by Lisa Scott
He frowned at me. “No. If I were Australian I’d sound like an ass.” He shuddered a bit as he said it. “I’m South African.”
“Oh.” I scrunched my eyebrows, trying to remember Miranda’s status with the African nations. “Let me get back to you. You don’t have a yacht, do you?”
He shook his head.
“A dinghy?”
He just looked at me and walked away.
“What the hell?” I mumbled. “I was going to ask her if she was interested. She’s got a tour-of-thenations thing going on.”
Brady refilled my Coke and dropped in a handful of cherries. “Back to your totally plausible theory on men and our shallow evolutionary desires. If that’s all we Neanderthals want is a beautiful woman—never mind smarts, or humor, or loyalty, or any of that business—what about you women? What do you want?”
“Simple.” I shrugged. “Power and money to help raise all your children.”
He laughed. “Then I’m in big trouble because I’ve got neither.”
“Well, not all women want that. I suppose those of us who aren’t evolutionary goddesses know we have to settle.” I wasn’t about to tell him that he was a Ryan Reynolds’ look-alike and could get any woman in the bar. “As we just saw, you don’t have a hard time with the ladies. How do you fend them off?”
“I tell them all I’ve got a girlfriend.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears and prayed it wasn’t frizzing. “Is that the truth or an excuse?”
He folded his arms and his expression turned serious. “I’ll be honest with you to balance out your lying. It’s an excuse, because I typically don’t like to swim in the dating pool that shows up here.”
I set my hand in my chin and leaned forward, intrigued. “Oh, and where do you go trolling for women?”
“I don’t make it a point to look. I figure I’ll find her when the time is right.”
“And if Miranda came over and said she was interested in you? Would the time be right then?” I toyed with the zipper pull on my purse so I didn’t have to see the truth in his eyes.
He shrugged. “I don’t even know her.”
With a wave of my hand, I dismissed that ridiculousness. “Stop it. Of course you’d go out with her.”
“Not necessarily. I might decide she was self-absorbed after a few minutes. And I’m not the only one.” He refilled a beer and slid it to the man next to me, waiting.
“I think my results so far here tonight would prove otherwise.”
“You’re polling the wrong crowd. If you and Miranda went somewhere besides a bar, I bet there’d be plenty of guys asking her about you. Here at a bar, a six-foot-tall blond woman is like a bug light. She totally stands out, attracting all the creatures buzzing about at night. And they have no idea they’re about to be zapped by you.” He pointed at me and I thought about biting his finger.
I rolled my eyes instead. “She stands out everywhere.”
He tipped his head and stared at me for a moment. I wondered if I’d forgotten to pluck my right eyebrow again. I fluffed my bangs and did a quick swipe for eye stubble. Phew. All clear.
“Do you always go out with her?” he asked. “Everywhere?”
“Usually.”
“Maybe Miranda’s your excuse to keep guys away.” He smiled, like he’d just come up with a great new As-Seen-On-TV invention.
I opened my mouth then snapped it shut. “I need a minute to think about that warped logic.”
“You’re not going to meet a nice guy at a bar. And certainly not with her in tow.”
“Then good thing I have a cat at home who loves me, because most of the men I meet are at bars.”
He planted both hands on the counter top. “Okay. You need to meet an entirely new population of men. You’ve been corrupted by losers. I’ve got a proposition. Come with me to my baseball game tomorrow—without Miranda—and we’ll see how many guys are interested in you.”
I tried to look incredibly offended. “Good Lord, you make me feel like chattel. Are you going to sell me to the highest bidder?”
“I’m just intent on proving your theory wrong. I’ll bet you have a date in three weeks.”
“Three weeks? You think it’s going to take that long? Thanks.”
He forced a great big smile for me. “No, I just imagine you’re going to be very difficult about this.”
“That’s very true. But let’s place the stakes on this bet.” I narrowed my eyes, thinking, and then snapped my fingers. “A t-shirt that says, “She’s Taken.” I can flash it at guys when they come up to ask about Miranda.”
He frowned. “Now, what good will that be for me when I win it? Because I will.”
“I’ll have it printed to say “I’m Taken” so you can use it when girls itching to lose their bras come up to you.”
He reached over the bar to shake my hand. “Deal. And I wear a Large. Meet me at this address tomorrow at one.” He scrawled directions to his baseball game on the back of a bar napkin as Miranda wandered over.
I picked up the glass of scotch. “Want some?” I asked her. “You helped me get it.”
She smoothed her hand along her swan-like neck, which looked like it belonged in a classy erotic photo display. “Can I have a glass of water?” She tucked her hair over one shoulder and smiled at Brady.
And he got her some water pretty damn fast.
“Who’s your friend, Jane?” she asked, lowering her lashes.
No, not the coy voice! Not the lust lashes! “This is Brady. Brady, this is my friend Miranda.”
She reached over to squeeze the tips of his fingers. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Bad news, he’s not Australian and he doesn’t have a yacht. I checked.”
He laughed, and wiped the bar with his rag. “Plus, I have a girlfriend.”
And didn’t that make my heart sing?
She stuck out her bottom lip and turned to me. “In that case, I’m ready to go home. How about you?”
I hopped off the barstool. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
She headed for the door, and I swiped the napkin from the bar.
“The medication making her sleepy?” Brady asked.
“Nah, it’s a parole curfew.”
Out came the dimples. “See you tomorrow.”
“Only to prove you wrong.” I smiled at him over my shoulder as we left.
“Damn,” Miranda said, climbing into the cab. “He was cute. He would have been fun.”
I said nothing, annoyed for the first time that she could have whoever she wanted. But Brady told her he was taken. That made me squeal inside. “He’s a bartender. Not your type.” Normally, I supported any fling she was considering. She had very good reason to pack in as much fun as possible. I did my best to make sure she didn’t get hurt in the process. It’s a role I’d been playing for a while.
She leaned her head back against the seat while I tried to touch as little of the foul, plastic, peeling material on the seats as possible.
“So, what was your best excuse of the night?” she asked.
I tapped my fingers on my thigh, thinking, as the cab lurched through the city, the pine tree air-freshener swinging on the rear view mirror. “Actually, Brady helped me out with a good one.”
“The bartender knew what you were doing?”
“He overheard me. And I used one on him when he asked me if you’d want a drink. Told him it didn’t mix with your meds.”
She pretended to slug me. “Don’t scare away the cute ones.”
I threw up my hands. “What? I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“I could be interested for a night or two.”
“He’s too nice for that.”
She gave me a look. “Did someone finally catch your eye?”
I shook my head too hard. “No, he was just fun, helping me come up with excuses. We told one guy your boyfriend was in the bar—fresh out of jail.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. “Oh, Jan
ey, I do love you.”
The cab pulled in front our apartment building. She lived across the hall from me in downtown Springfield. Which was like a zebra living in Idaho, really. Why she wasn’t a model living in Boston or some other big city was beyond me. But she was quite content working as a kindergarten teacher with her summers off. Those poor little boys in her class would never find a woman who could live up to their first teacher crush. I’m sure there were a few smitten daddies, too, scheduling extra parent-teacher conferences.
“I’ll be up around noon. Want to do lunch?” she asked.
I opened the door to the building. “Some of us have to work,” I whispered.
“Oh, you’re no fun.”
“And you’re all fun. We balance out.”
“Add Brady to my list. If he’s ever available, I’m in. We’ll have to check back in a few weeks. Nighty-night, Janey. Love you.” She blew me a kiss and let herself into her apartment.
Glad someone does. “Back at ya,” I said.
The only reason I tried on seven different outfits the next day was because of the flaky weather report. Sun, rain, hail—make up your mind, weather people. Plus, purple and blue both played up my eyes, but which to choose?
Mr. Mew just looked at me with his big yellow eyes, so he was no help. I went with blue and hoped for the best.
Not that it mattered what I was wearing, I decided, driving to the baseball field. Brady would be a good friend to have. Yep, just what a girl like me needed, another good-looking guy friend. But I left my loose, brown curls down, because sometimes they looked cute bouncing on my shoulders. Or so Miranda told me. And as much as I liked running around without makeup, I put on pale lipstick, eyeliner and mascara. I looked as good I could without appearing as though I’d tried. It’s a hard balance to strike.
I was hoping Brady wouldn’t be as hot in the daylight, so that maybe I could shake these feelings, but his tight white pants and McGinty’s Bar t-shirt only made his assets more visible. I nodded in approval. Hopefully, he was friends with equally gorgeous men. The mythical ones, who valued personality and humor in a girl over looks. He was so losing this bet.
I waved to him when he spotted me leaning against the chain link fence surrounding the field. He was practicing with his teammates and tossed the ball to the guy on third base, then ran over, leaving a trail of red dust in his wake. I tried to remember the last time I’d made it to third base and I was coming up blank.
“You came,” he said with a smile.
And that hasn’t happened in a while either, I thought to myself. “Only to prove you wrong.” I wrapped my fingers around the metal links.
“Nope, I think I’m going to have a new T-shirt to keep the ladies in line.”
I tried to swat his arm but he ducked out of the way. “Go sit down and cheer for me. But don’t get too hoarse. I’m awesome; you’ll have lots of cheering to do.”
“Clearly you’re awesome. You have to be, to make it to the bar league, right?”
“Try not to cut yourself with that sharp tongue. I don’t have any band-aids on me.” He shook his head, laughing, and ran onto the field.
Brady was good. He scored three runs, made a couple of key catches, and had a gaggle of girls waiting for him when it was all over. Shocker. But after some casual chitchat, he pushed his way past them and came over to me.
Yes, me—the only girl there wearing sneakers instead of high-heeled sandals, zero jewelry, and a “Wanna Smurf Around” t-shirt.
“Impressive, as promised,” I told him as he sat down next to me on the bleachers.
He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re heading to a pub down the street to celebrate our crushing victory.”
He didn’t have to say so, but I knew this is where he was going to put his theory to the test. I should have been nervous realizing I’d soon be trying to charm his friends with my wit and personality. But I knew it was going to lead nowhere, and being right was so much fun. Plus that “She’s Taken” t-shirt would come in handy.
“It’s close enough to walk. You ready?” he asked.
“Let’s do it.”
Eight of us sat at a big table, sharing wings and war stories from our high school sports careers. Or lack of a career in my case. “I’m just saying, how many concussions do you need to suffer on the volleyball court before you realize it’s not your calling? The coaches pawned me off on each other until I finally gave up sports and joined the drama club. And they kicked me out for being too dramatic.”
Brady’s friend, Flynn, just laughed and shook his head. “What kind of volleyballs did you use? I remember them being very soft.”
“True, but the floor was quite hard when the ball hit me and knocked me over.”
Flynn’s eyes swept over me. “You should have moved on to beach volleyball. You certainly could handle the uniform.” Up went a sexy eyebrow. “I could teach you a few moves this weekend. Bunch of us are hitting the beach on the South Shore if you’re interested.”
I almost ducked, hearing the flirty comment sail my way, like an errant volleyball. I looked over at Brady, expecting a told-you-so smirk, but he was frowning. “She can’t make it.” He scratched his head. “She just had a pre-cancerous mole removed. A great big one on her back. It was all hairy. And lumpy. She has to stay out of the sun unless she’s totally covered up.”
My mouth dropped open and I glared at him. Who did he think he was—me? And why was he shooing off the very men he’d been trying to set me up with? I excused myself to hit the restroom and jerked my head, signaling him to follow me.
As he caught up to me outside the bathroom, I pretended to fan myself. “Gosh, Mr. Quinn, how could I have forgotten my great big sunbonnet today to shield me from the venomous rays of the sun?” I crossed my arms. “And did you have to make the mole hairy? God. Did I miss the purpose of today’s little exercise?” I tried to sound mad, but he flashed these puppy-dog eyes at me that would undoubtedly get him out of any jam.
He grabbed my shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry. He definitely seemed interested, but he’s no good for you.”
I swatted away his hands. “I’ll decide that for myself once I see if he has six-pack abs or not. And I suspect he does.”
He looked at me, incredulous. “And you say men are the ones after looks.”
“Without money or power, six-pack abs are a nice consolation prize.”
He shook his head. “He’s got the abs—and three ex-fiancées. He left each one within the month before the wedding.”
I leaned back against the wall next to the kitchen. “Cream of the crop you’ve got here for me today. Thanks, Brady.”
“I kind of forgot about that. Normally, I don’t think about all that bullshit. But with you, I have to.”
“Compliment or put down? I just can’t decide.”
“You deserve better than that, Jane. Plus, I’m a little scared of you.”
I slugged his arm and pushed past him into the bathroom. Truth was, none of his friends would do. Not while he was hanging around. But I had to face the facts—if he was trying to set me up with his buddies, he must not be interested in me. Deal with it.
He was waiting for me when I came out. People were clearing away from the table and he dropped a few twenties by the check to pay for our share.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I’m lucky I could cover it. I got lousy tips last night because someone was distracting me all night.”
My first thought was Miranda, but then I realized he meant me.
“Hey, I could have set you up with Miranda in exchange. She was definitely interested. It’s not too late.” How much did it suck, saying that?
He looked down at me, and his eyes locked on mine. “I’m not interested.”
I sucked in a little breath. “You’re going to have to explain that to me one of these days.”
He just shook his head. “Maybe one of these days you’ll figure it out for yourself.”
We stopped wa
lking when we reached my car. “So, day one and no success. I’m still dateless. That T-shirt is going to look so cute on me.”
He ignored me. “Good news. My buddy, Dave, is having a barbecue this Wednesday night. Kind of a hump-day thing. How ‘bout I pick you up at six?”
“Should I bring anything? Nothing homemade. I’m not that kind of girl.” Just wanted to get that out in the open.
“Nope. Just your acerbic wit. I’m sure you’ll be serving up rounds of it.”
I really didn’t want our day together to end. In a movie, this is where we’d make an awkward attempt to kiss each other and it would end up being so awesome, we’d tumble into the car only to emerge rapturous and flushed, hours later. Or maybe interrupted by the police in a slapstick scene. Or aliens in a sci-fi movie. Or a killer in a horror flick. I shuddered, imagining that, but I still wanted a kiss.
But he just patted the roof of my car, waiting for me to get in.
So, I climbed in. It was getting late, and duty called at the vet clinic the next day. Poor, furry suckers didn’t know their early morning joy-ride was going to be the end of their manhood. There were three neuters scheduled for the next morning. That’s something a girl needed to rest up for.
“See you Wednesday,” he said.
I waved goodbye, pretending I wouldn’t be counting down the hours. All seventy-two of them.
Brady picked me up in his Wrangler, and I was more excited to see him than the time I saw Santa behind our house the night before Christmas. I hoped this hot, funny guy wasn’t going to just turn out to be make-believe, too. I liked him more and more each time I saw him.
“Did you tell Miranda what you’re up to?” he asked.
“Since she lives across the hall from me I would’ve, but she’s down on the Cape this week at someone’s beach house. Apparently the dry cleaner is the new place to meet hot men.”
“Or at least cleanly-dressed men.”
“I’m sure he’s both. And rich.” I was glad I didn’t have to tell Miranda about my “date” with Brady. She probably would’ve wanted to come along and I wasn’t willing to share. She had enough boys to play with.
Brady slowed the car. “Should we make a detour to the dry cleaner before the party?”
