“Vin is not who I thought he was.” Devina started the engine and put the M6 in gear. “I’ve been waiting for him to warm up and trust me and love me, but it hasn’t happened, and I’m losing the strength to hang on, Jim, I really am.”

“He’s bought you a ring.”

As her head whipped around, Jim was totally aware he’d not just overstepped his bounds, but bombed the shit out of them. Keeping her in Vin’s life was the important thing, though.

“He has?” she breathed.

“Just hold on a little longer.” Christ, maybe he could talk to Vin tonight. God knew Jim was a good liar, and in this case, for once his motivations were good: He could try and argue that marriage is something worth believing in. “Look, let me sit down with him, okay?”

“Oh, thank you.” She reached out and squeezed his hands. “Thank you so much. I really do want this to work.”

She blew him a kiss and shut the door. Stepping to the side, he watched her ease out of the parking lot and accelerate down Trade Street, the engine going through its gears slick as shit through a goose.

Jim frowned and thought that if that was what she classed as not knowing how to work a stick shift, he wanted to know exactly what proficient would be.

Man, he needed a cigarette.

With a rattle and a whir, a car pulled up to the brick wall of the club and parked under one of the staff-only signs. Two barely dressed women with Playboy breasts and legs as thick as toothpicks got out and stopped when they saw him.

“Hey,” the blonde said with a sexy smile. “You coming into the club?”

Her friend had an Amy Winehouse beehive and a necklace that spelled out SLUT in diamonds. “Yeah, how’d you like to come with us through the back door?”

The innuendo was way too obvious for Jim’s taste, and that dangler around her neck meant he was far more interesting in going if she were involved—but if it saved him a trip all the way around the club in the cold night? Fine and dandy, thank you, ma’am.

Jim walked over as a bouncer opened the door for the ladies.

“He’s with us,” Blondie said to the guy. “He’s my cousin.”

“’Sup, man.” The bouncer put out his knuckles and Jim gave them a pound. “Good to meet you.”

After they were inside, the guy relocked the door and talked into the Bluetooth clipped on his ear. “Up front? Okay. Coming. Shit, girls, we got a rumble in general population. You’re gonna wanna hang here till it’s over.”

“Oh, we’ll find something to do,” the blonde quipped.

“Or somebody,” the beehive cut in, taking Jim’s arm and rubbing up on him.

He disengaged himself. “I got a friend waiting for me.”