by G. K. Brady
April’s nose lifted a few inches. “Of all people, you should know I have no clue what that is.”
Five minutes later, they sat at ninety-degree angles from one another at one corner of the bar, Fergs bookending Michaela on one side and Blake making up the second bookend beside April.
Grinning, Fergs leaned in close to Michaela. She didn’t move away. “Speed dating? Really? Why?”
She huffed out a breath that lifted the curls from her forehead. “Let’s just drop it.”
Dropping it was the last thing Ferguson seemed to want to do, so Blake interjected. “Did you know that speed dating was invented by a rabbi in 1999?”
Michaela side-eyed him. “Remind me to invite you the next time I have to play Trivial Pursuit.”
When the bartender asked for their drink orders, Michaela pointed at Blake and announced, “I’m buying his.” He gave the pretty blond bartender a discreet swiping motion with his hand—his own sign language for “no way”—and she flashed him a grin, mouthing, “Got it.”
Their drinks came, and Fergs raised his pint of brew. “Here’s to meeting new neighbors.”
Michaela clinked his glass with her own pint. “To new neighbors willing to move couches.” She sent a nod Blake’s way, and he nodded back while he touched glasses with April.
“I guess assistants who give up their Saturdays don’t make the grade,” April deadpanned before chasing a healthy swallow of her beer.
Michaela patted April’s shoulder. “Thank you, Apes. You’re the best.” Then she stage-whispered, “Even if you do spill my personal secrets.”
Ferguson chuckled. “How long have you two known each other?”
April’s dark eyes rose to the ceiling. “Well, let’s see. I was assigned to her back in May, so that would make it”—she dropped her eyes even with Michaela’s—“six months now?”
Blake stirred his drink with the dinky straw. “Assigned?”
“April and I work together,” Michaela offered.
“She’s my boss,” April corrected.
“Where do you guys work?” asked Ferguson.
“A local law firm,” Michaela answered. “Steadman, Hart & Fast.”
“You’re an attorney?” Blake and Ferguson both blurted in unison.
Calculating gray eyes—no, their shimmer made them appear more silver than gray—seemed to appraise them from behind those librarian glasses of hers. “Is that a problem?”
Impressed and utterly intimidated, Blake stammered. “No, uh, of course not. It’s just … I mean, you seem kinda young to be an attorney.” He hadn’t pegged her for a smart attorney—hadn’t pegged her for anything—and his tongue was oddly tied in knots, so he silently sipped his club soda.
“So you chase down ambulances?” Fergs threw out.
Something fiery flashed in Michaela’s silvery eyes.
April smirked. “Hardly. You’re dealing with a real estate lawyer here, not someone who works for ‘The Strong Arm.’ But don’t get into an argument with her.”
Anyone who watched TV or listened to the radio in Denver knew the moniker “The Strong Arm” belonged to a local personal injury lawyer, and Blake nodded his understanding.
“Yeah? That’s cool. What exactly does a real estate lawyer do?” Ferguson was all smooth confidence.
“I work mostly on contracts for the higher-ups and their clients,” Michaela replied. “I have a long way to go to earn my stripes.”
Ferguson’s phone rang, and he excused himself.
His curiosity piqued, Blake asked, “Is that why you were working so late the other night?”
April leaned in conspiratorially. “No, she was speed dating, remember?”
Michaela’s eyes flared once more. Sore subject, apparently. “What do you do?” she asked Blake.
How much to tell her? Hell, she was his neighbor, and soon she’d be dating Ferguson, so there was no reason to hold back. It wasn’t as if she’d start salivating all over him as soon as she learned what he did for a living. Still, he glanced over his shoulder and dropped his voice. “Owen and I play hockey.”
“Hockey? Well, that explains the bods.” April batted her boss’s arm, and Blake stifled a smirk. She then turned in her seat and faced him. “What team do you play for?”
Sucking in a breath, he braced himself. “The Colorado Blizzard.”
Michaela’s gaze shot to his. “The Blizzard?” Her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh! You’re with the big-boy team. None of this minor-leaguer stuff.”
He nearly let loose a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Do you know hockey?”
She shook her head. “Not a thing. Well, that’s not true. I know there’s an ice rink and sticks and a rubber disk that skaters chase. And lots of blood. Some of the attorneys in my firm are nuts about the sport, and I pick up a little here and there.”
April began looking around as if bored, so he directed his question to Michaela. “If I may be so bold, you may not be picking up the right stuff. There’s not that much blood. Back in the day, guys used to fight a lot more than they do now.”
Michaela propped her elbows on the bar and leaned forward. “Is that where the saying ‘I was at a fight the other night, and a hockey game broke out’ came from?”
“Maybe,” he chuckled. “Haven’t heard that one before. Do you follow any sports?”
“Not really. I don’t have time. Besides, I’d rather play them than watch.”
“Yeah? What do you play?”
“Used to. In high school and college, I shot competitively. Mostly 3-Gun.”
Blake’s body jerked involuntarily, and he sat back. Whoa. Knew you were a ball-buster, but a ball-buster with a gun or three? Shit!
She seemed to read his mind, and she laughed. “Do you know what 3-Gun is?” When he shook his head, she went on. “It’s a best-shooter competition involving a rifle, a pistol, and a shotgun.”
“You competed with all three?”
“Yep.”
“Were you any good?” He winced inside at his own incredulous tone.
“I won a few trophies.” There was that impish look again, and it told him there was a lot more behind “a few trophies.”
“Huh. I’ve always wanted to learn.”
She pulled her arms off the bar and straightened. “I haven’t been to the range in a while, but next time I go, you’re welcome to come along. Maybe that’ll help make up for the other night.”
He nodded dumbly, wondering if letting a small woman teach him how to shoot meant turning in his man card. “Sounds … interesting.”
April blew out a breath. “Okay. I’ve been patient long enough. What happened with the speed dating?”
Michaela’s cheeks flushed a deep pink.
“C’mon, you met twenty-some-odd hot guys. Prince Charming had to be in the mix,” April pressed. “Wait. Is that why you looked so tired the next morning?”
The fact that Michaela appeared to be squirming in her seat didn’t keep Blake from jumping into the fray. He was damn curious himself. “Why do you speed date?”
“I don’t speed date,” she snapped. “I tried it once. Just once. It’s in the past.”
“In the past as in two nights ago?”
April whacked his arm. “Yeah. See what I put up with?” The smirk on her face told him she didn’t mind putting up with Michaela.
Ferguson’s reappearance busted up the fascinating conversation. He withdrew his wallet and fished bills from it. “Hey, uh, that was my mom. My grandma fell, and Mom took her to the emergency room. They’re there now, waiting to see a doc.”
Michaela’s eyes went round. “Is she okay?”
“Mom thinks so, but she banged up her arm pretty good, so I said I’d head on over.” He pointed at the bills. “This should cover this round and the next.” He looked Michaela dead in the eye. “I really hate to leave. This was fun. I’d like to do it again sometime soon.” While the girls thanked him, he motioned Blake to follow him.
Bla
ke tapped the bar. “Be right back. Hold my seat.”
“Make sure they get back okay, and make sure no one puts the moves on Michaela, got it?” Ferguson said as they strode through the bar.
Should Blake tell him the little 3-Gun winner didn’t need his protection? Nah. “What was up with all that flexing shit you pulled back at her place?”
Ferguson grinned and pointed both index fingers at his stomach. “Hey, I work hard for this body. May as well use it to my advantage whenever I can.”
“Yeah, well, you looked like an idiot. And FYI, I don’t think she was impressed.”
“No thanks to you, dumbass.” Then his grin widened. “Isn’t she great? An attorney. Who’d have thunk it?” And his grin dropped. “Do you think she’s into me?”
Blake shoved his hands into the pockets of his warm-up pants to keep from throwing them in the air. “I have no idea. Ask her.”
Ferguson seemed to weigh the idea. “No, too soon. We’re still getting to know each other.” An earnest look overcame his face. “What if she’s the one, Bear?”
Blake couldn’t believe he was having this conversation, and he wanted out. The one? What was this, high school? Princess Bride? “Might want to leave this one alone. She’s not like the girls you usually go for.”
Fergs frowned. “How can you tell? You barely know her.”
“And neither do you. For one, she seems—I don’t know—wound a little tight.”
Ferguson’s seriousness fled, and his eyebrows rode up and down his forehead. “And I’m just the guy to loosen her up.” He backhanded Blake’s chest. “Now get back over there before some douche tries to steal my girl.”
Chapter 5
Micky-Dub Wants to Come Out and Play
Michaela tried not to visualize wrapping her hands around April’s neck and throttling her after hearing the same question about speed dating for the third time—and coincidentally, just as Blake retook his seat. Oh goody. He got to hear it too.
The tightness in her own tone pricked her ears. “Please leave it alone, April. I’m not talking about it here.” Nothing like having your humiliations trotted out to total strangers. Maybe she’d let the boss-employee line blur a bit too much. Thank God for both of them the bartender chose that moment to ask if they were ready for another round.
Michaela’s dormant wild side, prodded by her irritation with April, perked up. “Yes! And I need something stronger. A Chopin martini with a twist of lemon, please.” When was the last time she’d ordered a martini in the middle of the day? Never. Suddenly, she was that cartoon character carrying a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. In her case, the devil was Fun Michaela, and the angel was Hardworking Michaela, the woman driven to prove herself the most dedicated worker and therefore worthy of the Fenton account.
The bartender didn’t bat an eye at her order. Blake seemed to give her a cool appraisal, and April shot her a curious glance. Still nursing her first beer, April politely declined while Blake looked around uncertainly, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should stay or go. In the end, he gave the bartender a nod.
“Does this mean you’re actually going to take the rest of Saturday off?” April asked Michaela.
Michaela pondered for a beat, then gave in to the devil whispering in her ear about having fun. “I think I might.”
“Whoa! That’s the first time I’ve seen you do that since I started working for you.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything.” Sheesh! It wasn’t as if Michaela was taking the whole weekend off. No, she’d put in double hours tomorrow. Today she’d relax, even if the guilt killed her, damn it!
April tapped her shoulder. “Well, all I can say is it’s about time you took a day off.” She looped her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’ve got a hot date tonight, so I’m heading home.” A rare look of contrition overtook her features. “Sorry for badgering you about the … well, never mind.”
Michaela blinked at her.
“Need anything before I go?” April continued.
“Nope. I’m good.” Michaela’s brain registered that April’s expression had switched to full-blown apology, and she softened her tone. “Thanks for your help today. I really do appreciate you giving up part of your Saturday.”
That seemed to bring sunshine back into April’s smile. “It was fun.” Giving Blake a breezy good-bye, she sailed out of the bar. The bartender deposited Michaela’s martini and slid a fresh club soda in front of Blake. Just the two of them perched on barstools at each corner of the bar now, perpendicular, their knees nearly touching. She raised her frosty glass. “And now you know why I tried speed dating.”
A look of confusion came over him, but he raised his glass anyway and took a drink. “I do?”
She tipped the delicate rim to her lips and sipped. So good. “Yes, you do. It’s because there’s no time in my life for meeting people outside of work.” She let out a sigh. “I figured I had nothing to lose if I gave it a try. Dating apps are … a pain. First of all, the personality evaluations take forever to fill out, then you spend more time trying to figure out if the … potential date … is who and what they say they are. Not until you finally meet them do you discover they’re nothing like their profiles. It’s enough to drive the hearts and flowers out of a dedicated romantic.” The one advantage she didn’t share, though, was that the romantic optimist in her could take her time looking at a picture—or five—and pretend the face smiling at her from the screen was “the one” … from a safe distance. Disappointment never happened until fantasy met reality.
Blake twirled his glass on the bar.
Gah, he thinks I’m out of my mind. And from what he’s seen so far, can’t say as I blame him. She took another drink and licked her lips. God, that tasted good. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t know, though, huh? I mean, who needs dating apps when women are falling all over you?”
He shook his head, the cocky SOB. But he surprised her when he said, “It’s not really like that, and time is in short supply for me too. Practices, team meetings, games, being on the road, scrambling to take care of real-life details when I’m back in town. I’m not complaining. I love what I do, but it makes it hard to find someone I can relate to, much less keep a relationship going with that someone.”
Michaela frowned and took another sip. “So … no girlfriend? I thought maybe the woman the other night …” Whose face you were practically sucking off. She let the rest of the thought dissolve in the chilled vodka.
One corner of his mouth quirked. “No, no girlfriend.”
Michaela nodded. “Ah. Got it.”
They sat in comfortable silence for several beats. When Michaela raised her martini glass once more, she realized it was nearly empty. This probably explained what came out of her mouth next. “This is personal, so tell me to shut up if you don’t want to answer. I promise I won’t be offended.”
He lifted expectant eyes to hers. They were light and large, but she couldn’t tell the color.
Downing the last drops of her cocktail, she barreled ahead. “I’m curious. It sounded to me as if she—the girl from the other night—might be open for starting something. Obviously, you found her attractive enough to bring home. Do you plan on seeing her again? Or were you looking for strictly a one-night stand, end of story?” She rested her gaze on him, taking in a somewhat boyish face. Boyish, yet his jaw, which was dotted with reddish-blond stubble, was strong and square. Short, messy blond hair stuck out in places, as if he’d just taken a shower and hadn’t bothered with it afterward. A handsome guy—almost too handsome—and definitely not her type. Not that she really had a type; she simply knew he wasn’t it. Maybe it was his age, which, judging by that youthful appearance of his, had to be way less than hers. She preferred mature men, men who’d been around the block at least once and had their shit together.
He chuckled mildly. “I feel like I’m being cross-examined. And it is none of your business, but what the hell, I’ll tell you anyway.” He p
aused on a sigh. “The brutal truth is she’s the type of woman I usually meet—it just seems to work that way—and don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a relationship phobia or anything, and she was nice, fun, but we really didn’t have much in common.”
“Beyond wanting a physical connection for the night,” she finished for him.
A small smile curved a very generous mouth. “Yeah, that. Which I’m guessing makes me a total dick.” He gave her a tentative look, like he was waiting for her to pass judgment. But something struck her about what he said and the way he said it, and she backpedaled from her earlier conclusion that he was young. Maybe it was the deep timbre of his voice, or the light lines creasing his forehead and the corners of his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. He threw back half his drink, and her eye was drawn to his neck as the liquid slipped down his throat. He had a powerful neck, beautifully masculine, and it was attached to powerful shoulders. For a deviant moment, she wondered if his muscles were as nice as his show-off roommate’s had been. What a turnoff that had been! Did guys think that crap worked?
“No, not a dick,” she finally said. “It makes you human. We all need that intimate connection from time to time.”
Surprise flickered in his wide eyes, though he didn’t say anything.
From out of nowhere, the bartender deposited two more drinks in front of them. Now that she’d given herself permission to take the rest of the day off, she was ready to get down! Throwing back another cocktail seemed like the perfect start.
“Do you mind if I ask you another personal question?” she asked Blake after the bartender walked away.
“Go for it,” he encouraged.
“In order to ask it, I have to give up some personal information of my own, so bear with me.” She grinned at him. “And of course, feel free to stop me at any time.” She paused to clear her throat and toggle back into serious mode, sort of a hazy space at the moment. “I lived with someone for five years. His name was Anders—probably still is.” A little giggle escaped her, and she got herself back under control. “Anyway, we talked about getting married. It was one of those vague someday things, but I always assumed … which was probably my first mistake. You know what they say about assuming.” He was watching her patiently, a corner of his mouth tipping upward, so she got herself back on track again. “One day he came home and out of the blue said, ‘Micky, this isn’t working.’ Then he launched into this speech about how he wasn’t ready to get married, wasn’t even sure he was mature enough to be in a committed relationship, and how unfair it was to hold me back, but he still loved me, blah, blah, blah. The way he talked made me think he was suggesting a separation of sorts, and I assumed—there it is again—there was a chance it was temporary and we’d eventually get back together. I was shocked at first, but I told myself he needed to figure things out and that he’d realize he couldn’t live without me. Well, imagine my surprise when, five months later, the guy who wasn’t sure he could be in a long-term relationship met someone and married her! He knew her a tenth of the time we knew each other before he committed to the most long-term relationship of all.”
