Free Under the Gun (CEP Book 3) by Harper Bentley

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    Julia laughed. “I’ll smack you both if you keep it up.”
    The evening went great until Julia asked him who he was dating and he and Chase shared a look.
    “What?” Julia questioned.
    “Nothing,” Gunner stated at the same time Chase said, “He’s having woman problems.”
    It was all Gunner could do to keep from reaching across the table and strangling his brother.
    “Oh, yeah?” Julia asked sympathetically. “What’s going on?”
    Gunner sighed. Fuck. “Nothing’s going on.”
    “You like her,” Julia decided.
    Gunner threw his napkin on the table. “Thanks for having me. The spaghetti was amazing. I’m out.”
    As he got up from the table, he saw Chase start to get up but Julia shook her head at him and put her hand over his stopping him. Well, thank God that someone had a fucking brain. He took the elevator to the parking garage and pulled his phone out while he hailed a cab.
    “Yo. You got Boone.”
    “No fucking shit,” Gunner muttered, hearing loud music and people talking in the background. Perfect.
    “Damn. What’s got your panties in a twist?”
    Pissed that everyone was commenting on his attitude these days, Gunner clenched his teeth before asking, “Where are you?”
    “Clancy’s. Come have a bourbon or six.”
    “On my way,” he answered, getting into a taxi.
    Sitting in the back seat trying to ignore the staticky pop music coming from the cab’s speakers, he wondered what the hell was up with him lately. Did Quinn really have his head wound up that tightly? What he knew was that he hated the feeling and, by fucking God, he was going to do something about it.

    “Look at that chick’s ass in those fucking yoga pants,” Brock said, nodding toward a woman who was bent over a pool table ready to take her shot.
    “Fuckin’ nice,” Boone remarked, staring.
    Brock pulled a fifty out of his wallet and slammed it on the table. “Yours if you take her home,” he said, looking at Gunner and grinning.
    Gunner picked up what he believed to be his eighth shot—he’d lost count early on—moved it up in a “cheers” motion, downed it then said, “You’re on.”
    Getting up from the table and heading toward the woman with a great ass, he noticed that she was blond. Would’ve been so much better had she been a redhead, damn it. He looked back at the table to see Brock and Boone watching him, both grinning, which made him annoyed. He turned back and when he was almost to the table, something clicked in his head making him do a one-eighty, and he quickly turned and headed to the restroom.
    Fuck.
    In the bathroom, he relieved himself then at the sink took a good long look in the mirror. “You’re fucked,” he mumbled, turning on the water and splashing it on his face. Grabbing a paper towel, he noticed a man looking at him. “You got a problem, man?”
    The guy shook his head indifferently.
    “Fuck you,” Gunner said and walked out.
    “What the fuck’s your deal, Gun?” Boone asked when Gunner made it back.
    “She’s blonde.” Gunner picked up a shot of bourbon and downed it.
    “And that’s a problem because?” Brock queried.
    “Because it fucking is.”
    “Then you won’t mind if I take a shot at her?” Boone inquired, standing from the table.
    “Fuck no. Go for it,” Gunner holding a finger up at the waitress passing by.
    “Three?” she asked as she gathered the empty glasses from their table.
    “Yep.”
    Brock watched her ass as she walked away then turned his attention back to Gunner. “What’s going on?”
    “Why the fuck’s everyone so goddamned interested in me all of a sudden?”
    Brock shrugged and took a drink of Jack from his tumbler.
    Gunner pulled out his wallet then threw a hundred on the table. “I’m out.”
    Outside the bar, he got into a cab giving the driver his address pulling his phone out at the same time.
    “Hullo?” Oz answered.
    “Gimme Quinn’s number.” No preludes for him. He was drunk, he wanted what he wanted and he