Page 22 of Burning Up

Bryce survived the rest of his shift without having to spend time talking to Toby or Matt. After the traffic accident, they were called to the home of an elderly man who’d fallen and then to the scene of a five-car pileup. When he finally got a break, Bryce grabbed some dinner and then tried to sleep on one of the bunks at the station. All he managed was a light doze as his head spun with questions he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer.

The next morning when his shift ended, Bryce tried to get some more sleep, but he didn’t have any better luck. He finally gave up on the notion of rest, went for a run, then dragged himself to Nathan’s. At least as exhausted and cranky as he was, no one was going to suspect he’d had some of the best sex of his life less than two days earlier.

He pushed open the employees’ entrance and stepped inside, managing to make it all the way to the bar without having to do more than nod to a few of the guys in the kitchen as he passed by. Of course he wasn’t going to be able to keep that up. Bartenders were generally expected to talk to customers.

When he reached the bar, he saw Mason serving beers to a couple of guys who didn’t look more than eighteen, though he was sure Mason had carded them. Damn kids get younger every year.

Kyle had been scheduled to work with him, so he wasn’t prepared to face Mason’s teasing—or worse, questions—about the other night.

“Kyle call in sick?” he asked.

“His mother’s in the hospital.”

“That’s too bad.” From what Bryce knew of Kyle, he no longer talked to his mother, but illnesses had a way of breaking down family barriers.

For the first hour of his shift, the bar stayed busy, and he and Mason didn’t have a chance to talk. Jack and Gray came in and settled at the bar like they usually did on nights when they weren’t working and Mason was. Eventually, there was a lull as the dinner crowd thinned and the later-night crowd hadn’t filtered in yet.

“How’d it go the other night?” Mason asked, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Bryce pretended to ponder the question, tapping his forehead with his index finger. “How did what go?”

Mason punched his upper arm. “You left here with Matt and Toby. You know you did.”

“We left at the same time. I do remember that.”

“You left with them, not just at the same time,” Mason insisted.

“I never kiss and tell.”

“So you did…”

“Did I what? Kiss?” Bryce asked, determined not to give an inch.

“You’re infuriating,” Mason said, scowling.

“And you’re a snitch. What were you thinking telling them my schedule?”

Mason shook his head. “I didn’t tell them anything, though I probably should’ve become their informant ages ago.”

Bryce narrowed his eyes at Mason. “You really didn’t tell them?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Then who…” His words trailed off as he looked down the bar at Jack and Gray. Mason followed his gaze. “Would they?” Bryce asked.

“Not Gray. Can you imagine that?”

Bryce couldn’t. “Jack?”

“Yeah, but only because he wanted to?—”

The rest of Mason’s words were drowned out by the noise of customers as Bryce stalked toward the far end of the bar.

“How’s it going?” Jack asked, all smiles.

“Good. Bad. Awkward. I’m not sure.” That was the goddamn truth if anything was.

Jack just grinned and nodded.

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