The kiss ended. Orla went back to work, and I moved to where Locke stood at the end of the bar. I wanted to kiss him too. So much. I settled for a bro hug, but he was a better man than me, and the fleeting brush of his lips at the hollow behind my ear left me reeling—wrecked—by the lightest touch. “You fucker.” Locke made a sound that might’ve been a low laugh, but in the noisy bar, it was hard to tell.
