Zoey this is my boss, Mr. Brogan Starr.”