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“Shit. Charlie, is that the guy?” The question is a breathy whimper of distress.

Before I can react, June’s out of her seat, tequila in hand. She lists slightly to the right, all the tequila she threw back making her as unsteady as hell.

Regardless of her wobbly path, there’s no doubt she’s heading straight for the furious man who just walked into the bar.

CHAPTER

FIVE

JUNE

I squint at the man.He seems unsteady on his feet, the poor guy. Sure, he had a gun in his hand, but I mean, that’s not that unusual. During hunting season. Something about the gun didn’t match hunting season, though.

I slam into a dude in a frat shirt.

“Whoops,” I tell him. He laughs, catching me around the waist, and I wriggle from his grip. “No, thank you,” I say sternly.

The blond man’s looking around, still wobbling a little. I bite my lip. Maybe I’m the unsteady one. The shot glass full of shitty tequila sloshes in my hand as I push my way through the celebrating college students to where the man stands.

His mouth is pinched in pain, and guilt stabs me.

Or maybe that’s tequila. Can’t be too sure of these things.

“Lisen, I am so sorry ‘bout what happened. Can I get you a drink—” I start.

“Can you get me a fucking drink?” The man’s face turns red, his accent so thick I can barely understand him. Or maaaaaybemy ears have stopped working right. “No, but I’ll tell you what youcanfucking get me.”

“There’s literally,lit-er-allyno reason to yell at me. Maybe a figuraaaative reason, but not a literal one. Wait… did I ge’ thooosse missed up? Messed up? Missed up.” My lips twist to the side as I tilt my head. What the heck was I talking about? Face tingling, I twitch my nose, trying to recover some semblance of sensation.

“What the hell are you doing?”

My nose twitches again. “You’ve seenBewitched? You know. That old show?” A sudden laugh surprises me. “Just tell me what it is you want and I’ll twitch my nose at it.”

Someone laughs at my joke. I blink. Wait, I’m the one laughing.

The man levels a furious look at me, opening his mouth to speak, but my finger goes up to stop him. I blink in confusion when it disappears, a massive hand closing around it.

Dean.

“Hiiiizaiiir.” I smile up at him, narrowing my eyes. “Hi. Zair. There.” There it is. I got it right.

Dean’s other hand presses into my lower back, sending an excited thrill through me, and my eyes squeeze shut.

“She’s with me,” the Russian says, and I blink my eyes open. His face is still scuffed up, and it looks like it hurts.

“No, I’m not,” I tell him. I glance back up at Dean. “I’m not with him, am I?”

I don’t think I am.

“I want him to go away,” I say plaintively. Dean can’t know Charlie ran him over. Even my tipsy—okay, drunk—brain knows that’s a bad idea.

“Is there a problem here?” Dean’s voice is low, a deep, threatening rasp.

“Is there afuckingproblem here?” he repeats, his temple throbbing.

“There’s no problem, no problem. Seeeeeee.” I spread my hands wide. “Charlie kind of had a little accident.”

“Charlie, huh? Charlie?” the man nearly shouts, his furious eyes lock on me. “I don’t give a fuck about this Charlie.”