“Oh, hell yeah.” My gaze was stuck on the end of the bar. The seat to the right of Seven was empty—but featured a half-empty beer and wrapped silverware. He’s here with someone. “You pick it and I’ll share with you, sound good?”

“You think Chico wants something?” She leaned in closer to ask.

I shrugged, tipping myself closer to her so she could tell I was listening even though my gaze was fastened on the empty seat next to Seven. “Ask him. He’s probably hungry.”

A tall brute of a man appeared at the end of the bar, and I could almost hear the undertones of their conversation as he rejoined Seven in the empty seat. An easygoing conversation erupted, featuring genuine smiles from Seven and almost instantaneous laughter. The familiarity between them was striking—and extremely platonic. My heart beat a little easier as I realized this was probably Seven’s friend.

He’s just a friend, Jordan. He has friends.

I studied the man, something about his beard tipping me off. He seemed familiar, though I couldn’t say why. His blue patterned flannel shirt sleeves were rolled up the forearm.

Seven’s friend rubbed at the back of his neck, triggering my memory. I’d danced for him in the VIP room the other night. He’d pushed me about a special move while rubbing his neck in exactly the same way.

I stared at the menu in front of me, my vision going blurry as I mulled over this information.

“What’s wrong?” Roxie nudged me. “Can’t decide what to eat?”

I leaned close to her, keeping my voice a low whisper. “I’m just now realizing that Seven is here with someone I entertained in the VIP room the other night.”

“Oh.” Her mouth turned downward. “Are they friends?”

“I assume so, I mean they’re having dinner together.”

“So your bodyguard bought his friend a slot with you in the VIP room…” she trailed off, narrowing her eyes.

“Is this a nice gesture, or is it…something else?” I asked. Roxie didn’t know that I’d all but fucked Seven in the VIP room a few days before that. I still didn’t want anybody to know that I had feelings for my bodyguard, or that I’d coaxed him to cross that line at my workplace.

“Maybe he’s just trying to show his friend a good time,” she said with a dazzling grin. “You are the best, after all.”

Bless her—she was trying to be helpful.

But this friend of Seven’s had offered extra money if I’d do some physical stuff. It stuck out to me only because most of my customers knew better to ask for that. Or if they tried, it was quick, not persistent, like this guy had been. He’d asked like he knew a secret.

Seven had probably told him to come.

Because Seven knew what happened between us in the VIP room days before.

That left a couple different options: that Seven was sending me a prospective client for my fake new ‘side gig’…or he thought that since he got something in the VIP room, that his friend could too.

That last option sank like the Titanic to the bottom of my guts. I pressed a finger to my forehead, suddenly feeling dizzy and sick. Any relief I felt at discovering Seven wasn’t actually about to fuck some nameless blonde was replaced with humiliation and anxiety. Seven wasn’t trying to pass me around to his friends…was he?

The bartender showed up, asking for drink orders. I interrupted Roxie mid-sentence to say, “Three shots of tequila, please.”

“I can’t drink right now,” Chico reminded me.

“The extra’s for me,” I told him.

Roxie’s brows shot up. “Oooh, tequila sounds great. Can we try the crabcake appetizer, too?” She slid the menu toward the bartender.

He collected all our menus and nodded. “Coming right up.”

My skin prickled suddenly, an electricity gathering in my veins. I glanced over to see Seven coming our way—brows set, jaw flexing, looking neutral yet lethal. Desire fluttered through me, even though this was not the time. He approached Chico from behind, leaning to say something in his ear. Then he returned where he’d come from—walking right past me, not even sparing me a glance. Chico nearly tumbled off his seat in his haste to scamper behind him.

“Uh oh,” Roxie said, leaning back in her seat to watch them depart, just as I was doing. “Your boyfriend doesn’t look happy. Which one is your boyfriend again?”

“Neither of them.”

“The answer could have been both, you know.” She snorted, then her face grew serious. “Chico looks like he’s getting in trouble. Well, I think our spy mission officially failed. Aren’t you supposed to stay hidden as a spy?”