I usually spend Friday nights at Gilroy’s. Before Patrick hired Logan, I’d be behind the bar, filling drink orders and breaking up the occasional fight. Before Henley came home and put Conner’s dick in a cage, I’d waste the better portion of my evening wrangling it and him and then harass him into taking me to Benny’s for pancakes. Not because I particularly wanted them but because it was the only surefire way I had of making sure he ate at least one meal a day.

But that was before.

These days, I’m not needed behind the bar. Things run smoothly without me. Con is well fed and seemingly oblivious to the swarm of women that follow him from one end of the bar to the other. Instead of behind the bar, I’m perched on a stool at the end of it, watching the show.

Ever since Cap’n’s mancandy spread in Bostonian came out last fall, this place has been a zoo. Wall-to-wall women. And where there are women, men are sure to follow.

Not that anyone is complaining. Gilroy’s has always done a brisk business but the tips these past few months have been insane.

I miss them.

No.

You miss being trapped behind the bar with Declan.

A year ago, the thought of it sent me into a full-blown panic. Somewhere between then and now, that changed.

You know exactly when it changed. It was the night you kissed him.

The night you wrapped your legs around him and practically begged him to—

“You in there?”

I look up to find Logan grinning at me from across the bar.

“Present and accounted for.” I tip my chin at the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “You gonna pour me a drink or keep being a tease?”

“Tease?” He laughs, plunking a rocks glass in front of me before adding a single ice cube. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life.” He gives the glass a long pour of Jameson before pushing it across the bar. “Tease isn’t one of them.”

I raise the glass to my mouth and take a healthy swallow. “I doubt that.”

Logan shakes his head with a who me? grin. “I’m just a computer geek who knows how to make a mean banana daiquiri.”

Hot nerd.

That’s what Cari called him. Thick black hair that stands up, this way and that. Most people would think he styles it that way. I know he doesn’t. He’s not the type. He wears goofy cat T-shirts to hide the fact that he has a body built for sin and heavy framed glasses to defuse what might be the most breath-taking pair of ice blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Despite his friendly, out-going—if slightly awkward—personality, Logan Bright isn’t someone who likes to draw attention to himself.

We’ve become friends. In a few hours when we close the bar and we all head to Benny’s, Logan will keep me from feeling like a fifth wheel. He’ll buy me pancakes and walk me home. He’s never made a move on me. He’s never even hinted that he was interested in me beyond harmless flirting and agreeing to go with me to Declan’s wedding. Hasn’t even so much as tried to hold my hand.

Because I can’t help it and because I’m obviously some sort of masochist, I look down the bar. Wedged between Logan and Conner is the bane of my existence, filling pitchers and stacking glasses on waitress trays. He hasn’t so much as glanced at me since I sat down.

Until now.

Right now, he’s staring a hole right through me. He bounces his glare in Logan’s direction and his jaw snaps so tight, so fast, I can practically hear his teeth crack. “You interested in working, Bright, or are you gonna just stand around all night?”

I’ve never met someone outside our immediate circle who isn’t at least a little intimidated by Declan Gilroy. Logan fits right in because his mouth quirks in a quick smile like he’s trying to suppress a laugh. “Comin’, boss.” He re-racks the bottle of Jameson in the well before shooting me a wink. “Just had to make sure my lady wasn’t thirsty.”

Somehow, this self-proclaimed computer geek manages to make thirsty sound like a dirty word, turning Declan’s face an alarming shade of purple. I almost choke but manage to keep from spitting out the mouthful of whiskey trying to fight its way up my throat.

When I’m sure he’s about to snatch Logan up by the back of his neck and shake him like a rag doll, he does the exact opposite. He turns away from the two of us and stalks off down the length of the bar, muttering a string of curses as he goes.

As soon as he’s gone, Logan’s face breaks into a wide grin. “I think he almost killed me.”

I don’t think.

I know.

Logan almost got murdered, right in front of my eyes.

Instead of pointing out that every second of his life, from this moment on, is a goddamned gift, I scoff. “My lady?”

Logan shrugs. “I was improvising.”

“That wasn’t necessary,” I say quietly, shooting a quick glance in Declan’s direction. He’s wound so tight his head’s about to pop off his shoulders.

“Sure it was,” Logan quips, reaching into the garnish station to pull out a handful of maraschino cherries. “How else was I going to get you to pay for my pancakes?” He tosses a cherry into his mouth and gives me one last grin before he walks away.