Page 9 of Best Served Cold

River had already pulled on his jeans, which were hanging open, the wide V revealing a pair of bright orange briefs, his chest bare as he shook out a t-shirt.

My gaze flicked to Zane as he pulled open his work pants and shoved them down. A pair of tight blue briefs hugged his ass and showed off his strong legs and washboard stomach.

Changing into our street clothes like this was just what we did, and I’d seen every member of the crew in various stages of undress in the three weeks I’d worked with them.

Zane and River might be identical, even down to their tattoos, but for some reason, my stare seemed to linger on Zane while River didn’t even make me pause.

My eyes were locked on Zane as he stepped into his jeans and pulled them up. Something about the way he got dressed was weirdly interesting, and I couldn’t look away as he whipped off his work shirt, his pants still hanging open.

A slice of heat cut through my stomach, but before I could question what the fuck it was, Zane’s eyes collided with mine. And now he’d caught me creeping. Awesome.

I turned away and focused on stripping off my work clothes. Tugging a baby wipe free of the packet I kept in my truck bed, I wiped down my chest, then used another on my armpits so I could apply more deodorant.

By the time I was done changing, only Pops, who was responsible for securing the site at night, was left.

“You going to Ralph’s?” I asked, closing my truck gate.

“Not this time. I need my beauty rest.”

“Ha. Can’t keep up with us, old man?”

Pops, whose name was Clive, was the most senior guy on the crew. I wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, but I’d guess in his mid-thirties. He loved to act like he was ancient and couldn’t keep up with the rest of us, who were all in our twenties, but I suspected he preferred to spend his nights with his wife, rather than be out with his single coworkers.

“Try to keep Bubbles away from the shots. The last thing we need is him power puking tomorrow.”

“I make no promises. You know how he gets.”

Pops heaved a big sigh. “I do. Have a good night.”

“See ya in the a.m.” I threw him a quick wave and climbed into my truck.

Pops waved at me in my rearview mirror and headed back toward the site.

I took a minute to sanitize my hands, then used my mirror to put my piercings in.

I didn’t always wear them after work, but the familiar weight of the jewelry helped settle some of the anxiety bubbling under my skin.

The parking lot of Ralph’s was about half full when I pulled up to the small bar. I parked next to the twins’ car in the off chance it would piss Zane off, then went inside.

I scanned the dark space, taking in the scarred-wood accents, faded decorations, and slightly sticky floors. Ralph’s was a dump but the beer was cheap, the staff was friendly, and most of the patrons were regulars who kept to themselves.

The guys were crowded around the far end of the bar, each with a pint glass in their hand.

“Look who’s decided to grace us with his presence.” Tiny extended a glass to me as I approached.

Tiny, of course, was huge at six-six and three hundred pounds. He was intimidating as shit, but he was a classic gentle giant and one of the kindest guys I’d ever met. I’d never even heard him raise his voice.

“Had to make an entrance.” I took the glass. “Thanks. Next round’s on me.”

“Nah, you’re late because you got all prettied up for us.” Bubbles grinned, his cheeks already flushed pink from the booze.

“How many have you had?” I sipped my beer.

“Not important.” He waved dismissively. “Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt? Being pretty?”

“Nah, all that.” He gestured at his face.

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