by Graves, Jane
Even if that place included Brett Hollister.
As Kelsey took a seat at the bar, she saw Brett entertaining three preening, twenty‑something women. Their overly‑mascaraed eyes followed the action as he grabbed a glass from the rack, flipped it into the air and caught it again. Then he slapped it down on the bar with one hand as he picked up a liquor bottle with the other and poured, talking to the women the whole time, his smile lighting up the entire room. The women responded with every ounce of flirtability they possessed, sucked into Brett’s dazzling orbit like planets circling the sun.
Kelsey did a mental eye roll. Those women are pitiful. Just pitiful.
Then again, what right did she have to judge them? Hadn’t she been sucked in herself last night, right up to the moment Edwin’s interruption brought her back to her senses?
After finishing with the women, Brett turned and caught sight of Kelsey. When he flashed her one of his sunny smiles, she almost smiled back.
No! Don’t you fall for that. He’s a phony. Everything about that man is phony!
He grabbed a glass, and a moment later he set her usual drink in front of her—a White Russian made with nonfat milk.
“And how was your day?” he asked.
Just the sound of his voice made her heart pick up its pace, and she took a sip of her drink to calm it. She refused to act as if she’d given a second thought to what happened between them last night.
“About like always,” she said.
“Don’t spare the details. Cops’ lives are exciting.”
“You’ve been watching too much television.”
“I’m a bartender. Anybody’s day is more thrilling than mine.”
“If you must know, Angi and I broke up a fist fight in front of the Marriott between two women who’d had six Mimosas for breakfast. Each. Then later we suggested to a guy that he might want to pee someplace other than on the sidewalk. Let’s see…what else? Oh, yeah. We pulled three kilos of coke out of a wrecked Hummer.”
“Now, see? That’s even better than TV.”
“Uh-huh. And the day started out with the sergeant busting a few balls at roll call. That’s always fun.”
“I take it because balls were busted, you and Angi weren’t included? Or was that metaphorical?”
“No, it was literal,” Kelsey deadpanned. “Angi and I are anatomical freaks of nature.”
“Hey, I don’t presume,” Brett said. “You’re a pretty tough chick, you know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you just call me a chick?”
“Oh, wow. I got that wrong, didn’t I?” His brows drew together with confusion. “Should I have said babe? Or honey? Or sweetheart?” Finally he gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I really try, but I just can’t keep up with what’s politically correct these days.”
Kelsey rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink. But as annoying as Brett was being, at least it was the Brett she knew and hated, without him doing any of that crap he’d tried last night. Everything was back to normal, thank God. That was a good thing. Or at least she thought it was a good thing.
It was a good thing.
Wasn’t it?
“Just so you know,” Kelsey said offhandedly, “I saw your friend request. But the only people I friend on Facebook are ones I know really well.”
“Is that right?” he said, polishing a wineglass.
“So I don’t want you to take it personally if I don’t accept.”
Brett hung the wineglass in the rack over his head. “Have you ever thought about expanding your circle of friends?”
“Actually, no.”
Brett laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Kelsey frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’re not exactly an open book.”
“Exactly. Nothing’s worse than somebody who spills every detail of their personal lives on Facebook.”
“So what do you share with those few friends of yours?”
“If I wanted you to know that, I’d accept your friend request.”
“It goes both ways, you know. If you hit that ‘accept’ button, think of all the highly personal things you’d learn about me.”
Highly personal? She doubted it. She expected she would see a lot of Facebook likes for beer brands, sports teams, and music groups, along with one photo after another of Brett with his arm slung over his girl of the evening, a drink in his hand and a night of debauchery ahead of him. She might not be an open book, but a guy like Brett most certainly was.
"About your hair," he said.
"What about it?"
He put his palms on the bar and leaned toward her, speaking softly. "I believe I requested that you wear it down tonight. Did you forget?"
"No. I didn't forget. I just chose not to. Sorry."
"No need to be sorry," he said with a smile. "After all, the evening's still young."
With that, he moved down the bar to tap a couple of brews for two guys watching the game. Stay on your toes. He's up to no good.
A minute later, Angi came into the bar and slid onto the stool next to Kelsey. “Is Paul here yet?” she whispered, looking around.
“Haven’t seen him,” Kelsey said.
“How do I look?”
Kelsey’s gaze traveled from her stretchy top with the plunging neckline to her leopard print skirt to her black ankle strap shoes with the four-inch heels. “Like a hooker. But a classy one.”
Angi grinned. “Perfect.”
Angi ordered her usual rum and diet Coke, and a few minutes later, Paul came through the door. His wavy blond hair was swept back, giving anybody within shouting distance a clear view of his spectacular green eyes. He wasn’t as hot as Brett, but only because few men were. She could see why Angi had a thing for him, though, assuming all a woman cared about were good looks.
“Hello, ladies,” he said, as he took the barstool next to Angi. “Big news. As of two o’clock today, I became a happily divorced man.” He rubbed his hands together with a big smile. “So let’s get this party started.”
Brett set a Sam Adams down in front of him. “So it’s final, huh?”
“Yep,” Paul said. “My parole was granted.”
“So you’re not hung up on your wife anymore? Worried she’s going to show up?”
“Hell, no. She doesn’t have a hold on me anymore. I’m free!”
“Good. Because she just walked through the door.”
Paul whipped around with a panicked expression, ducking a little. “Where?”
“Right over th—oh, wait. Never mind. That’s not her. I must have been mistaken.”
Paul turned back and glared at Brett. “Dude! Don’t fuck with me like that!”
“You’re divorced, buddy. The Wicked Witch is dead. Relax.”
Paul closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. “You weren’t married to her for five years. Five long, long years.”
“Forget about her,” Brett said. “Drink.”
“I intend to. I’m feeling good. Ready for anything.” Paul turned to Angi. “And I do mean anything.”
When Angi smiled in return, Paul moved closer and stared shamelessly down the front of her shirt. Pretty soon he was turned ninety degrees with his foot on the rung of her barstool, resting his elbow on the bar and giving her his undivided attention. Kelsey sipped her drink and watched the ball game on the TV over the bar, because that was a lot more interesting than hearing Paul talk about how his divorce attorney made sure he got custody of the plasma TV, the king-sized bed, and the Keurig coffeemaker.
Then all at once Paul stopped midsentence, slowly swiveling his head away from Angi to focus his attention on the door. Kelsey glanced that way and saw Elena walk in. She wore a red skirt and stratospheric heels. She flicked her eyes back and forth, evaluating the situation. Since there were no seats at the bar near Paul, she slithered toward a table, and his eyes stayed glued to her the whole way. She sat down, then stretched out one long, tanned leg from underneath the t
able and slowly crossed the other one over it.
“Hey!” Angi said.
Paul turned back, blinking several times, as if he’d awakened from a very pleasant dream. Angi slid her hand up his thigh to within inches of his crotch.
“Let’s go to my place,” she said.
Paul looked surprised. “Uh…”
“You have to think about it?”
“No!”
“So finish your beer.”
He took a sip.
“I said finish it.”
He tipped it up and drained the bottle.
“Now pay Brett what you owe him.”
Paul tossed down a few bills.
“Bigger tip,” she said.
Paul rolled his eyes and tossed a few more bucks on the bar.
“Now, come on.”
As they rose from their barstools, Kelsey whispered to Angi. “Really? I came here for this? If I’d known you were going to put a leash on him and drag him to your apartment, I’d have stayed home.”
“No,” she whispered back. “I needed you.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. Moral support?”
“Wrong. There’s nothing moral about any of this.”
“Hey, Kelsey,” Paul said. “I don’t mind if you come along. A three-way is fine with me.”
Both women turned to glare at him.
“Uh-oh,” he said. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
Angi grabbed Paul’s arm. “I’ll call you later,” she told Kelsey. As they walked away, Brett grabbed a bottle of something blue and started mixing a drink.
“Wow,” he said. “That was fast.”
“Yeah. Angi doesn’t mess around.”
“You know, Paul’s fine to hang out with. But as much as he bitched about his wife, he wasn’t exactly husband of the year."
"I thought you two were friends."
"We are. But he's got no backbone. Believe me—if his ex‑wife really had walked in here, he would have come unglued.” He leaned in and spoke quietly. “Tell Angi she can do better.”
“She’s not interested in doing better. Hot sex with no strings attached works for her.”
“Well, then. I guess she and Paul are a match made in heaven.”
Brett poured something pink over the blue liquid in the glass, and Kelsey had a flashback to the night before.
“So who ordered the pinky-blue thing?” she said.
Brett set the drink in front of her. “You did.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “No way. Not another one of those.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“I liked it just fine. I just don’t want another one. But I do want my check.” “Nope. You can’t leave. There’s still alcohol in front of you.”
“I told you I don’t want it.”
“More self deprivation?”
“I’ve had enough for one evening.”
“One drink?”
“I’m over my monthly budget for alcohol.”
“It’s on the house.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why are you giving me a free drink?”
“Bribery. See, I got this traffic ticket today, and you’re a cop, so I thought maybe—“
“Brett?”
“What?”
“Do you ever answer questions the way you’re supposed to?”
“What do you mean?
“Truthfully. You don’t even own a car.”
“Okay. The truth? Angi’s gone, so you want to go, too. But I don't want you to, because I haven’t closed out yet. Carlos just got here. He’s going to close tonight, which means if you hang around for a while, you and I can have a drink together. Now, won’t that be nice?”
No. She knew what he was up to. The pinky-blue drink was just part of his evil plan to get her to give in to him, and she was having no part of it.
“I told you I don’t want another drink,” she said.
Brett looked at her dumbly. “Kelsey?”
“What?”
“Could you make this any more difficult?”
“Make what any more difficult?”
Brett leaned over and beat his head against the bar. When he lifted it again, he looked exasperated. “Five minutes. Just sit there until I close out. Can you do that?”
Without waiting for her answer, he went to his cash register. Kelsey looked at the drink, remembering how it had tasted last night. Hmm. Maybe if she took just one sip. One sip while his back was turned—
No! Time to wise up. Was she going to let him get her drunk again? She’d narrowly escaped making a fool out of herself last night, and she didn’t want to go there again. She reached into her purse and tossed a few bills on the bar. Yeah, it was a big tip, but she wasn’t about to have him come back later and tell her she was a tightwad.
There. So much for his manipulation.
She left the bar and started down the sidewalk, dodging a guy on a bicycle, then stepping the other way to avoid a fire hydrant. When she reached the corner, she obeyed the “Road Closed” sign, which blocked the street ahead while the city replaced sewer lines. She wished they’d get the work done—going around took forever. She began the long walk around the block, finally ending up back on the street she wished she’d been on all along.
Then all at once, a man fell into step beside her, a little too close for comfort. She turned, intending to tell him to back off, when she realized who it was. She stopped and faced him.
“Brett? What are you doing?”
“Walking home with you.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Kelsey opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She narrowed her eyes. “How did you catch up to me?”
“I’m a fast walker.”
“You ignored the roadblocks, didn’t you? Those are there for a reason.”
“The street workers went home hours ago.”
“Are you crazy? Walking through there is dangerous!”
“But if I’d followed the signs, I never would have caught up with you.”
Circular logic. God, she hated that.
With a heavy sigh, Kelsey turned and kept walking, and Brett fell into step beside her again. A stray cat poked at a pile of trash at the curb, scurrying away as they drew closer. Kelsey looked at the trash with disgust. “Someday I'm moving to a place where they don't pile trash on the sidewalk at night.”
Brett took a deep breath, then exhaled with satisfaction. “Nope. New York wouldn't be New York without the trash.”
“Is there anything on earth that bugs you?”
“What's the point of getting bugged? Wherever you are, live it.”
They kept walking. Brett started whistling. As usual, it was some cheery little melody that grated on Kelsey’s nerves.
“Stop it,” she said.
“What?”
“Whistling. You’ll attract stray dogs.”
“So dogs love show tunes?”
Kelsey frowned. “You’re walking home with me just to annoy me, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m walking home with you to protect you.”
She laughed. “Do you really think I need you to protect me?”
“You woman. Me man. It’s what we do.”
“You’ve never done it before.”
“I’ve never arranged my schedule so I could.”
Her heart did that funny thing again. He’s up to something. Never forget that.
“We live in a decent neighborhood,” she said.
“Yes, and we have to walk through a crappy neighborhood to get there. Not bad during the day, but you need to watch it at night.”
“You do realize I’m a cop, don’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s hard to miss. It adds such dimension to your personality.”
She stopped short. “Why are you such a smart ass?”
He stopped and faced her, shrugging. “Just comes naturally, I guess.”
“Have you thought about just acti
ng nice?”
Brett barked out a laugh. “Nice? You run right over nice men. Remember that poor son of a bitch you dated for about a month? The one who ironed his jeans?”
“Michael?”
“Yeah. He brought you flowers. You acted as if they were lit sticks of dynamite.”
“I did not.”
“I saw them when you took out your trash, and they weren't anywhere near dead yet. What could possibly be wrong with flowers?”
He didn't get it. It wasn't the flowers. It was the whole dating ritual that left her cold. Every guy did the same stupid things. Took her to restaurants and movies. Brought her flowers. Suggested they go ice skating at Rockefeller Center at Christmas because that was supposed to be romantic. And she was supposed to smile and act as if it was so unique and personal. Not one guy in--well, ever--had stopped to think about what she might actually like.
All at once a cab swung way too close to the curb. Brett grabbed her arm and yanked her hard to one side. When the cab veered away again, honking at the car that had sideswiped it, she shook loose from his grasp.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“Uh…trying to save you from getting mowed down by a cab?”
“Well, knock it off,” she said, walking again. “I can take care of myself.”
“I was being nice. I believe you requested that?”
“Oh. Then forget nice. I don’t like it.”
She kept walking. He shouted at her. “Hey!”
She spun around. “What do you want?”
“What do I have to do to get your attention?” He walked over and stopped in front of her. “When I flirt with you at the bar, all I get for my trouble is a dirty look.”
Kelsey blinked with surprise. “Flirt?”
