by Cindi Madsen
“Nooo.”
“Yes.”
“Man, I was rooting for him, too.” Ivy flipped up a glass and poured frothy pink liquid into it.
“Yeah, me too. He called earlier, when I was at family dinner, and since I know how hard dating can be for shy people, I thought about giving him another chance. See if his nerves would settle in time. I still sent it to voicemail, though, because ain’t nobody interrupt a Gamble family dinner.”
Ivy laughed. “For such sweet looking ladies, your mom and aunt are kind of scary.”
“You’re telling me. Aunt Velma made it clear my ponytail wasn’t up to par.” I didn’t feel like going into Mama’s not-so-veiled mention of Mason.
Ivy stuck a cherry on the rim of the cocktail and I was tempted to swipe it and take a taste. “Aw, it’s a beautiful ponytail. You look nice.”
“Thank you,” I said with a justified nod.
Ivy held up a finger, delivered the cocktail to a sophisticated-looking older woman, and then came back over. “So, do you want me to make you a lemon martini?”
“Not yet. Wade should be here soon, so I’m going to wait for him to order.”
“Oh, yeah. Runner dude.” A dreamy look crossed her features. “That guy is sex on a stick.”
My nose automatically wrinkled. “You know, I’ve never understood that expression. I like guys much bulkier than a stick, and I think I’m just too literal for it to conjure a good image.”
Before she could counter, Linc came over and plopped himself right in front of me, forearms crossed on the bar between us. “Hey,” he said with his typical Lincoln Wells charisma, his blue eyes practically twinkling, damn them. “For a second I thought maybe the famous Savannah Gamble had come to see me, but then I remembered you’re a player now, out with a different guy every night.”
My jaw dropped and a gasp escaped. “I’m not a player! I’m dating, and unlike some people, I’m upfront about what’s going on. There’s no playing involved.”
Ivy shoved his arm. “Leave her alone. She’s got months of going without to make up for.”
I really wished she hadn’t phrased it that way, and when she looked at me, eyes wide, she seemed to realize she’d accidentally crossed a line. It was a good thing I loved her.
The door opened and Wade strolled in. He wasn’t wearing a sleeveless tee tonight, but the short-sleeved one he wore clung to his muscles and left little to the imagination.
Ivy grabbed Linc and hauled him to the other side of the bar, which made up for her “going without” comment. Meeting a guy for drinks for the first time at Azure was so habitual that I hadn’t thought about how weird it’d be with Linc also there. Ivy always had my back, though. I hated to leave that extra safety net behind until I knew more about a guy besides he jogged in the park and his muscular arms could hypnotize you if you stared too long.
He sat on the next stool over and flashed me a wide grin that had a little too much swagger in it. His gaze flickered to my cleavage and held for a beat before slowly moving back to my face. That’s one red flag.
I might only call it half a flag, because I could hardly discount every dude who checked out boobs or I’d be single forever, but the cocky grin pushed it to one.
“You look hot,” he said, following the statement up with the nod.
“Thanks. You too.”
Hot. Not beautiful. To flag or not to flag? A guy who called me hot after we knew each other was all good, but right off the bat signaled he might be looking for only physical and temporary.
Ivy approached us, and he only half-turned to her. He didn’t ogle her like most men did, either, which I figured negated the flag I almost gave him for the hot comment.
Eyes still on me, he said, “I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, and she’ll have a rum and Coke.”
Whoa. It’d been a while since a guy brazenly ordered me a drink without consulting me first. I knew some women actually liked it, but it was such a machismo move, and I’d never been a fan. I could make my own decisions, and to me, it showed a lack of respect for my opinion. Not to mention my mama believed Coke cured stomach aches, so I associated it with being sick—not that I’d ever say that mood-ruining statement aloud.
Ivy glanced at me. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
Wade started right in with the flirting, body squared to me, his hand squeezing mine as he relayed his disappointment that we hadn’t run into each other again at the park. I joked that Ivy and I were more reluctant once-a-week joggers—which I guess was more truth than a joke, but we shared a laugh over it anyhow.
He worked in a mention about how he used to play college football and then moved right into his sales job—something involving pre-IPOs. While I was a little fuzzy on what exactly he sold, the fact that he thought he ruled at it wasn’t fuzzy at all.
He vaguely acknowledged Ivy when she placed our drinks in front of us—she’d made me a lemon martini instead of the rum and Coke. Another point for keeping my casual drink dates here.
Just when I thought he was going to dominate the evening’s conversation, he asked me about my job.
“I’m a certified dating consultant and coach,” I said.
Confusion creased his brow. “People pay money for that?”
“Luckily for me, yeah.”
“Huh.” He shrugged and signaled for another drink. Instead of taking offense, I reminded myself that just the other night I’d thought that I needed someone strong and self-assured.
There’s definitely no danger of him asking me for dating advice. We continued to keep talk fairly casual, and while I was tempted to glance at Ivy and Linc—her for her read on the situation and him because my brain couldn’t ever seem to shut off his presence—I resisted and kept my attention on my very confident date.
After Wade downed his third scotch, he leaned in and put his hand on my knee. He brushed his thumb across the bare skin there and his lips moved next to my ear. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You know, that’s nice of you to ask”—or demand—“but I thought we’d just keep it at drinks tonight.”
His hand inched higher, approaching the hem of my skirt. “I have drinks at my place.”
I fiddled with my earring, but Ivy didn’t show. When I looked for her, she wasn’t behind the bar. While having her help me out of a conversation was convenient—not to mention usually prevented offense and hurt feelings—I could handle myself. “Maybe some other time.”
“Oh, come on. I promise I’ll show you a good time.” He flashed the same grin he gave me at the beginning of the night, only now it was sloppy with alcohol.
And really? Had that actually worked on women who’d said no before? Just an “Oh, come on, it’ll be a good time,” with a smile that’d morphed from cocky to jackass somewhere along the way? The sad truth was probably, and probably many, many times.
I placed my hand over his, stopping its progress on my leg, and pushed it away. “Did you drive here?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, considering how much you drank, I’d suggest taking a cab home. Do you want me to call one for you?”
“Don’t worry, baby. I’m not drunk.” He stood, tugging me up with him. My pulse quickened, that pounding sensation that appeared when life required confrontation coming on fast. I pulled free of his grip, going from semi-understanding that alcohol and he didn’t mix to playing defense.
“Did I hear someone needed a cab?” The loud voice came from behind the bar. Linc.
I glanced over my shoulder at him and took a step back from Wade. “I think my friend here does.”
“I’m fine,” Wade growled. “Now, are you coming or what?”
“Or what,” I said, sitting back down and crossing my arms.
“Tease.”
I gritted my teeth but ignored the jab and focused on how glad I was that I hadn’t given him my number. Instead of leaving, Wade made his way over to a table with two women and gave them his cocky grin. They didn�
��t seem to notice the jackass edge to it.
“You okay?” Linc asked.
“Fine.” I shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. I worried he was a bad idea, but now I know. Dating. Process of elimination. Basically the same thing.” I almost opened my mouth to explain that so wasn’t the type of guy I went for, and how I usually vetted them much better, but then I reminded myself that it didn’t matter what Linc thought of my dates.
Or it shouldn’t, anyway. I was still working to make those two things the same thing.
Linc discarded Wade’s empty glass and retrieved a clean one. “How about I make you a drink?”
“I’ll have—”
“Let me mix you something new. You’ll like it, I promise.” Before I could argue, he headed to the other end of the bar and began pouring. Ugh, what was with guys who thought they knew better than me when it came to what I wanted to drink?
A minute or so later, he placed a peach-colored concoction in front of me.
I eyed it like it might secretly contain lima beans and drummed my fingernails on the bar. “Where’s Ivy?”
“She got a phone call from her mom and had to duck out—you know how her mom gets sometimes. I think she was having it out with her current boyfriend.”
Not again. Poor Ivy. She’d had to save her mama from idiot guys countless times, and each time only added another layer of cynicism. I wished I could help—I’d offered free attendance for my workshop to Ms. Clarke-Butler-Pritchet more than once, but she claimed everything from too busy to “It just completely slipped my mind, sugar.”
I reached for my drink and took a sip, determined to tell Linc I didn’t like it and wanted my lemon martini. The instant the peachy-deliciousness hit my tongue, though, I accidentally let out an mmm noise, and I couldn’t help tipping it up for another gulp.
That damn eyebrow of his cocked up. “See? I told you you’d like it.”
I rolled my eyes, nice and big so he’d catch it. “Okay, so you got lucky.”
“No, but I actually know you. Unlike that tool over there.”
I glanced back and saw Wade still charming the women he’d joined. One of them laughed and put her hand on his arm. Oh, the red flags I could warn her about, but she was obviously interested, and it wasn’t like he was married. Besides, maybe she only wanted temporary, too.
I told myself our date wasn’t a failure, but only reaffirmed that if an overly suave guy walked like a jerk and quacked like a jerk, he probably was a jerk. “Some people you just know to be cautious about. Jocks. Bartenders—”
“Hey,” Linc said. “I take offense to both of those.”
“Sorry, but it’s the truth.”
“Ruling out an entire job? Doesn’t seem very open-minded.”
I raised my voice to include the other two bartenders. “Are you boys in serious relationships right now?”
Dan and Jesse just blinked at me.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I said. “Are either of you looking for a wife?”
“Are you proposing?” Jesse asked, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. “Because if you’re asking to marry me, I might consider it.” He punctuated his statement with an exaggerated wink.
“Ha-ha. I’ll believe that when you get down on one knee and show me the ring.” The mention of that commitment-filled gesture turned Jesse’s grin into a grimace—the guy was a huge flirt, but when it came to serious relationships, he steered clear. I turned back to Linc. “I rest my case.”
“There’s a big difference between looking for a wife and being open to a relationship if they find the right person,” he said. “And just because someone usually favors fun and temporary, doesn’t mean it won’t eventually turn into more.”
“The likelihood is really low, though—that’s the same line of thinking that gives women false hope, and I’ve watched too many get crushed when it doesn’t turn into more to consider guys like that as a good option. I’m not saying everyone has to be looking for a wife or husband—or that there’s anything wrong with people who are willing to risk fun and fleeting—but I’m at a place in my life where I’m looking for more.”
I glanced back at Wade, who now had a brunette woman wrapped around him and was headed toward the exit. “Way more than one night—I bet you a hundred bucks he won’t call that girl after.”
“There’s also a big difference between that prick and the guys behind this bar,” Linc said. “At least give me that much.”
“Fine, I’ll give you that. But there’s also a big difference between hoping for a good outcome despite evidence to the contrary and stereotypes founded on statistics and reality. I live in the real world.”
He leaned forward, a hint of a challenge entering his posture, as well as his tone. “Sometimes unlikely and extraordinary happens in the real world.”
I leaned right back, because when it came to this conversation, I had concrete data on my side. “Sure. But I’ve studied the types of guys who are looking for commitment, and bartenders are low on the scale. It’s different if your dream is owning a bar and you’re working your way up, hoping to further your chosen path. But most bartenders are making a temporary stop to their real career. And if they’re not, there’s a lack of ambition, and both are red flags.”
For the first time, Linc looked unhappy instead of smug over my saying he had red flags.
Walking the line between the honest truth and brutal honesty was a tricky one, and I didn’t want this to turn into a big fight. I sat back and softened my voice. “I don’t mean it as an insult, I swear. Someday I’m sure you and the rest of the guys will decide to settle down. I have different goals, though, and a goal without a plan is just a wish. In fact, the most reliable way to predict the future is to create it.”
“That’s what you’re doing by dating all these different guys? Creating your future?”
I ignored the hint of sarcasm—he didn’t have to understand it or even like it. “Yes. And honestly, Wade did me a favor by immediately showing his true colors. The faster I weed out the going-nowhere guys, the sooner I can find one who’s ready.” As calm as I was trying to remain, my voice rose, and I was glad I hadn’t voluntarily explained my misguided choice of date. “Destiny is just an excuse to wait for things to happen instead of making them happen.”
Linc tilted his head. “Let me guess? More advice from Lao?”
I didn’t want to admit that I’d stolen that one from Blair on Gossip Girl, especially after he’d brought up my old Jersey Shore addiction the other night. What could I say? I’d had my fair share of guilty pleasure TV shows through the years. Really it was research on different types of guys. Made it easier to make analogies for relationships to avoid in my workshops. Yeah, that was it.
I took a generous gulp of my drink, sort of hating how awesome it was, and decided to turn my delay technique into changing the subject entirely. “What’s in this anyway?”
“Bourbon, lemon juice, club soda, and”—his eyes met mine and held—“peach schnapps.”
Peach schnapps. That definitely took me back to college. In fact, he and I had been drinking it the night we… My gaze moved to his lips, and I wondered when he’d gotten so close and when I’d mirrored the movement. Memories from that night during spring break tumbled through my brain, hazy from the alcohol I’d drunk both that night and this one, and suddenly all I could think about was his lips on mine. His body pressed so close I could feel his heartbeat…
My imagination ran away with me, dragging my pulse along with it. I wasn’t sure how we went from arguing to this, but I felt frozen, unable to move or even breathe. A moment ago I said I wanted more than one night, but something whispered that one night with Linc wouldn’t be so bad.
In fact, I knew from experience it’d be very, very good. Unforgettably good. It’d stick in my head and mess up potential relationships, and yet, the temptation to forget about the repercussions and simply go for it remained.
My thoughts whirred, both for and against t
he idea. My brain scanned for the right one to grab onto, and then there it was, just what I needed.
Step Five: Make a decision to only date men with real relationship potential, who treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Take charge of your own life.
I jerked myself straight and ignored the questioning look Linc pinned me with. Taking charge like a boss. A slightly tempted, sex-deprived boss. Don’t think about that last part.
What was important were my rules. They’d save me despite my out-of-control hormones.
“Did you figure out where we’re going next for your list?” Linc asked.
It took me a few seconds to connect the dots to the where-to-meet-singles list. I shook my head and reached for my almost-gone cocktail. “Not yet.” And with my body betraying me every time I was around Linc, I thought maybe I should call off our joint research.
Linc produced a newspaper from somewhere underneath the bar. “I’ll look up this week’s events, but first you need to tell me something that’d fit ‘For shame.’ It’s ten down, and it’s got an exclamation point after it.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Is that your answer for everything?”
“Just wait. One of these days it’s going to be right.”
“I think they’d get complaints about using swearwords in their crossword puzzles.”
“They should get complaints for squishing words together and ignoring punctuation.”
Linc glanced to the ceiling as if he were asking the heavens for strength and I laughed. Which I hadn’t expected to do right after my date left with some other chick, but there it was anyway.
“Let me see,” I said, leaning over the bar, and he twisted the paper toward me. “A word starting with ‘TS’?” I pointed at the slanted blue letters scribbled into the first two boxes of ten down. “You have to have one of those letters wrong.”
“I don’t.” His gaze moved down a couple of stools, where a lady had just taken a seat. “I’ll be right back.” While he headed to get her order, I studied the puzzle.
Stupid puzzles. How did I get roped into this? Linc smiled at the woman as he took her order, the crooked grin I couldn’t help noticing on his lips. The way he braced his palms on the bar accentuated the muscles in his arms and the strong line of his back.
