Donnelly finally asks, “You talk to any guys at the bars?” I shrug again. “Sometimes.” His face noticeably tightens, and his brows lift while he glances at the entrance again. His six-foot-three build has tensed, and I shift my weight uncertainly. “Your worry looks angry,” I say. His blue eyes rest gently on mine. “‘Cause you’re looking at jealousy.” Flush ascends my neck. Oh. I give him a once-over, realizing jealousy is hot on Donnelly, the attractive type of hot.
