“You keep looking at that door like you’re expecting someone to come walking on in,” Nix says from his usual perch to the side of me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say and move toward the right to wipe down the counter.

It’s been a busy night. Fridays always are here and there’s no shortage of people wanting a reprieve from the workweek. The music is loud, the drinks are flowing, and I should be one happy bar owner.

The problem is Nix is right. I keep looking at the door. I keep wondering if Chase is going to walk through it with that fucking gorgeous confidence she wears like a sexy negligee. I keep remembering every goddamn minute of last night.

“You just looked again.”

“Fuck off, Nix.”

His chuckle is low and taunting. “So what gives? She that good in bed? She’s fabulous at her conversation skills? She’s—”

“I slept a whole fucking night without a nightmare. How’s that?” I snap at him, but when I meet his eyes, there’s understanding and compassion that most people would never comprehend.

“Shit, Gunny.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” I walk out from behind the bar and start collecting empties from tables. It’s not my job to do, but I need a fucking minute to let the words that just fell out of my mouth sink in.

When was the last time that happened? When was the last time I wasn’t finding every excuse not to sleep to keep the nightmares at bay?

Granted, I did exert myself fairly heavily, but still . . .

I glance over to Nix whose head is down, watching his thumbs play with the label on the beer bottle. He knows the gravity of what I just said. Of the unattainable night without nightmares.

He was there with me that day. He remembers too.

I let myself get lost in the small talk with customers to clear my head. Some are regulars, some are not, but most know who I am. Luckily, all are respectful and don’t ask the questions they’re wondering. The questions I would probably have if I were in their shoes as well.

That’s enough for me.

I move back behind the bar, dropping the empties in the sink with a clatter. One of my servers narrows their eyes as they try and figure out why I’m helping them out. I just smile and give a shake of my head that it’s no big deal.

And when the door swings open, I look again.

“You going to see her tonight when you get off?”

“No,” I grunt.

“As per usual, you make absolutely perfect sense,” he says into his beer and my response is a lifted middle finger. “Seriously, though. Why not?”

“Because . . .” I turn to face him, hands out in a shrug. “Do I have to have a reason?”