Page 50 of Reach Around

Brogan.

And he’s watching me like I’m the only person in the bar. Like he remembers everything about that night. Like he’s still tasting me in the back of his throat and wondering if kissing me again will undo him.

I pour it all into the song.

Every unsaid word.

Every late night I spent doodling his name on a bar coaster.

Every look he never saw and every day I spent wishing he’d wake up and realize I was right here. Always.

By the second verse, I’m in it. No holding back. No playing it safe.

No puck bunny is gonna takemyman.

Lynsie spins beside me, nearly knocking into a table and sending half of Gage’s beer flying. He doesn’t care. Nobody cares. All eyes are on us, and Brogan hasn’t blinked once.

When the song ends, there’s applause. A few cheers. One very loud“Damn, girl!”from the back.

But I don’t care.

Because Brogan’s not clapping.

He’s just… staring.

Like something cracked open inside him.

I hand the mic back to Gage, who’s running the karaoke machine tonight, and hop down, my knees a little wobbly. Lynsie wraps me in a sideways hug and practically drags me to our seats at the bar.

“You leveled him,” she whispers in my ear.

I glance over my shoulder. He’s still staring.

“Good,” I say, breath catching.

Because he leveled me first.

Once I’m back on my stool, I slam back the rest of my beer like it’s something stronger. It’s not. Maybe I need a shot instead, because if I don’t numb myself somehow, I’m going to launch myself over the bar and kiss Brogan in front of half the team, three regulars, and Virgil’s dog.

Lynsie fans herself dramatically. “Well, that was a moment. I’m sweating.”

“You didn’t do anything but spin and knock over beer,” I mutter, cheeks still blazing.

“You’re welcome for the atmosphere,” she deadpans.

I glance down the bar again. Brogan’s not there—he’s vanished from behind the counter, leaving my nerves jangling.

My heart stutters. One second he’s watching me like I’m the answer to every prayer he never knew he had and the next? Poof. Gone. Houdini’d his way out of my life again.

For a second, panic flickers through me. Maybe I pushed too far. Maybe I showed too much. Maybe I ruined it.

“Bathroom?” I murmur, mostly to myself.

“Yep,” Lynsie says, smug. “Go check the mirror. You look like sin and secrets.”

I ignore her and head toward the hallway, heart thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to beat out a warning. I pass the jukebox, dodge a couple doing a very aggressive two-step, and nearly run into Virgil who’s crouched down cleaning up a spilled drink with exactly one paper towel.

“Living the dream,” he mutters.

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