“Fine. So we may have an agreement. For the duration of our Vegas tour.”

“Aha!” RB was grinning at him, entirely too triumphantly. “I saw him getting handsy when he helped you unload. Heh, so to speak.”

For half a second, River had the wild idea RB meant… but no, RB would have honked. Still, it left him off-kilter just enough to say more than he might have.

And RB had just winked. “You tell him you need extra help guarding your body? Nice excuse.”

River couldn’t help himself. “It’s not like that.”

RB cast him a scrutinizing look. “This isn’t just a Vegas fling?”

By all accounts, River should have said no, that’s all it is. Because that was all it was. But instead, he shot the rest of his whisky, then put his foot in his mouth. “You know the one that got away? He’s the closest thing I’ve got to one of those.”

RB looked stunned. He turned on his bar stool to face River. “You never told us that.”

“It’s not exactly relevant,” River muttered, but he knew it was an excuse. He looked around the little dive bar. It was just around the corner from the motel where they were staying—just off the Strip, and pretty damn cheap.

“I saw the way you were looking at him in our L.A. shows, too. And earlier, before we all split up to explore for tonight.”

River’s cheeks flushed. He signalled the bartender for two more, not looking in RB’s eye.

RB whistled under his breath. “You look a little invested for a short-term thing.”

“Nah.” River shrugged it off, trying to play it as casual as he could. He might have told RB more, but they were in public, and even in Vegas, he felt like even existing in a smoky straight dive bar was pushing it. “Not here.”

Should’ve shaved better. Or put on full foundation to cover the stubble. He’d gone with a collared shirt and jeans, but with his hair and makeup, he wasn’t exactly the most intimidating.

Right on cue, his heart sank. He saw RB’s reaction to the presence behind him and felt him before he heard the words. “Don’t want us overhearing your homo love life woes?” The words were drawled out like the guy barely knew what the last word meant.

River turned on his stool to take in the guy, who looked exactly how he’d pictured half a second ago: beefy, close-cropped hair, a couple of arm tattoos, and a sneer on his face as he looked at River.

River knew the look well: the disgust that curled their lips was impossible to mask. Even people who could handle him making out with a guy in front of them would suddenly react like he’d erupted three pounds of live spiders from his chest, Alien-style, at the sight of a little lip gloss.

He couldn’t even tell if the guy was a straight jackass or one of those too-masc-for-you dudes who bashed fags in the front room and fucked them in the back.

“Why? You offering to be my homo agony aunt?” River drew himself slightly forward, shifting his weight in case he needed to slide off in a hurry and duck—or hit. “Or did you just remember what century we’re living in?”

The guy sneered back at him. “Fuck, no. Keep it to yourself.”

“Really?” River eased to his feet. “Why don’t you ask everyone around us if we were disturbing all of them with our faggotry? Or no, because you’re the only creepy motherfucker listening in on everyone’s conversations. Shoo,” he flapped a hand toward the other side of the bar.

The guy was staring back at him, mouth a little open, eyes glazed over. He was looking at River the way River imagined he’d look at a bit of food that refused to come unstuck from his shirt.

Looking River up and down, he licked his lips.

A particularly tasty morsel, River amended that thought with an inward shudder. These were the creepiest assholes of all, literally ignoring his objections in favor of whatever fucked-up fantasies they had playing in their heads about men in skirts. Thank God Zeph wasn’t that kind of guy.

River started to take a step forward, but he felt RB’s hand on his shoulder blade, reminding him gently that they were in a public bar where they had every right to be. And it wasn’t a backwater town in Tennessee. No need to escalate.

So River flapped a hand, again, this time making a bigger motion of it to catch the bartender’s eye. “I said, shoo.”

With that, the guy turned and left—not just for the other side of the bar, but out of it altogether.

“Jesus,” River muttered, sinking onto his stool again. He hadn’t even gotten to rip into the guy properly before RB had reminded him that he didn’t want to spend an hour every day covering the black eye.

RB pushed his whisky toward him. “Why don’t you tell me about the two of you?”

“Nothing to tell.” He didn’t relish the thought of talking about his homo love life in front of everyone here—nobody had jumped in to second the guy, but nobody had stood up for him, either.

“Mmm.” RB’s eyes narrowed, and then he shot his whisky. “Come on. Let’s find a liquor store and my room.”

There was an idea he could get on board with.