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Regretfully, he turned the thermostat back down before taking his turn in the shower.
    When he got out t he house was already back to its normal state of frigid. Jay wrapped a towel around his waist and rushed into the bedroom to find some warm clothes. Em was already curled back up under the blankets. Times like that, she just looked so damn . . . small. It made him desperate to scoop her up in his arms and hold her close and safe forever. Instead, he pulled on a pair of faded jeans and took a seat beside her, running his fingers through her damp hair.
    “You’re beautiful.”
    “Mmhmm.”
    It was his mission to make her believe that statement. They’d get there. Someday.
    “How are you feeling?”
    “Like a prisoner.”
    Jay chuckled. “You’re in a mood this morning.”
    “No sleep and pushy boyfriends put me in a mood.”
    “Then I suggest you get some rest because I want my happy girl back when I get home tonight.”
    “You’re still being pushy, ” Em grumbled.
    He shrugged and leaned over for a kiss. “You like it.”
    Em twisted her head at the last possible second and all he caught was her cheek. “Careful. I wouldn’t want to infect you.”
    Jay scowled down at her. “When it comes to you, I’m already a goner.”
    Using both of his hands to capture her face, he pressed his lips firm and steady to hers. She didn’t fight him, her mouth opening in invitation, and he plunged inside. Christ, she tasted so damn sweet.
    He was going to be late for work.
    ***
    The mood booster winning his argument with Em had brought on was rapidly diminishing as he parked his truck in the lot and stared up at the dilapidated building in front of him. Bart’s . What a high-class joint. With a sigh, Jay trudged through the puddles of slush just to be slammed with the potent aroma of greasy food and body odor inside the front door. It must have been close to ninety-degrees in there. The heater was busted . . . again. At least this time it was stuck on .
    Tugging off his hat, Jay ran a quick hand through his hair. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. And another. Not thirty seconds after he crossed the threshold, Sahara came strutting out of the back room.
    “Jay? What are you doing here so early?”
    “Em’s sick. I’m covering her shift.”
    “You’re waiting tables?”
    “It was last minute notice. Bart didn’t have anyone else.” He couldn’t understand her obvious amusement. Most of his time was spent behind the bar, but it wasn’t his first time taking on a wait shift.
    “This should be fun.”
    Jay was certain it would be anything but, though he didn’t bother telling her that. She wouldn’t have heard him anyway. The girl had a way of only hearing what she wanted to.
    Unfortunately he was right. Six hours later, fun would not be the word Jay chose to describe his day. And it was only half over. In thirty minutes, he had to start his own shift bartending.
    “Jay!” He sidestepped an incoming Sahara, who’d found any and every reason to brush up against him throughout their shift. “You look dead on your feet. I’m taking my lunch and I talked Bart into letting you take one, too. Come eat with me.”
    He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he hadn’t seen Bart take one step outside his office all day and she was right about one thing . . . he was ready to drop. Sahara lit up like a freaking super nova when he agreed and he immediately regretted his sleep deprived decision making skills. It was too late to take it back, though. She had him seated in a corner booth—trapped between her sweaty, scantily clad body and the wall—with a plate of meatloaf in front of him before he could blink.
    “Whew. It’s hot in here today, huh?”
    Jay nodded as he chewed his meal and Sahara dramatically fanned herself with a drink menu.
    “You can talk to me, you know. I don’t bite.”
    “Sorry.” Jay swallowed and forced himself to face her. “Just in a bit of a rush.”
    “You’re always rushing.