“When would I even have time for that?” he continued. “My life is this place. I work seven days a week and go straight from Jack’s to home every damn night.” Drew frowned slightly, but Tucker continued on pressing his point home. “Jack’s to home, home to Jack’s. That’s it. That’s my life.”

Okay, he needed to shut up now and stop harping on, considering he’d gone to Della’s from work every night since she’d moved in.

“And besides—” Time for a redirect. “It’d be all over town if there was someone.”

“That’s true,” Drew agreed. “When you got caught by old Mrs. Hutchens banging that redhead on her way to the Kansas state fair in the alley behind the bar four years ago, everyone knew the next day.”

“That’s because she called the cops,” Tucker said. “And you”—he stabbed his finger at Arlo—“threw me in the cell overnight for public indecency.”

Arlo shrugged. “It’s against the law to expose your genitals in public.”

“No way did she see what she claimed to have seen. It was almost midnight, and she wears glasses that are two inches thick. There are bats who can see better than her.”

“She saw enough of you, apparently, to have mentally scarred her and her poor pooch for life.”

“It’s a compliment, if you think about it,” Drew butted in. “I mean, now everyone in town knows about that monster you’re packing, not just Mrs. Hutchens and her dog.”

Ignoring Drew, Tucker scowled at Arlo. “You could have let me off with a warning.”

“And disappoint the fine, upstanding, law-abiding citizens of this community who pay their taxes and keep their junk in their pants?” Arlo smiled as he wrapped his mouth around his Coke bottle.

Tucker rolled his eyes. Anybody would think he’d been caught in a trench coat flashing his wares around. “You enjoyed yourself.”

Arlo’s lips twitched. “It’s not my fault you got caught with your pants down by a little old lady. She’s blind, not deaf. Be quieter next time.”

A phone rang, and Arlo pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Gotta take this,” he said, hitting the answer button as he slid off the stool.

Tucker took a mental breath now the whistling police had left the building. But not for long, as Drew turned his narrow-eyed gaze on Tucker. “So what is going on with you?”

“Oh Jesus, you, too? Nothing is going on with me.”

“And I call horseshit on that. Why did you lie to Arlo?”

“I did not lie. I’m not getting laid.” It might have been a technicality, but it didn’t make it any less true.