“Come on. Spit it out,” she pushed. “I know a distasteful expression when I see it. I can take criticism. I’m a professional.”

If he’d learned one thing in his twenty-eight years, it was that when women asked for criticism, they didn’t really want to hear it. Responding usually caused an argument, and there was no winning an argument with a woman. They had a knack for dredging up everything a guy had ever said or done, as if they’d not only kept notes but were being fed information by osmosis from acquaintances and exes. Or worse, they gave the silent treatment, and after the argument was over, when they said they were cool, they usually weren’t. Women tucked away that shit like ammunition for an automatic weapon and pulled it out when you least expected it.

He finished his beer and set down his empty glass. “I got nothing to say.”

“You come in here and never talk to anyone; then you cringe when I’m onstage but refuse to tell me why. A big guy like you shouldn’t be afraid to speak his mind.” She stared him down with the confidence of a lioness sizing up her prey.

Sexy as sin.

And lethal as cyanide.

Her aunt glanced over from where she was making a drink for another customer and arched a brow.

Great. He’d look like an ass if he refused again. Clearing his throat, he turned to the pushy sexpot with her too-short flouncy skirt and bare stomach, which was just begging to be touched and licked, and…Fuck. Biting back those thoughts, he gave her what she’d asked for. “That was a powerful story. Slow it down and your words will have a bigger impact.”

Her eyes widened, then instantly narrowed as another sexy smirk slid into place. “I think I know how to tell a story. I’ve been doing this for years.” The humor bled from her voice. “Nobody else thought it was too fast. Didn’t you hear the applause? What do you know about music? You sure don’t look like Simon Cowell to me.”

This chick was a triple threat, as tough as she was cute and feisty, which spelled his favorite kind of trouble. Trouble he couldn’t afford to get mixed up with.

“Sorry I said anything. It won’t happen again.” He pushed to his feet and pulled a twenty from his pocket, nodding to Ginger as he put the money on the bar. “Her next drink is on me.”

“I don’t need your money,” Blue Eyes snapped.

“Sounds like somebody struck a nerve.” Ginger winked at him and went to help another customer as two dark-haired bikers strode up to Blue Eyes, openly sizing up Tobias.

“What’s going on?” the taller of the two asked, setting a serious stare on him.