Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(14)

Nope.

He was leaning against the hood of the rental and contemplating the blue sky. No, what he was really contemplating was how much he wanted to figure out where Keelie was, so he could shove his fist down some poor bastard’s throat.

Jealousy really didn’t sit well with him, but it was chewing him up nonetheless.

A date.

She had a date.

He’d asked her out a good six times, maybe more, since that kiss and she’d said no each time.

And now she was going out on a blind date.

“What am I doing?” he muttered, tugging off his glasses. He squeezed the bridge of his nose as he pondered that question. He couldn’t get her out of his head, the taste of her out of his blood.

The very feel of her was now imprinted on his skin and he could hear the echo of her moan when he lay alone in his bed at night.

She was out with another guy, somebody she’d never met.

Maybe he should just move on.

Except that was why he was here. Because he wanted to move on.

He was tired of spinning his wheels. He was almost thirty-five and at some point, he needed to get serious about the things that mattered. Namely, his photography.

Last week, he’d told the owner of the bar where he’d worked for nearly a decade that he was quitting.

Jake had thought he was joking, but Zane was serious.

He had started looking around, hoping to find a decent spot to set up his own place. No more random shoots when somebody got his name via friends or word of mouth.

He wanted to see his name out there with the masters.

But in order to do that, he had to start focusing and building a name. So he was going into business . . . as a f*cking photographer. He’d shot his brother’s wedding. He definitely didn’t see himself as a wedding photographer, but he had to start somewhere. With the portfolio he had already started, and the wedding would build on it.

He had connections—you couldn’t spend any amount of time in this field and not have them. He’d reached out, talked to some other photographers, including some guys who knew their shit way better than he did, and he at least had a focus, and a direction. He thought.

Although he’d look at a few places in San Francisco, he was almost positive he’d be settling down here, in Tucson. Because of Keelie.

He was ready to get serious about more than one thing, but was he wasting his time here? With her?

Lowering his hand, he tipped his head back to stare up at the sky, but there were no answers for him. Of course, it was hard to really think any of this through because he kept seeing Keelie out with some nameless, faceless—

“Never Say Never!”

He jolted at the sound of the music blaring from his phone.

Scowling, he pulled it from his pocket and then groaned. Sliding his glasses back on, he stared at the phone as the alarm continued to play.

Over and over.

He turned the alarm off and couldn’t help but notice the label for the alarm: Have a drink or two—

That was all there was room for.

Shoving off the car, he muttered, “Clearly, fate is out to f*ck with me today.”

Keelie’s. He’d grabbed Keelie’s phone.

They both had iPhones, both used a plain black OtterBox. He needed it because he dropped it all the time, especially when he was out hiking. He hadn’t thought to make sure he had the right phone. Apparently neither did she.

And . . . she had a picture he’d taken as her wallpaper. The haphazard blog he used where he posted pictures had downloads set up for just that sort of thing.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that she seemed to like his photography—she had some of his prints in her workstation and she’d emailed him a couple of times over this print or that one. Still, it was kind of weird, seeing one of them on her phone.

Personal, somehow.

Looking at the calendar message, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Apparently that was what Anais had been doing with Keelie’s phone. Because no way in hell would Keelie be setting up reminders to have a drink.

He tapped the reminder to dismiss it, but the entire calendar came up and all of the reminders were right there for him to read. Yeah. It had been Anais, all right.

Have a beer or two tonight. But don’t get drunk. Love . . . Anais.

That one might have made him smile.

Don’t expect anything . . . just have fun. Love . . . Anais. That message was supposed to come up at seven fifteen, roughly an hour from now.

Don’t expect anything? Hell, what kind of loser was she seeing? Keelie had every right to expect plenty. A nice guy. Somebody who’d look at her and realize how amazing she was. How funny. How beautiful. And that there was a kind heart under that ball-busting exterior. She deserved somebody who’d make her melt when he touched her, like she had with him, and somebody who’d be careful with her, because she needed it.

She deserved so much.

Don’t expect anything?

“Shit,” he bit off, and eyed the phone, fighting the need to throw it down and forget he’d seen it.

If she wasn’t going to go out with him, fine. He’d have to deal with that. But if she was going to brush him off, couldn’t she do it for somebody who at least deserved her?

But all of those thoughts fizzled to a halt and then died in a furious fire as he processed the seven forty-five message.

Don’t give him a blow job tonight. I don’t care how hot he is.