Page 11 of Danger

Which is why, with women, I stick to two rules: No fucking. No feelings.

Nothing that could lead to complications—or ending up with more kids who don’t have a mama.

Everything else? Fine. A hand job, a blowjob, knock yourself out—those things don’t lead to more children or me giving a fuck.

I cut him a look that I know he understands. “You really wanna go there? You haven’t even told the woman you’ve been drooling over your whole damn life how you feel about her. You do that, then I’ll consider it.”

Right on cue, said woman—Honey—slides fresh beers across the bar. Charming shoots me a look that promises death if she caught even one syllable.

Rogue breaks the moment with a low whistle. “Damn. He got you, Char.”

My eyes slide over to Winnie. Then, I notice the moment he turns on her.

Some old man at the end of the bar—mid-seventies, sunburned, already slurring—slides his drink back to Winnie.

“This ain’t what I ordered,” he snaps. “I said vodka soda. And don’t bother fixin’ it—I ain’t leavin’ a tip either.”

Winnie freezes, cheeks flushing that soft pink that happens when she’s embarrassed or pissed or both.

“I—I’m sorry.”

She whispers something to Honey, then she disappears toward the bathroom, but not before I catch that look on her face. Like she’s fighting tears.

I shouldn’t notice things like that.

But Winnie’s beautiful. It sneaks up on you. She’s the kind of redhead people write songs about without realizing it. Not loud. Not obvious. The kind you notice in pieces—hair that never quite behaves, freckles lightly scattered like she painted them on herself. Bright smile. Eyes too honest for her own good. She doesn’t try for it, and that’s the dangerous part.

And when she puts on red lipstick? It’s over. For everyone. It still doesn’t make sense to me what she ever saw in Trouble.

The old man continues to yell about Winnie.

Rogue’s chair scrapes back. “That’s my que,” he drawls, cracking his knuckles. “I’m about to handle that old man.”

Great. Here comes a knight in shining dumbass.

“Sit. Down.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I said sit your ass down.”

He rolls his eyes, then sinks back into his seat, snatching his beer off the counter.

Honey’s apologizing to the man before he finally stomps off. I catch her eye and shake my head once. I reach into my wallet, pull out a fifty, and drop it into the tip jar.

Honey’s brow lifts.

“You tell her I did that,” I say, low enough that only she can hear, “and I’ll come for you.”

Honey smiles like Christmas just came early. “Me? Tell anyone that Danger Stetson is secretly being nice? Never. Your reputation would be ruined.”

I nod at the bathroom door Winnie went behind. “What’s the deal with her workin’ here? You really think she can handle it?”

Honey shrugs. “We all gotta start somewhere. I happen to be a girls girl. I think she’ll be runnin’ this place before you know it.”

WInnie walks back out, eyes a little red but chin lifted up like she’ll die before letting anyone see her crack.

Honey grins, then points at the tip jar. “Don’t let that man scare you off. Somebody clearly thinks you’re doin’ just fine tonight.”