A guy with streaks of blue paint over his face approaches the bar, flagging me down. “I’ll have the special, please,” he slurs. I frown when I see the blue tint to his mouth.

“What special?”

He shakes an empty plastic cup and points behind me.

Oh shit...

I look around, only then realizing half the fucking bar has been consuming what looks like murky blue swamp water. A concoction my cousin has apparently dubbed the Ivy League Special, according to the dude who’s already three sheets to the wind and then some. How I missed the giant-ass jug of the stuff when I walked in beats the shit out of me. And knowing my cousin, there’s probably more where that came from.

Tonight’s going to be interesting, to say the least. My cousin’s not exactly known for her...subtlety with her experimental cocktails.

I quickly finish serving a couple other blue-mouthed faces just as a familiar golden head appears through the throng of people. I tune out whatever the guy before me is saying as I watch Will’s flushed face light up with a smile as he approaches the corner of the bar. Mason offered him the night off, which he happily took to watch the game, so Tank’s on security tonight.

I start to head over when I spot the other figure next to him.

He’s not alone.

Something in me seems to sink when I realize it’s none other than Jeremy Montgomery, Izzy’s brother, he’s talking to, laughing with. Jeremy’s snickering at something Will must have said. I only catch the tail-end of the conversation when I reach them.

I make a face. “Who’s trying to kill you?”

Dark blue eyes turn to mine, and for one heart-stopping moment, I swear the world around me fucking collapses. He’s grinning, and yeah, his lips are blue and his teeth are kind of green, but he’s smiling this big-ass smile with eyes lit up like Jesus effing Christ himself walked into the room.

“Way,” he breathes, and fuck me, if his lips don’t pucker and release like a goddamn kiss around my name. What the hell do I even do with that?

His tawny blond hair is curled messily over his brow, and he’s got the finest smattering of stubble lining his jaw. A long-sleeve gray thermal clings to his biceps and pecs, and he’s wearing black jeans that are just on the right side of skinny, but still give him enough room to breathe. On his wrist, he’s wearing several leather bracelets, and I even spot a chain around his neck, with whatever hangs from it hidden under the shirt.

He looks...good.

Fuck, he looks really, really good.

I kissed him.