Page 84 of Hard to Judge

He keeps walking like I would when someone pokes somewhere I don’t want them.

“Had to sauce it up to see Karris outside of work again?” I prod where I know I’ll get a reaction.

Sure enough, he wheels on me. The hair on his face scrunches, and his lips form an impressive snarl. I give him a deep yawn.

“Fucker,” he snarls. “Injured, not sauced. Though I might need to be to deal with your ass.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Injured how?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s how.” He glares and turns toward the entrance.

“This isn’t over.”

He flips me the bird while still holding the door for me.

What a gentleman.

A second before I get there, he releases it to slam back toward my face. I grab it in time to save my nose. “Dick.”

“It’s Big Dick to you,” he says over his shoulder while also greeting the hostess with a grin.

Her cheeks blush, and she hides her smile behind a menu. “Your party is waiting in your usual spot,” she finally offers.

We nod and head to a private room upstairs. Perks of being friends with a billionaire.

I find Hailey straight away. She’s huddled in the corner with Astor and Celeste. Their heads are together while their words are quiet and rushed. Their eyes are wide with disbelief.

Then Hailey laughs.

It’s light and bright and melts that dark place inside me. That dark place I shared with her because she needed it. Little did I realize how much I needed her to see it. To see it and accept it.

“Late arrivals buy drinks tonight,” Karris chirps from where he stands at the room’s small bar. He’s leaning on a high-top mahogany, both elbows on the wood.

Arlo props one elbow on Karris’s left, nearest the women while a person who stuns me for a beat stands to Karris’s right.

A low rumble vibrates in Dobson’s barrel chest. I spare him a glance and find his gaze pinned on the man I’m also surprised to see.

It’s not that I don’t like Harold Larson. After all, he’s my tattoo artist and the best fucking Dom I know. If he knew I call him Harold in my head instead of Hard Limit, he’d make me choke on every dick in this room simultaneously and then inviteevery patron in the restaurant to have a look while making me vow with a blood oath to never think the name again.

No, I like him fine. I just don’t know why he’s here…when he’s never been before.

Dobson, on the other hand, is ready to rip Harold’s left arm from his body for the simple fact that it’s too close to Karris. That, andthatone night about six months ago. The night I was told never to mention or even think about.

Yeah, right.

It was too hot for all those parameters.

Arlo scoffs and smacks the back of Karris’s head. “When have any of you bought a round in the last decade?” He points at the three of us he’s worked with since starting Judge Media, back before it was a conglomerate.

I’m stuck on the casual contact he gave Karris. Sure, it may seem small, but for Arlo, it’s huge. It’s groundbreaking, like “a mountain might shoot up in the center of the room” groundbreaking.

That it just happened, and he doesn’t even seem to realize it. That he didn’t psych himself up to do it. That it’s not plaguing him after the fact.

My heart lodges in my fucking throat.

This touch has nothing to do with me, yet I’ve never been more proud of him.

Even Karris, who can never be serious about a goddamned thing, is sobered by awe. It’s in his sudden and unusual silence, his slacked jaw, and slightly quivering bourbon. Hell, it even shuts down Dobson’s snarl.

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