A vision of himself behind the bar, mixing drinks and shooting the shit the way his pop-pop used to came over him. It was a dream he’d started having years before when he’d spent his days killing and surviving. In his dreams he would see that bar and know it was his place in the world. Lately, the dream had changed slightly, merging with one he’d had since he was a teen first interested in the ladies. He was still behind the bar, but the door to the patio would open, the late evening sun illuminating the woman walking through it.

His woman. He knew that because his dream self damn near salivated at the sight of her, but she was a shadowy figure, her face always too backlit to make out her features.

How his friends and coworkers would laugh to find out Romeo Remy dreamed about his future wife. Which was precisely why he wasn’t telling anyone about it. He’d learned long ago to keep those weird dreams he sometimes had to himself.

Shane was chuckling. “You have to admit you’re a little on the Hollywood side, my man. You fit right in with that crowd in LA. I think that’s why Joshua Hunt didn’t like you. You’re almost as pretty as he is.”

“I admit to nothing but having a small amount of taste, and Hunt didn’t like me because I was more popular at his club than he was,” Riley replied. “And Tag would call us douches even if we were dressed like hoboes. He’s wired that way. From him, it’s almost affection.”

Declan shrugged one big shoulder. “Better than a hug.”

Wade took the seat closest to Remy and leaned over. “Hey, what was all that yelling about this morning? Sounded like a problem from home, man.”

Remy frowned. He’d shut the door the minute he’d realized it had been his cousin calling. Apparently the solid wood door hadn’t been thick enough to contain his rage. “Why do you think it was personal?”

“You started yelling in French,” Wade pointed out. “You don’t speak French unless someone calls you from home or Charlotte needs help ordering from the Paris Chanel store. Since Big Tag isn’t screaming about how broke he’s going to be, I assumed it was the former. Is it about the bar? Did he up the damn price again?”

The others had stopped their argument over whether or not Riley’s designer clothes made him less manly and all heads turned to him.

“He upped the price again?” Shane asked. “Because you’re already paying too much for that market.”

“Way too much.” Riley and Shane had done some investigating and concluded that his cousin Jean-Claude was an asshole of the highest order.