Page 75 of Heartbreaker

“You good?” I ask quietly.

“If Banks is asking,” she says tartly, “then I’m fucking perfect, and he can stop freaking out.”

Yikes.

“And if it’s me?”

She winces. Then sighs, closes her eyes for a second. “Sorry. I’m good. I’m pregnant and sick all the time and I’ve taken more naps in the last month than I’ve had in a lifetime, but I’m…”

“Good?” I finish.

She nods.

“Aspen?” I ask as she turns to help another customer.

“Yeah?” she asks, that edginess drifting back in.

“You might be a little better if you let Banks take care of you.” I lift my hand, holding my thumb and pointer finger apart by maybe a centimeter. “Just a smidge,” I add and wink at her. “Becausehe’lldefinitely feel better.”

I brace for fire (there’s a reason Banks calls this woman spitfire), but her face softens and her mouth hitches. “You’re smart, Royal Ewing,” she says, leaning over the bar and pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Tell him I’ll finish this rush and then he can take me home, will ya?”

Saluting, I turn back for the guys.

“What did you say to her?” Banks demands.

“Relax,” I mutter. “We were shooting the shit, but she did ask me to tell you…” I relay the news about the rush and going home and watch as the tension in both Banks and Atlas relaxes.

“What’s that about giving each other shit about women?” I ask pointedly.

“Speaking of that…” Dash trails off and I lift my brows at him in question. “...are we going to talk about the hickey on your neck?”

He jerks at the collar of my shirt.

I freeze.

What the actual fuck?

Then I bat his hands away. “Get fucked,” I snap.

But it’s too late. Banks leans in and tugs my shirt down. “Itisa fucking hickey. What?” he asks, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him joke all night (and of course, it’s at my fucking expense). “Are we in high school again?”

“Yeah,” I grind out, “like a girl would touch you in high school. Weren’t you a virgin until college?”

“Nice try”—he grins—“Becky Connor. Eleventh grade.”

“Congrats,” I say dryly and drain my glass, consider another. Unfortunately, I drove here so I can’t make this conversation go away by getting drunk.

“Wait,” Dash says. “Weren’t you with Jade Cantrell over the weekend?”

I open my mouth.

“Yup,” Atlas says before I can lie. “Spending the weekendsongwriting.”

“So didthat”—he grins and nods at my neck—“happen between writing the chorus and the second verse?” Dash asks.

Atlas snorts.

Banks busts up.

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