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He wasn’t your boss when you first slept with him.
But things had changed and she didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that when she saw Matt, if they weren’t actuallyworking, she wanted to take him to bed. Was that even healthy?
“I’m going to get my team a pitcher of...” She looked at the offerings written on the chalkboard behind the bar. “That dark blond microbrew. It good?”
“My favorite,” he said with a smile.
“I’m serious. I like good beer. I prefer a good porter, but it’s an acquired taste and I don’t think my guys over there are up for it.”
“You’ll like this. It has a bite, but it’s light.”
He started pouring.
“Hey, that Herradura Reposado, can you pour me a shot?”
He glanced over at her with a surprised grin.
“Sure. Wish I could join you.”
Kara had a weakness for good tequila. Downing shots in front of her team probably wasn’t wise, but after today she needed it, and it wasn’t like she was on duty.
He finished the pitcher, put it down. “How many?”
“Ryder doesn’t drink, my boss is on his way, so three. And a club soda with lime for the straight guy.” Meaning, nondrinking. She didn’t think Ryder was straight, but she hadn’t said anything because he hadn’t said anything. She didn’t want to accidentally out him.
Pete took three chilled pints from the bar fridge.
“Whitney thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread,” he said.
“Hardly.”
“No, really. You’re young, smart, an FBI agent.”
“I’m not.”
He glanced at her, eyebrows questioning, as he reached over for the bottle of Herradura. She didn’t feel the need to explain.
He poured a shot—and a bit extra—and put a saltshaker and slice of lemon on a plate.
“Save it.” Kara picked up the shot glass and said, “To Neil. May he see justice.”
She drained the tequila—God, that is good—and put the glass down.
“I’m not an FBI agent,” she explained. “I’m actually an LAPD detective currently assigned to the FBI. Long story.”
“Sounds like a good one.”
She winked. “It is.”
“Tell me?”
He was flirting. She could see it in how he looked at her, his tone, his body language. The way he leaned forward, attentive. Focused.
Damn.
This was why she avoided relationships. Men like Pete Dunlap pushed all the right buttons.
But then there was Matt.
