Page 43 of Cozen

“Anyway, don’t think I forgot because a lady came up,” the guy said. “Men have to look out for each other, huh? What’s up?”

Great.

Now Sargon’s life was being condensed to cliché moments.

The weary barkeep, and the drunk he entertained.

The rich man, and the girl he couldn’t have.

Sargon shook his head, and pushed the shot glass across the bar to the man. “Not in the mood to talk, now, but thank you anyway.”

The bartender shrugged his shoulders. “Up to you, man.”

Frankly, Sargon needed to take his place again before Jett noticed he had left it. Not that the older man would mind, really. Jett tended to be pretty laid back as long as he wasn’t outside when one of his men wandered off for a few minutes.

Sargon was still new.

He figured—why push it?

Right, that’s what you figured. It’s not the pretty piece of ass with the interestingly strange name, killer smile, russet eyes, and legs for days that’s making you want to get back there. Not at all.

Sargon ignored his taunting inner voice, and turned around on the barstool. He didn’t get up right away, instead choosing to look back at the table, and see if he even was needed over there. It didn’t look like it, considering Jett and Cozen were still chatting away.

Actually, laughing about something.

Jett reached across the table, and stroked Cozen’s cheek with two fingers. Sargon had no doubt the man was complimenting her, then. Women loved their compliments, and they craved the feeling of being wanted by someone amazing.

Was Jett amazing?

Not really.

A dime a dozen in New York.

Minus the criminal thing, of course.

Still, at the sight of Cozen’s demure smile from the touch—and whatever words Jett had told her—that burning feeling was back in Sargon’s gut. Hot, heavy, and fast. Devastating, really, like a punch hard enough to his gut that it made him bleed from the inside.

Jealous.

Again.

Jesus.

He really needed to get this shit under control somehow. This was bad for him—bad for the job. He didn’t need to find himself dead and in a makeshift grave because he couldn’t control his baser urges.

Sargon’s attention snapped back to the spot it was supposed to be as Cozen stood from the table. She smoothed down her dress, and nodded at Jett before simpering him with another one of those sweet smiles. Then, she quickly turned and headed in the direction of the bathrooms.

Jett didn’t wait more than two seconds before his gaze swept the restaurant. Once he found Sargon sitting at the bar, Jett waved his hand subtly.

A silent order to come his way.

At the moment, going to Jett was the last thing Sargon wanted to do, but he forced himself off the stool. It was the longest ten seconds of his life to cross the floor before he leaned over the partition wall keeping his boss mildly protected.

“Yes?” Sargon asked.

Jett pointed in the direction Cozen had gone. “Twenty-five. Cozen Grace Taylor. Born in Vermont.”

Sargon blinked.