License to Date (Better Date than Never)

by Hatler, Susan

  I, myself, wore a short-sleeved silk wrap dress that was warm enough for the office air-conditioning, but wouldn’t make me fry (much) when I stepped outdoors into the oven we called Sacramento in August.

  Turning toward the lounge, I strode past a gold-framed advertisement for the Geoffries’ annual Black & White Ball, and another event called Descending for Diabetes. The Geoffries hosted the finest parties, housed luxurious suites, and served amazing drinks in their bar.

  Only the latter interested me right now.

  I entered the regal lounge, checking my watch. Over half-an-hour early for my date. Propping myself onto the navy-blue and gold patterned chair at the bar, I pulled out my cell to text Chase. If he was available now then we could start the date early and we could end it early. Brilliant idea.

  “Would you like something to drink?” a smooth male voice asked.

  The bartender appeared in my peripheral vision, but I kept my eyes fixed on my keypad as I ordered, “A Geoffries Martini, please?”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said, then stepped away.

  If only he could actually grant wishes. Then maybe I’d get free labor, no strings attached. A bartender-genie, that’s what I needed. . . .

  The bartender shook my drink, ice clinking around the shaker. “Waiting for friends?”

  “No, I—” My mouth froze when my gaze connected with deep blue eyes that sent an electric jolt through me. Heat curled my toes and my mind went blank. “Um, what?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Just asked if you’re meeting anyone.”

  “Yes, a date.” I cleared my throat, trying not to focus on how the bartender’s tousled dark hair made his sapphire-blue eyes stand out even more. After all, I couldn’t invite him to be date number three now that I’d told him I was on a date. Or could I . . . ?

  His brows came together as he poured pink liquid into a martini glass. “You don’t sound too thrilled about your date. This a set up?”

  “I’m looking forward to my date,” I protested.

  Not a lie. I was looking forward to having it, then having it be over.

  “I don’t buy it.” He set the cocktail in front of me, then gave an inquisitive side-glance that turned my insides liquid. “You look more annoyed than excited. Why don’t you tell me what this date is really about?”

  Wrapping my fingers around my glass, I ignored the flutters in my belly, and the desire to tell him everything. “You don’t want to hear about my problems. I’m sure you’re super busy.”

  He leaned onto the bar, bringing those mesmerizing eyes level with mine. “Not terribly.”

  With him so close, I breathed in his musky scent and my heart jumped into my throat. “Are you this attentive to everyone you serve?”

  His gaze left my eyes, trailing down to where my long red strands rested over my shoulder. “Only the beautiful redheads.”

  A burst of laughter escaped. “You did not just say that.”

  “Made you smile, didn’t I?” The corner of his mouth turned up revealing an adorable dimple. “No, really. What’s going on?”

  My smile faded and the past four months came crashing back, ending with the deal I’d made. “Like I said, just waiting for my date.”

  As if I’d confide in a man I’d known all of two minutes. Especially a guy with major charm and hypnotic blue eyes. Did he think I was that easy?

  “Excuse me a moment.” He tapped two fingers against the white granite countertop, then swiveled toward the other end of the bar to serve two women I hadn’t seen sit down.

  A sudden wave of disappointment crashed over me, which was ridiculous. I didn’t want to chat with the bartender. I wanted my date to arrive and then leave so I could scratch one date off my check-list. I scanned my phone to see if Chase had gotten my message and could come early.

  No incoming texts. Sigh.

  With nothing else to do, my eyes drifted toward the bartender whose back was to me. No harm in stealing a quick peek as he mixed the ladies’ drinks, right? Also no harm in admiring the way his white shirt stretched over broad shoulders, his black vest tapered down to a trim waist, and rested nicely over his snug-fitted pants.

  The hot bartender clearly worked out.

  Giggling erupted at the end of the bar and my eyes flicked to the two women, who fluttered their fingers at me. My gaze traveled to their faces and my jaw dropped open. “What the . . . ?”

  It was Ginger and Kristen.

  Chapter Two

  My stomach tightened as Kristen and Ginger slipped onto the bar stools next to me. I rolled my eyes. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Reconnaissance.” Kristen set her wine glass down on the counter, then swiveled toward me. “Making sure you don’t renege on our dating deal.”

  Her loud voice practically echoed through the room and I glanced up to find the bartender smirking at me.

  I downed the contents of my glass. “Get your paint brushes ready, ladies. After this stunt, you’ll be working overtime.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Ginger glanced around the lounge. “Where is Chase, anyway?”

  “He’ll be here.” Not early, unfortunately.

  Ginger rolled her long, dark hair around her finger. “We’ll stick around to make sure you don’t ditch out before he arrives. That pained look on your face doesn’t exactly scream commitment, you know.”

  I pushed my empty glass away. “I’d be in less pain if you two weren’t spying on me.”

  And if the bartender would stop shooting me smug looks. So I fibbed to a stranger about being excited about my date. Big whoop.

  Kristen turned to Ginger. “We are being kind of overbearing. It’s starting to remind me of my mother. We should give Kaitlin some space.”

  “Yes, please.” I nodded, eagerly.

  Ginger shrugged and stood. “Fine. We’ll be right over there if you need us.” She gestured toward a nearby cluster of elegant couches. “And remember, you might not want this date now but you’ll thank us in a few years when you’re popping out Chase’s babies.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “That is so not going to happen.”

  “Keep an open mind. You never know.” Kristen winked as she trailed after Ginger.

  My jaw tightened and I was starting to rethink this dating deal. But scraping wallpaper and repainting would be so much work alone. . . .

  “Another drink?” the bartender asked, his voice filled with humor.

  A full glass appeared next to my empty one and I looked up gratefully. “Thanks. How’d you guess?”

  “Long shot,” he joked, then held his hand out. “Kaitlin, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Refraining from tossing my friends a wicked glance, I found myself slipping my hand into his—tingles danced over my hand, up my arm, and my vision tilted. “And you are?”

  His eyes dropped to our hands, making me wonder if he felt the same unbelievable sizzle of electricity. “I’m Paul.”

  My heart stopped and I scowled. I couldn’t help it. The hot bartender might’ve been physically rocking my world, but he also shared the same name as my ex. I needed away from this bar. Fast.

  He winced. “Uh oh. I can see the name has bad memories for you. Don’t judge all Pauls by the same book.”

  When he squeezed my hand slightly, emphasizing his words, I couldn’t let go. Or look away from those hypnotic blue eyes. . . .

  Ping! Ping!

  The chime from my cell broke whatever spell I’d been under and I managed to pull my hand away then run my finger across the screen. Chase! Thank goodness.

  His text read: Sorry, but I’m hung up with a client. Are you okay to wait a little bit? Should be done shortly.

  No, I was not all right to wait a bit. Not with Paul “the sequel” making my stomach do floppy things.

  I typed back: Yes, I can wait. See you soon.

  It’s free labor, okay? Like fifty bucks an hour times two. I’d be crazy not to wait a little longer to save that kind of dough.
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  I lifted my lashes to find Paul “number two” peering down at me with an inquisitive expression. “My date’s running late,” I confessed.

  “The date you’re looking forward to?” His lips twitched as he picked up my empty glass and slipped it beneath the bar. “What is a dating deal, anyway?”

  My cheeks heated. Oh the mortification. “Basically, my friends—the two over on the couch staring at us—are forcing me to date.”

  “Come on.” He twisted a lime over a glass of water then pushed it toward me. “It’s not like they can make you date.”

  “They enticed me into a dating deal, which is the same thing.” Just like he was enticing me into telling him about my personal life. How did that happen? I normally excelled at refraining. Maybe I should wait for Chase in the lobby—away from this bartender’s intoxicating charm. “Can I get the check please?”

  “Hang on a sec.” He stepped toward a couple who sat down at the bar.

  As he moved away, every part of me wanted him to come back. Like now. A rush of anxiety shot through me and my nerves stood on red alert. These belly flutters needed to scram, so I could focus on making my home like the beach scene in my head—serene, comforting, and safe.

  Provided I could afford it.

  Under my friends’ intense scrutiny, pressure to date “for real” pressed down on me like a ten-ton brick. Pressure to keep an open mind with Chase . . . or, whoever else I lined up to date. But the thought of being hurt again sparked a vise-like grip on my heart.

  No, I didn’t need a license to date. I needed a license to decorate. And my friends needed to go.

  Whipping my fingers across my phone, I texted Ginger: There are dozens of bars downtown. Pick another one to hang at. ANY other one. Pretty please?

  Turning my head, I watched Ginger pull out her cell, scan the screen, then whisper to Kristen. Hopefully they were discussing an alternate location. I loved my friends, but it was ridiculous that they’d followed me here.

  Ping! Ping!

  Ginger replied: We prefer watching you flirt with the hot bartender. What’s his story? Single?

  With Paul’s friendly personality (and his mega hotness), he had to have a girlfriend. Maybe several. I glanced over to where Paul “part deux” mixed the couple’s drinks while making snappy conversation. No way he was single.

  I tapped out my reply: Don’t know, and don’t care. His name is PAUL. Need I say more?

  After a sip of my drink, my phone beeped, and I found a text from Kristen: I’ll caulk your tub if you get Paul’s #.

  In an ultimate betrayal, my mouth watered at the offer: You’re bluffing. Marriage therapists don’t know how to caulk anything.

  A few seconds later: Ethan remodeled his entire house on his own. He’ll help me.

  Smart thinking, using her boyfriend as a negotiation tool. Since it’d be nice to take a bath without worrying about water seeping into my wall, I sent: You’re on.

  Paul returned, slid my check over to me, then picked up our conversation as if he’d never left. “Dating deal or not, part of you must want to go out with this guy or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Not even one molecule,” I assured him, then took a deep breath and blurted, “Can I get your phone number?”

  He’d been running my credit card, but stopped to stare at me—his deep, blue eyes widening in surprise. He stared at me for a few seconds as if assessing me. Then his gaze wandered over to Ginger and Kristen, then back to me. For a moment, uncertainty and disappointment flashed in his expression. Abruptly, I realized that even hot, flirtatious bartenders had feelings and he clearly thought I was playing some game with him.

  Feeling like I’d swallowed a rock, I said, “I’m sorry. Forget it.”

  He set my receipt and credit card in front of me. “Is this part of your dating deal?”

  “No.” My stomach roiled at the white lie and I felt compelled by honesty to say, “This was for a different deal and you must think I’m horrible. But we’re just playing a silly game. I’m not making fun of you. I think you’re great. I even think the guy I’m meeting tonight is nice. But I’m—I’m trying to take a break from dating and my friends have been pressuring me so . . .”

  “So you’ve decided to turn the tables on them,” he said with a slow smile.

  Relieved that he was no longer looking at me like I was scum, I nodded.

  His eyes softened. “Someone hurt you?”

  I stiffened. “Pardon?”

  “You said you wanted a break from dating. I assume it’s because some guy hurt you.”

  Hurt me? More like ripped my heart out of my chest, smashed it against the dirty city sidewalk, then stomped on it for good measure. I shrugged. “That’s life, right?”

  “Not my life. And it shouldn’t be yours, either.”

  I stared at him in shock. I just met this guy and he didn’t know anything about me—

  “Not that we know each other, of course,” he said. “So I don’t expect you to believe me.” He winked. “I think you’re doing the right thing by taking a break, though. If you’re not ready to date, you’re not ready. So what do you get if I give you my phone number? Because that’s it, right? You weren’t planning on actually asking me out?”

  He watched me carefully. Looked almost as if he wanted me to correct him. But that couldn’t be what he wanted. He was probably just being insightful. Bartenders were the world’s best counselors, right? He could likely give Kristen a run for her money. Plus, working in a bar, this guy must meet women all the time. He was just good at the over-the-bar talk, and must not realize when he switched from friendly to flirty.

  I shook my head. “Just need your phone number. If I get it, Kristen has to caulk my tub. I bought a house that I’m remodeling. If I go on five dates, they’ve agreed to help me paint the interior. I’m waiting for date number one.”

  “When are you planning to paint?”

  “This weekend.”

  His eyebrows rose and he grinned. “Go you, spunky. That’ll teach them to try and pressure you.”

  My mouth turned upward and I felt happier than I had in a long time. Of course, that immediately made me worry. I was done with relying on guys to make me happy. At least I thought I was. . . .

  “So, how about it then?” I pushed the pen toward him.

  “Hang on a sec,” he said, then scooted down the bar to wait on a middle-aged man.

  My eyes immediately followed him until my cell pinged.

  Did you get it? Ginger texted.

  No.

  Did you ask?

  Yes. There. Let her feel bad that she’d encouraged me to ask for a hot guy’s phone number and I’d gotten shot down. Maybe they’d feel so badly they’d actually leave before Chase got here. Or so I hoped.

  “Is that them?”

  My head jerked up. Paul squared (though nothing about this guy was square in any way, that’s for sure) had returned.

  “W-What?” I stammered.

  He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way. “Are your friends texting you about getting my phone number?”

  “Yes,” I said reluctantly, not wanting to lie to him but not wanting to say anything that would make my friends look bad in his eyes. Deep down, I knew they just wanted me to be happy.

  “Want to have some fun at their expense?”

  If I’d caught any sense of meanness in his tone, I would have shot him down, but he didn’t seem to have a mean bone in his body. He was all easy-going charm and I reminded myself that Ginger and Kristen had followed me here. I caught the mischievous glint in his eyes and a fun little zing zipped through my body. “What do you have in mind?”

  He leaned toward me, bracing his elbows on the table. In an instant, his amicable expression turned to one filled with heat. I sucked in a breath as he reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. Then he leaned closer, making me shiver with every little puff of breath that tickled the sensitive skin on my neck.
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br />   I could practically hear Ginger and Kristen’s shocked intakes of breath behind me.

  “How’s this for starters?” he whispered.

  “Not bad,” I said, trying not to hyperventilate. He smelled so good and all of a sudden I had the strong urge to pull him down and kiss him. Just plant my mouth on his, not caring who saw us. Not caring who I was supposed to be meeting or that I wasn’t supposed to be dating for real.

  But the new Paul was playing with me. He had to be. So I cleared my throat and decided to beat him at his own game. I wrapped my hand around his neck, turned my head until my lips just about touched his, then whispered, “Does this mean I get your number?”

  He pulled slowly back. Straightened. Then shook his head. “Nope.”

  My eyes rounded in shock. “Nope?”

  “I don’t think your date would like it.”

  “But my date’s not here and . . .”

  “Kaitlin?” came a voice behind me.

  I slowly turned on my seat. And saw Chase.

  I was so busted.

  Chapter Three

  “Kaitlin Murray,” I said, leaning toward the speaker phone on my desk at work.

  “I have Kristen on the line for you. Again.” William, our receptionist, called out in a strained voice. “She’s not taking no for an answer.”

  This was the third time Kristen had called and I also had two voicemails from her on my cell. Hoping she hadn’t given poor William an earful, I relented. “Okay, put her through.”

  I waited for the ring, then snatched up the receiver. “Save your breath. I don’t want to talk about Chase, last night, or anything remotely related to dating. And, prepare yourself, because in four more days you’ll be—”

  “I’m engaged,” Kristen said, but her voice lacked any trace of excitement.

  My forehead creased as I leaned back in my office chair. “If this is some kind of trick you and Ginger have concocted, I don’t get it.”

  “Well, get this: I. Am. Engaged.”