CHAPTER ELEVEN
Risqué was uneventful that Sunday night. The women were warming up to her, which presented the opportunity to ask leading questions and take mental notes. The Risqué groove was fun and fascinating.
Time was ticking on. Her feet were aching. She’d held off from taking her break, waiting for Colt to come in. The clock above the bar revealed it was one thirty and there was still no sign of him.
Zipping around behind the bar, Lyssa put her tray away and grabbed her water bottle from a lower shelf. “Heard anything from your brother tonight?” she asked Blaser.
He continued wiping down the bar. “Which one?”
Blaser tossed his cloth aside to take an order from Destiny, the waitress leaning over the bar.
“Either of them,” Lyssa said.
Blaser smirked, he had to know that she mean
