Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,16

bartender who’s preparing her drink at the other end of the bar can’t hear. “Do a striptease for the old guy behind the bar here?”

Her eyes widen. “Why does everything end with me naked?”

I lift my beer, hiding a smile. “You did have a fondness for being naked as a kid.”

She shakes her head. “Right? I’m such a wuss now.”

“You totally are.”

“Hey!”

I chuckle quietly, and she shoots me a dark look. She’s not used to teasing. “I’m just agreeing with you,” I tell her.

A few minutes later, I watch as she takes her first tentative sip. “Mmm, it’s delicious!”

The protector comes out in me. “Careful, sometimes the sweet stuff disguises the alcohol and you drink it too fast.” I’m not sure if I’m protecting her or me.

She slurps again and presses her fingers to her forehead. “Brain freeze. Let’s split some lobster nachos. I skipped dinner.”

I straighten in my seat. “Chloe, never drink on an empty stomach.”

“Yes, sir,” she says sharply.

Did I come off too harsh? I’m the chill guy you party with. Man, this is fucked up.

I try for a friendly tone. “Sure, I can always go for nachos.”

She places the order and turns back to me. “I like having a guy friend. It’s like you’re a natural repellant to any other guy who might approach.” She inclines her head toward the two guys at the end of the bar. They’re in their twenties, probably locals.

I clench my jaw. Just what I always wanted to be—guy repellant.

One beer and I’m out of here.

I guzzle down a healthy amount. I’m starting to feel it, actually, because it’s my third beer of the night. I had a couple earlier at the poker game. Good thing we ordered nachos. I should slow down on this beer.

She pokes my chest. “Guess what?”

She’s touching me.

I look over. “What?” Oh, shit. Her drink is nearly gone.

“I feel super happy.” She gasps. “Is this what a buzz feels like?”

I stifle a laugh. “Yeah.”

She laughs and drains her glass. “Fantastic work here, Mr. Bartender. Can you bring another?”

He inclines his head and gets to work.

“That’s fine, but eat before you drink any more,” I say. “Got it?” I sound like a total buzzkill. I am a total buzzkill. I just can’t let this situation get out of hand.

“Bren-dan.” She stretches out my name in a playful voice. “I’m fine.”

“I say this as your good friend with experience in alcohol territory. You’re small and you have no tolerance.” And now I sound like I have a stick up my ass. I console myself that it’s the protective instinct she brings out in me. I’m still a fun guy. Really.

“Small,” she scoffs. “I pack a mighty punch.” She punches my shoulder and it feels like a tap. That’s not me playing tough. It’s like she’s never thrown a punch in her life.

I wince like it hurt, and she rubs my shoulder. “Sorry,” she singsongs. “Now you’ll have to admit I’m five feet three of pure power.”

The bartender approaches with her drink, and I shake him off. “Can you bring it with the nachos?”

“Brendan Rourke!” she exclaims.

“Dr. Travers.”

She sobers. “Am I acting embarrassing?”

“Just a little loud.”

“Okay, you’re the expert.” She nods at the bartender to hold the drink.

I relax. “That’s right. I’m the expert on Villroy breezes for virgin drinkers.”

“Oh, I’m not a virgin.”

Walked right into that one.

I shake my head as she leans close. I just know she’s about to overshare. “Don’t—”

She goes on in a loud stage whisper. “I lost it to Mike at biomedical engineering summer camp when I was sixteen. I had a full scholarship at Penn’s special camp for science enthusiasts ’cuz that’s how I roll.”

My shoulders tense. Was Mike another student or a teacher? And what is it with her and guys named Michael? “And how old was Mike?”

“Sixteen.”

I relax.

“He wasn’t very good at it at first, but—”

“No need to—”

She holds up a finger. “By the end of the summer, he finally found the magic button.” She pulls me by the shoulder to whisper loudly in my ear, “I’m being polite for mixed company. Of course, the correct anatomical term is…” She bursts out laughing, and I jerk back to save my hearing.

“I’m really feeling it now, Bren!”

I can’t help but laugh. “I’m getting that.”

She sighs happily. “I like having a guy friend. Now you can tell me the guy point of view. Why do guys think a woman sitting alone at the library studying wants to talk about what she’s doing over the