She glanced at Diesel, filling an order for Dixie, who was standing at the bar chatting, but Diesel’s eyes were trained on Tracey, causing those funky feelings to claw at her again. He really was a mountain of grunting, scary-as-all-get-out muscle, tattooed from neck to wrist, with absolutely no people skills. The battered old black baseball cap he wore every day didn’t fit with the rest of his tough-guy image, which made her curious about why he wore it. Did it have sentimental value? Is it a trophy from a man you killed? She laughed inwardly. When she’d first met Diesel, he was so cold and looked so lethal, she’d actually toyed with the idea that the man who was practically a legend in his own right for Lord knew what could be a serial killer. A really great-smelling serial killer. He always smelled clean and fresh, like a cold winter’s day. But she’d learned the truth. Desmond “Diesel” Black definitely wasn’t Bigfoot or a serial killer. He was just a cold-blooded watch dog, and she was his charge.

“Hey, sunshine,” Slick said, bringing her attention back to her customers.

“Yes? Sorry.”

“So you and he aren’t a thing?”

“No.” I like guys who can actually string together complete sentences.

“What time do you get off?” He leaned closer, a creepy grin crawling across his face. Before she could get a word out, he said, “Let me rephrase that. What time can I pick you up and get you off?”

The two guys he was with chuckled.

Ugh. Between Diesel’s ridiculously protective grab and this creep’s entitlement, she wanted to punch something. “Sorry, but I don’t date customers. Enjoy your drinks.”

She went to help other customers, then headed up to the bar to place an order. Eagle Eyes watched her the whole way, igniting those confusing flames beneath her skin, which had been burning hotter ever since her friend Sarah and Bones’s wedding several weeks ago. Diesel had been devastatingly handsome that night, all his muscles nearly busting out of his dress shirt and pants. Another friend’s five-year-old daughter, Kennedy, had dragged him onto the dance floor, and the man who Tracey was sure had a heart of stone had twirled that sweet little girl and taken her into his arms with such tenderness, if Tracey hadn’t already known him as the grunting pain in her ass that he was, her panties might have melted off.

She walked over to Jed’s side of the bar. Jed was her friend Josie’s husband. He was also a Dark Knight, but he was the antithesis of Diesel, with a warm demeanor, piercing blue eyes, and thick dirty-blond hair. Jed was a big guy, but not massive like Diesel, and he was madly in love with his wife and their seven-year-old son, Hail.

Jed flashed a warm smile. “What can I get you, Trace?”