Birthright

Rhiannon acknowledged that with a quirked mouth. The Dive seemed like a place that thrived on word-of-mouth. Even the sign out front was understated. You could drive past the bar and the only clue you'd have about it was the gaggle of mohawked patrons on the sidewalk. "The best shows I've been to were in places like this," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I think it's a good sign if management dumps all its money into booking bands. Although I gotta say, the bathroom could use an upgrade. I'd avoid the stall on the left, unless you're into cracked toilet seats and broken latches."

She thought about the 'fox' comment. There were times when Rhiannon wished she was temporarily blind so she wouldn't drool over every tattooed, long-haired troublemaker she saw. She definitely had a type. Cian wasn't it, and yet... As she thought about it, heat rushed onto her collarbone.

"Maybe it's time to experiment outside your type," she said, returning to the topic of sex. "Find a blonde cheerleader or something."