Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(15)

Zane started to see red. Or maybe it was green. All he knew was the jealousy was going to kill him as he stood there, thinking about some faceless, nameless bastard who might be on the receiving end of Keelie’s attention.

That wide, lush mouth sliding down somebody else’s skin, closing over—

He clenched a hand into a fist. “Stop it,” he told himself, tearing his eyes away from the screen. He shoved the phone into his pocket and focused on blanking his brain. “It doesn’t matter.”

He couldn’t think if he was tormenting himself.

Although . . .

He spun around and drove his foot into the hubcap and then slumped forward, hands braced on the hood of the car.

For one long moment, he stood there, jealousy an ugly, breathing monster that rolled down his spine.

Okay. He needed to figure out where she was, get his phone back. Then get settled in for the night—preferably with a six-pack so he could blur out those images and try to sleep.

He started to head back to Steel Ink, but before he made it five feet, he realized he didn’t need to go anywhere.

If he had her phone, she probably had his.

Plus, she was probably halfway to wherever in the hell she was meeting this loser she was seeing.





Chapter Three




As she was climbing out of her car, an unfamiliar ringtone shattered the night air.

Something haunting and beautiful—it sent shivers running up her spine and it was unlike anything she’d ever heard in her life.

It was most definitely not her ringtone. She’d told people she used it because it was too annoying for her to miss—“Never Say Never” did kind of stand out. The truth was, she just liked the song. She didn’t like anything else by that annoying kid, but she liked that one.

And if that wasn’t her ringtone . . . grimacing, she pulled the phone out and saw her number on the display. Her number. With a groan, she answered just before the call probably would have gone to voice mail. “We picked up the wrong phones, didn’t we?”

“Appears so,” Zane said, his voice neutral. “Where are you? We can trade.”

“You . . .” She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face, eying the neon sign flashing in front of her. “Look, you don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I need my phone. You probably need your phone, especially if you’re out on a blind date. Are you meeting whoever soon?”

She checked her watch. “Fifteen minutes.” She’d gotten here early so she could follow through on Anais’s advice. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a drink. She was going to try not to go in there expecting the guy to be an *, too. There was no question about it—the guy could be Jeremy Renner–hot and she wasn’t giving him a blow job.

All in all, she had every intention of following through on Anais’s advice. Then she’d tell her friend to never set her up on a blind date again. Once that was done, she’d figure out a way to maybe call Zane, ask him out. Except he was on the phone with her now.

“So where are you?” he asked, his voice cutting into her thoughts. That voice, low and deep, the timbre of it stroking against her senses and making it hard for her to concentrate. “It will be easier for me to run it by than for you to meet me anywhere.”

She named a popular Mexican restaurant and gave him the address. “Think you can find it okay?” She tried not to think about the fact that now she’d at least have something to look forward to in a little while. And maybe the blind date wouldn’t show, and she could ask Zane to stay. How awful was that?

“Yeah, I know where it is. Abby loves their prickly pear margaritas. I end up eating there almost every other time I’m in town.” There was a pause and she heard a car horn before Zane said, “I’ll probably take about twenty or thirty minutes to get there, though. That’s if traffic doesn’t suck.”

“That’s fine. Sorry, Zane.”

No, she thought, as the line disconnected, I’m not. Not really.


*

An hour.

Zane still hadn’t shown up.

That was bad because if she had her phone, she would have already been out of there.

The great guy Anais had paired her up with—or according to one of the guys she knew—wasn’t great. At all.

He was actually worse than all of her previous dates in recent memory, combined. Well, except Todd. Todd hadn’t been bad. He’d just been boring.

This guy—Call me Hawk—was one of those jackasses who thought all his tattoos and his Harley and his habit of talking down to everybody around him made him a badass.

He’d attempted to order for her.

He’d attempted to tell her which beer she should try, since he was something of a beer aficionado. Not that he’d used that word.

He’d erroneously deduced the meaning behind her tattoos and when she’d told him, Sorry, that’s not what the roses are for, he’d laughingly said, So you’re just into flowers?

He was a dominating, domineering egotistical son of a bitch and she was more than a little tempted to throw the pitcher of beer he’d ordered in his face.

Jackwagon.

She’d give him credit, he’d managed to keep his eyes off her tits, but when one of the college kids she knew from the shop stopped by to ask her about doing another tattoo, he’d stood and gone all menacing. Don’t you see me talking with the lady?