“I think I know what my lady wants more than some old dude.”

“Kick his ass, Heath,” one of his friends yelled from the table.

“It’s time for you to leave, boys.” A headache started in Conor’s temples. Longest. Day. Ever.

“Fuck you.” Drunk Boy pushed the girl off his lap and stood up, his posture combative.

Physically, they were well-matched. Drunk Boy was a couple inches over six feet tall and had the lean, athletic build of a lacrosse or soccer player. But size wasn’t everything. At six-two, Conor ran regularly and lugged kegs and cases of beer every day. He’d given up boxing years ago, but he worked out on the heavy bag a few times a week. Plus, Conor had been bouncing his own bar since his twenty-first birthday. He’d introduced a hundred obnoxious drunks to the sidewalk on the other side of the door. If Drunk Boy’s brain cells weren’t pickled in Jägermeister, the younger man would have thought hard before he threw a punch.

But pickled they were.

The punch was slow and sloppy. Conor slapped the kid’s hook out of the way and fired a punch neatly into his jaw. Drunk Boy crumpled on the wood floor as if his bones had evaporated. Shocked silence filled the bar for a solid minute. Then the friends got up and stumbled over.

Ow. Pain rolled through Conor’s knuckles. He was sick and tired of dealing with young assholes.

Drunk Boy blinked and sat up. His nasty squint caught on the brunette. “You’re such a bitch.”

Conor tucked the girl behind him. He addressed the group. “Pick up your friend and get out of my bar. Don’t come back.”

They didn’t argue. Two buddies hauled Drunk Boy to his feet and dragged him out.

Conor turned to the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Zoe.”

“I assumed you didn’t want to leave with them. Can you call someone to pick you up, Zoe?”

“I’ll call my roommate.” Nodding, she pulled a cell phone out of her purse.

“Next time, don’t go out without a couple of girlfriends for backup. Being alone with those guys isn’t smart.”

“I didn’t know they’d turn into such jerks after a few beers. We go to school together.” Big, brown eyes blinked innocently up at Conor. God, she was a pretty thing. But much too young for him. Much, much too young.

Even if she weren’t, he’d sworn off jumping into bed with women he barely knew since the Barbara I-forgot-to-mention-I’m-married McNally episode three years ago. For a relationship that had only lasted a few months, it had left a damned big impression. Being deliberately lied to and used had soured his attitude toward dating, as had the ease with which she’d manipulated him.

“We close at midnight on Mondays,” he said.