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What was he doing here?

Stupid question.He has condoms in his bedside table.

Yes. She knew that. Of course she did. She was, in fact, relatively obsessed with it. Was that why he was here? To hook up?

Was that...?

It made her feel small. Nervous and upset. And mostly, she found herself wanting to drift over to where he was. Wanting to stake a claim. Wanting every woman in there to know that she... Well, she lived with him, didn’t she? She knew him. Maybe.

“Awkward.”

She turned at the sound of Michael’s voice.

“What?”

“Boss’s here. Also, like you said, he’s a bit like your brother. Not the best to have your brother in residence when you’re trying to have a good time.”

Oh right. That lie. Like a brother.

“Let’s get a table.” He thrust her soda into her hands, and she followed him to the opposite corner from the Kings. She looked down into her drink. “You want to dance?”

Immediately, she flashed back to dancing with Daughtry. She’d loved dancing with him. She’d always wanted to be asked to dance, and now she was being asked two times within a month. But she didn’t feel giddy over Michael asking.

She felt happy, though. That had to count for something.

“Yes,” she said. “I would. Thanks for asking.”

She took a big sip of her soda, as if it was a source of liquid courage, and not the benign drink she had chosen for herself.

Then she took his hand again and let him lead her to the dance floor. The dance was fast, and fun, even though she didn’t know what she was doing. And she found herself letting go of her worry about attraction and flyers and anything connected to Daughtry. Because there was one thing she hadn’t really even thought about. That it was fun to just go out with a friend.

She realized that she was firmly of that mindset after only ten seconds of the song. Michael could be a friend. And that would be fine. But as much as she wanted to experience dating and the normal parts of being twenty-three, she also didn’t want to kiss or sleep with a guy she wasn’t into. She had let herself feel grim for a moment about the fact that Daughtry had stoked something in her that Michael didn’t. But every man wasn’t going to be attractive to her. Every man wasn’t going to make sparks go off in her stomach. It didn’t mean that Daughtry was the only one.

Daughtry was, in many ways just a training ground.

He wassafe. That was the thing.

He was the first man she had been around while feeling secure. Daughtry was probably more a casualty of circumstance than anything else.

And he’s hot.

Sure. There was also that. It was a fair enough observation, and one that she couldn’t deny. But again,not necessarily the only element of chemistry. There were plenty of good-looking men in the bar. And she had a pretty good instinct about people. Michael was nice, friend material. He wasn’t a dick. Dancing with him was a good time.

He didn’t try to put his hands anywhere he shouldn’t, and she felt safe the entire time. The song tripped over to something slow, and Michael closed his hold, spinning her around so she was facing the other direction. And there was Daughtry.

Her heart slammed into her breastbone. Daughtry was dancing with one of the pretty, glittery women. She was older than Bix, obviously, her hair cherry red, and so were her lips. She was wearing so much makeup. And her boobs were spilling out of her top.

And her good, right and proper sheriff let his eyes dip, and looked straight down her top.

She felt appalled. Like she had just heard a priest swear in a church. At least, that was how she imagined she might feel if she heard a priest swear in a church. Bix herself had never even been in a church for any reason other than to collect food from one of the pantries.He has condoms in his bedside table.

The little voice inside her head was getting insistent and annoying.

I know that.

But knowing that and witnessing him looking at a woman’s breasts were two different things.

In spite of herself, she looked down. Her dress had a fairly demure neckline, but even if it didn’t, she wouldn’t have cleavage. The woman that he wasdancing with was like a two-scoop ice cream cone, and Bix was a child’s serving. If that. It was maybe more fair to say that she was one of those little sample spoons.