The crowd didn’t thin as the night wore on, and when I replaced Nick for break, I was happy to be behind the bar and not out running the floor like a madwoman.

I was making two Jäger bombs when I looked up and saw them. Well, I saw him first and almost dropped the smaller glass in a way one was not supposed to drop it in a Jäger bomb.

The guy was huge—like bigger and broader than Jax, even taller. He wore a black shirt that stretched taut over a defined chest and arms. His brown hair was buzzed on the sides, a little longer on the top, and it stood straight up, a little longer than Jax’s, which looked like it would be curly if it grew out. This guy had an angular face with definite Hispanic descent. Smooth brown skin covered high cheekbones and thick brown lashes framed dark eyes. There was a crescent-shaped scar under his left eye and another under the center of his lip, cutting into it.

He looked bad—like bad in a very good way.

The girl trailing behind him seriously could’ve been Britney Spears in the flesh—Catholic-schoolgirl Britney. Her blond hair was wavy and cut perfectly to frame a heart-shaped face. She had full lips and big brown eyes and a nice body. How did I know she had a nice body? Because most of it was on display.

She was wearing a strappy tank top that showed her trim midriff and a short jean skirt that revealed awesome tan legs. The chick had to-die-for boobs, and she was universally hot.

And she wasn’t paying attention to the big, handsome guy next to her. She was staring straight at the bar. Not at me. Not at Roxy. Her brown gaze was fixed on the side of the bar farthest from Roxy and me.

On Jax.

Aaand she wasn’t just looking at him.

“Do you know who that is?” Roxy asked, shoveling up a buttload of ice. “That hot as hell guy right over there?”

My gaze shifted from the girl to him. “How could I not notice?” I handed over the Jäger bombs with a smile and took the money. “Who is he?” I asked when I really wanted to know who was she and why was she staring at Jax like he was for dinner.

“Brock,” Roxy answered, and started fanning herself. “The Brock.”

“Um? Who?” I asked as I turned to a college-age guy. “What can I get you?”

“That’s Brock ‘the Beast’ Mitchell,” the guy said instead of answering, and I blinked. “You don’t know who he is?”

I glanced over at “the Beast” and shook my head. “Should I?”

The guy snorted as he shook his head. “He does MMA—a pretty big deal. Or about to become a big deal.” He looked over, an expression of awe creeping into his face. “Man, he is not a dude I’d want to piss off. Didn’t know he was in town. Anyway, I’ll take a Bud.”