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“The Damage Boyz,” Megan says and gives the two guys at our table an affectionate look. “Micah, Jesse, Ocean, Seth and Shane.”
Long story? More like a saga. One of those that take up a whole shelf in a bookshop.
“I’ll send someone to take your order,” Megan says as I’m trying to process the conversation.
Zane and Rafe took them in. Zane taught them the job, and Rafe helps with the rent… I want to ask more questions, but I’m not even sure how to pose them discreetly. Discretion isn’t my strong suit.
And in the end it doesn’t matter, because our waiter chooses that precise moment to arrive and take our order. When I look up, I find myself staring into a pair of striking green-blue eyes and a sexy grin that takes my breath away.
Oh, crap. Crap, crap. He’s our waiter?
At this rate I expect everyone I met at that damn party to make an appearance. Resisting the urge to check if the rest of them are hiding under the table or behind my back, I sit ramrod-straight, duck my head and school my face into a blank mask.
Draw no attention. I’m not here. You can’t see me.
“Embers,” Jesse says, his grin widening, his gaze zooming in on my face. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, “fancy that.”
The whole gang is here, but I all I see is him. Dammit.
He’s dressed in a soft gray shirt that molds over his chest and shoulders, and black pants. His hair is so short it’s just a shadow on his head, making his luminous eyes look huge.
Crap. Why can’t I look away?
“How’s the new job, J?” Micah nods at him. “Is Meg bossing you around?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Jesse chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that makes me shiver.
“Hey, Jesse James.” Ocean lifts his coffee cup in a salute. “Bold, bad, and brave.”
Why do I keep feeling everyone around me is speaking Chinese? “Jesse James? Not Lee?”
“Wait. You don’t know who Jesse James is?” Ocean lifts his brows.
“He was a criminal,” Jesse says, “who robbed trains.”
“He stole from the rich and gave to the poor,” Micah says. “He was kind.”
“I know who he was,” I interject, but I’m overruled.
“He was killed,” Jesse mutters, looking away and shifting on his feet, “shot and buried.”
A shadow passes over his face, and it sends a pang through me. The others fall silent, shifting awkwardly in their seats. I have no clue what the dark undercurrent of their jokes could mean.
This is a dangerous game.
“All right,” I say into the stretch of silence. “How about some coffee, then, JJ?”
He lifts his head, a shadow behind his eyes. Then his dark brows lift, and his brilliant gaze lights up like a sunny morning. “You gave me a nickname!”
Why does he look so pleased? “No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you damn well did.” He winks at me. “I’ll be JJ for you, babe.”
I sputter. “What? Everyone calls you something.”
“But not what you called me.” He bends over the table, braced with one hand on the surface, so that he looks straight into my eyes. His grin flashes again, blinding. “And you’re not everyone.”
