Radiohead’s “High and Dry” filters out through the cracked door. A wave of heat blasts over me as I make my way inside, tingling my fingertips.

It’s pretty dead for a Monday night, but not too out of the ordinary.

A couple of regulars sit at the bar, and I nod my hellos at those I’m familiar with as I walk past.

In the open space, most tables are empty, barring two booths along the back wall where a cluster of middle-aged men and women linger. A few look my way—the brief, standard kind of glance offered to newcomers—before disregarding me and returning to their conversations.

I spot Shawn first. His back is to me as he punches buttons in the register. When he sees me, he gives a small nod in greeting before getting called away.

My eyes drift over to the other side of the bar, and it’s like a squadron of fighter jets make a home in my belly when I see Waylon leaning over the bar, head bent over his notebook. He’s wearing a flannel tonight.

Unbuttoned.

Red and black checkered.

A white V-neck beneath.

The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showcasing the mural of black and gray art inked along his forearms and knuckles. He’s chewing on a pen, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Messy black hair tumbling over his forehead.

He’s yet to notice me.

I cast a look around to make sure no one is watching as I draw near, putting myself right in front of him.

“Hey there, Rock Star.”

He startles, dropping his pen with a low clack against the wood as he snaps his head up. The most gorgeous hazel eyes blink back at me through a fringe of black lashes.

I grin and spike my brows. “Writing anything good?”

His face flushes, and he slams the notebook closed before looking away with a scowl.

Interesting...

He rolls the notebook up and tucks it into his back pocket before running his inked fingers through his hair. Unable to help myself, I seek out that double X tattoo on his knuckle, and I have to fight the urge to grab his hand and kiss it. Bite it like I did yesterday just as I came into his fist. The taste of him still bitter on my tongue after going down on him for the second time.

“Beer?” he asks, sliding the pen behind his ear. Such a simple move, and yet so goddamn sexy.

He’s sexy.

I mean, I knew seeing him again would be harder than ever now that I’ve had a taste of him—emphasis on the hard.