Page 4 of Green Ravens

“Well, looks like you still got a shot. Sawyer’s clearly not interested.” Dusmeyer was staring blatantly. “He must have someone at home.”

Probably does.

“She ordered Sawyer a shot, but he turned that down too,” Dusmeyer told him.

“What the fuck, Dust? You gonna give a play-by-play commentary on the man all night?” Oakley frowned. “Mind your own damn business.”

Dusmeyer stared at him for a moment before he scoffed and went back to his drink.

Trying not to watch Sawyer was like trying not to rubber-neck at a car crash in the next lane. He risked a glance back to see the brunette rolling her eyes and walking away from Sawyer with a look of disappointment.

When she was gone, Sawyer stared dead at him in obvious invitation and held up the abandoned shot left on the bar.

Did he want to accept?

It took thirty seconds before Oakley was off his stool and telling Dusmeyer he’d check him later.

He’d barely settled on the seat beside the other chief when the man’s spicy scent overtook his senses.

“Chief.”

Sawyer slid the shot of amber liquid toward him, then raised a finger at the bartender to bring him one too.

“Chief,” Oakley responded.

He didn’t wait for Sawyer to get his own before he downed the shot. It wasn’t as if they were about to do a toast or some shit.

The alcohol seared his throat before it heated his chest with an enjoyable sensation. His slight hum of appreciation was his way of saying thank you.

After Sawyer put his own back and took a few gulps of his beer, Oakley thought he should say something.

“Your crew ditch you?”

Sawyer didn’t turn in his direction, his eyes still on the television screen above them.

The game was a blowout and not that interesting, so he wondered if Sawyer was another who didn’t like to look into his eyes.

“Nah. They went to a country bar… I chose this one.”

“Why?”

“I hate line dancing.”

Oakley chuckled. “Okay, I get that. So, you don’t mind chillin’ alone, huh?”

Sawyer turned and pinned him with a serious glare, holding eye contact like a lion locks onto a gazelle.

“I prefer it,” he rumbled.

Oakley stared back, maybe for too long, before he thought of a retort.

“Well, I’m not exactly a lone wolf, but my guys like to get a bit wild, and that’s not my speed.”

“I’m too old for that scene now.”

Sawyer stared back , bold and clearly unfazed by their color. He let out a noncommittal sound and then reached into the back pocket of his dark jeans and pulled out his wallet. When Sawyer dropped two twenties on the bar and stood, Oakley assumed their brief encounter was over.

“It’s getting late, chief, and I walked, so Imma head back.”

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