The second book in Kylie Scott’s Dive Bar series, where the tattooed bartenders keep the drinks—and romance—flowing with a perfect cocktail of heartbreak, humor, and sweet, sexy romance is releasing next week, and I have a never-seen-before excerpt for you.
Insistent knocking on the door. Again.
“For fuck’s sake.”
My sentiments exactly. Only, strangely enough, I hadn’t spoken. Instead, a familiar, if somewhat unexpected, masculine voice had provided the profanity. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and checked out the other side of the mattress. Large-male alert. Oh God, what if I’d had some strange reaction to the cold and flu tablets and sexually assaulted the poor innocent man last night? It had been a while since I’d seen any action.
“Hey,” said Joe, stretched out on top of the bed. He’d shucked his boots, but otherwise, all clothing remained intact.
“Hi” is what I attempted to say. What came out was a cross between a whisper and a wheeze. God, my throat was on fire. Raw agony. I could have cried in pain and frustration, only it would have made my headache worse. Besides appearing pitiful, of course.
The knocking continued.
“How are you feeling,?” he asked around a yawn.
“Crappy,” I whisper-wheezed, beyond caring. Fucking plague.
“Shit,” he mumbled. “You lost your voice?”
“Damn. Least you’re not burning up anymore.” Slowly, he sat up, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. Then he pushed up off the bed and went to answer the door.
The actual Eric Collins barging in made for the second surprise of the morning. Unlike his brother, he wore black slacks and a pale blue button-down, topped off with a black leather jacket. His long dark hair was tied back in a man-bun, his face freshly shaven. Besides him, Joe appeared distinctly rumpled. Resemblance-wise, you could see the shared gene pool in their high foreheads and generous lips. The slight thickness of their noses. Otherwise you’d hardly credit them with being brothers. As different as day and night.
“Morning,” said Eric, dumping his load of brown paper bags on top of the chest of drawers. “Told Nell you didn’t make it home last night and she made me bring over more food and stuff. Coffee’s in that one.”
“Thanks.” Joe dove into the designated bag, pulling out two extra-large coffee cups.
“Dad phoned, wanted to know when you’d be on the job,” he said. “Better check your cell and give him a call.”
Eric turned, giving me a flirty little grin. It didn’t last long, however. “Damn. You’re really sick, aren’t you?”
Joe’s brows drew in. “I said she was.”
“Yeah, just figured it was an excuse she’d made up to stay in town and make you run around jumping through hoops, doing stuff for her. Grovel. You know, make you pay penance?” He shrugged. “Bet Boyd fifty bucks too.”
Without a word, Joe set down one of the cups and smacked his brother upside the head.