“Are you sure about that? I can think of one big reason why being too cocky could be considered a plus.”

She draws back, her mouth rounding in a soft O. I appear to have rendered her speechless. Which tells me I’m crossing the very lines I said I never would.

Nice job, Dean.

Chapter Thirteen

Dean

The good news is that Kimberly and Nia are having such a great time they begged us for a tour of the U Street Corridor, which conveniently ended at Sip City.

The even better news is that Peter and Molly passed on joining us.

The bad news is that I can’t seem to focus on anything but Solange.

The even worse news is that the women just trotted off to the karaoke room, and before they left, they announced that if I dare to enter, I should be prepared to get up onstage too. But that’s the kind of shit Max would do, not me.

After squeezing my way to the counter, I spot Brandon.

He points to the end of the bar, and I meet him there. Like clockwork, he slides me a stool so I can claim a space that’s blessedly free of anyone on my left. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem. You look like you need to be put in the time-out corner anyway.”

It’s unclear whether he’s suggesting I’m acting like a child, but I’m not going to press for an explanation because I’m coming to him for salvation, and I don’t want to give him an excuse to refuse me. “I need tequila. Lots of it. Served as shots, please.”

Brandon leans against the counter and tilts his head as he considers me. “I thought you said tequila’s your Kryptonite.”

I meet his gaze and give him a “no shit” expression. “It is.”

He taps the bar counter with a closed fist and straightens. “Understood. Be right back.”

Solange, who had a head start on cocktails at Axe & Snacks, comes out of nowhere and jostles me. “Hey, what are you doing out here?” With a glass in hand, she points behind her to the karaoke room’s neon sign. “Your guests are in there.”

She’s being so damn cheerful. Meanwhile, I’m tamping down the urge to growl at everyone because I want something I shouldn’t—namely, her. “Just needed a moment,” I say, remaining hunched over so I’m not forced to meet her eyes. “I’ll join you soon.”

Brandon appears again—without my damn tequila.

Solange raises her glass in his direction, her mouth curved into a wicked smile. “This isn’t one of your better concoctions, my friend.”

Brandon purses his lips at her, but his eyes are noticeably brighter now that she’s around. “Hey, if you can’t say anything nice—”

“Then you’re a bitch, and you may as well own it,” she finishes for him.