by Violet Blake
The thing about Sawyer is that he has no clue just how much of a catch he is. He doesn’t date much, is friendly to pretty much anyone, and even when girls swoon all over him, he acts as if it’s just an everyday type of thing that happens to everybody. None of the things that people find so damn attractive about him have gone to his head. It’s like he eats a slice of humble pie for breakfast every morning. The man’s cheeks were red from embarrassment, for God’s sake.
Yet these women stood in front of him twirling their hair, pushing out their boobs, and making copious amounts of uncomfortable eye contact as if he were the messiah of all things dating. One of them even had a wedding ring. Finally the one with the red pixie cut cast a derisive frown toward me, eyed me up and down in all my hungover glory, and stared at me as if I’d just told her a really hard riddle she had to figure out.
She turned back at him, her fingers playing with the neckline of her dress, pulling it ever-so-slightly lower. “You don’t look very eligible.”
Uh-oh. I did not like the way his mortification morphed into something more vengeful. The lips I’d thought were sexy turned downright lethal when he smiled, his pupils constricting to tiny dots when they fixed on mine. “Oh, I’m very much involved.”
Damn it. Of course he was. He’d never been one to date around, and certainly not in public. He was private about that kind of thing. Which meant I had no chance in Hades with him. Not that I had a chance without another woman in the picture.
He took my hand and pulled it toward him, menace gleaming in his eyes. “In fact, Blair here is my beloved.”
“B-beloved?” I repeated dumbly. And he thought I was drunk? The man had no doubt put on his own beer goggles.
“She’s the love of my life,” he affirmed, stroking my palm with his thumb.
Son of a bitch. The sensation made my nipples stand at attention. I shrugged back a little so they wouldn’t be so obvious against my light dress.
“Actually,” he said, his voice taking a rough, save-it-for-the-sex-line tone, “you could say she makes me feel things I never thought possible.” The heat in his eyes cranked up a least seventy-five degrees higher, reaching a magnitude I’d only seen when he was alone with my painting earlier.
Now my sex-starved clit throbbed, and my panties would need to be thrown away the first chance I got. How could the combination of a thumb and a voice create that much of a reaction? I crossed my legs and shrank away even more. I’d have to kill him later.
I set my jaw and put on the “in public” mask my parents had made me don when we were on the campaign circuit. A mix of polite and impassive, it was the one I put on when people heckled us about my mother’s latest policies.
The woman with the blow-out tilted her head and twirled that curl again. She looked at me as if I’d just appeared from out of the sewer. “That’s so sweet.”
“I like to think so,” Sawyer said, his gaze cranking up the charm even more. “Blair here is one of a kind.”
I had to turn away. Now. Or I’d leap over this table and do all 101 things in that booklet with him.
“We’ll let you get back to your breakfast,” her friend said.
“Thanks for the signature,” blow-out lady said.
The moment they disappeared he turned the heat down. Way down. Like he could’ve just doused me in Freon. “That’s the thanks I get for treating you to hair-of-the-dog?”
“How many times did I drag your hungover ass to IHOP for breakfast, Mr. Eligible?” So I might’ve been regretting my decision to tease him. But what I’d dished up he more than gave back.
He still hadn’t let go of my hand. “It was supposed to be a business article about my new role of COO at the brewery.”
“You have to admit this one sells more copies. You already have fangirls.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Think of it as helping the economy,” I said, and drank from my Bloody Mary.
“How so?”
“I bet they’ll sell out this print run. You’re single-handedly boosting Colorado’s economy, my beloved.”
“If we weren’t in public…”
I couldn’t tell if he was trying to sound threatening, or if my own naughty fantasies begged to know what he’d do to me if we weren’t in public. Damn bet. It gave everything double entendre now.
I became far too aware of the way his fingers constricted around mine. Focus. “I’m just trying to help you see the silver lining.”
“You have no idea what a pain in the ass it is having your family and friends try to help you out of your doomed bachelor life,” he said. “My aunt has made it her life’s mission to pair me off. Do you even know what that’s like?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I do. Hello? Recently minted single girl, right here. I should hang a neon sign from my neck that flashes Pathetic 24/7.”
He groaned and sank into his seat. As if a guy his size could hide in a restaurant booth. “You win.”
I shrugged. “At least they didn’t put me on the cover of a magazine.”
“I thought you were doing the silver lining thing?”
“You’re right. Sorry. Still drunk.” I held up my empty Bloody Mary and jiggled the ice in the glass.
A waitress came over. “Another?”
I hadn’t meant to call her over like that. How freaking rude. “Yes, thank you. And one for my most eligible friend here, too, please.”
“This is a disaster.” A long whoosh of air, too long to be a sigh, escaped his lips and he closed his eyes as if he were trying to imagine himself in his happy place.
“Please. I’m surprised FEMA hasn’t set up a tent in my living room.”
He allowed an indulgent chuckle. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse than you can imagine,” I confirmed with a somber nod.
“I don’t have time for this. I have breweries to run, and somewhere between that, I have to sleep. This is the worst possible time for anybody to think I’m eligible.”
“Just get a girlfriend for a few months until this dies down. Problem solved.”
His eyes snapped open. “Problem solved? Do you know how hard it is keeping a girlfriend happy when you work ninety hours a week? What do you think this is, a rom-com?”
“Yeah, well, think of all the fangirls who’re going to come out of the woodwork once they see your mug everywhere, attached to the whole millionaire-COO-philanthropist-playboy thing you have going for you. You’re like the Colorado version of Tony Stark.”
“Ha ha,” he drawled. “And I’m not a playboy. I don’t have the energy to be a playboy.”
“So you’re impotent.” I seriously doubt the things I was saying would’ve rolled off the tongue so easily if it hadn’t been for the booze. When the alcohol and hangover wore off, I’d have a lot of apologizing to do. Still, I had to admit goading him was kind of fun.
“Impotent? Don’t think I didn’t notice you getting all lusty-eyed earlier.”
“What are you even talking about? I’m not the lusty-eyed type of girl. That shit’s for…for…romantics. Of which I am not.”
He leaned forward and moved in for the kill. “If those ladies hadn’t been here, and if we hadn’t been in a restaurant, you would’ve jumped my bones when I was holding your hand.”
Maybe. I’d have to work on being more discreet.
“Ooooh, now I’ve heard everything,” I said, hating that my cheeks burned hotter than the salsa. “What you think you saw was actually me fighting nausea. Did you hear the way they were fawning all over you? We were stuck in cougar city, my friend, and you were a baby deer. Besides, if you want to talk about jumping bones, you should’ve seen the way you looked at my painting. If I hadn’t come out when I did, there would’ve been a hole cut into that thing.”
His head fell back and he let out a hearty laugh, clutching his belly and everything. “A hole? God, you have imagination.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not worthy enough to get off to?” I popped a nacho in my mouth, f
aintly disbelieving I’d actually asked.
He waited for the waitress to fill our water glasses, then leaned forward. “This is not the conversation to have while you’re drunk.”
“Why not? It’s the perfect time. Maybe we could help each other out.” I closed my eyes. Okay, so not what I meant to say. “What I mean is, we’re both in the same quandary. We should…”
“We should…” He rested his chin on his palm and waited for me to finish, amusement lighting up his face like the Vegas strip.
“We should introduce one another to nice, eligible people who won’t screw us over.”
“Hm. Not exactly what I had in mind,” he said. He stroked his golden stubble, making me jealous of his fingertips.
So what if my head tilted and I admired the angles of his features? And, yeah, I might’ve sighed just a wee bit, thinking of how it might feel against my skin. And fine. There was a chance I caught myself grinning at him like a complete fucking idiot.
He laughed and shook his head, turning his attention to our plate of nachos.
That delicious sensation I’d felt earlier when he touched me came back full force. Good-bye, panties. Whatever. Time to change the subject before I really did have to change my underwear. “Anyway, you either need to disappear for a month to escape the hordes of women who’ll come after you, or find a stand-in girlfriend to fight for your honor.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.” He slapped a fifty on the table. “In the meantime, somebody has a bender to sleep off.”
...
Sleep off the bender is exactly what I did. The hangover nacho platter worked its magic. So did the two Bloody Marys. I woke up just after lunchtime, took a few more ibuprofen, and a shower.
There was a gallery showing later on that I’d been dying to go to that started at seven. The gallery had been fortunate enough to score some paintings from a private collector who loved Pre-Raphaelite art as much as I did. She’d lent her collection for a weekend, and I’d saved up for weeks for a ticket to the opening gala.
I put on a flared skirt with wide black and white stripes that fell to mid-thigh, and I topped it with a fitted lavender-colored T-shirt. My hair fell in loose curls, and after stepping into a pair of black Mary Jane heels, I was set. I stuffed my ID, debit card, tickets, cell phone, and paycheck into a clutch. I’d stop by the bank on my way home and deposit it—rent was one day past due—and maybe stop by my favorite coffeehouse on the way home. Keegan was having some friends over, which meant I wouldn’t get any sleep until after 3 a.m. easy. With any luck they wouldn’t all pass out without turning off the music first.
The Old Town gallery was close enough to walk to, even in heels. Once I got there I was pulled into a world of magic, and the hours flew by so fast I realized it was after ten before I decided to leave. I’d barely spoken to anybody, transfixed by my artistic inspirations. I took in painting after painting of dreamlike scenes, with women who looked as if they’d walked straight from the pages of a volume of mythological stories. This was the type of art that commanded my attention. One day I would be so lucky to reach this level of beauty in my own work.
The night wasn’t just about art, though. Out of curiosity, I scoped out some potential partners for my little quest. Sadly, none of my potential bed buddies looked like they’d be that adventurous. Maybe next time.
The Old Town neighborhood of Fort Collins was hopping. College students ducked into and out of bars, laughed and smoked on the sidewalk, and yuppies mingled with them, still hoping to hold onto their youth.
I walked to my bank and stood at the ATM, where I whipped out my paycheck and signed my name on the back. I’d already stuffed my rent check under the door in the office, and this was my last chance to deposit the check before my landlord cashed it. Stifling a yawn, I fed it into the machine.
The machine kicked it out and buzzed. It was at that moment light exploded on the right side of my temple.
I hit the ground hard, and through a million stars traveling at warp speed, I made out the figure of a woman snatching my check. Dressed in black—so cliché—her hair was tied into a sleek ponytail, and she couldn’t have been much taller than me. She had dark, calculating eyes that read me like a retinal scanner.
I shook my head. “Hey!”
She kicked me in the stomach and tugged my clutch out of my hands. While I was preoccupied with the wind being kicked out of me, she stuck her knee in my back, pinning me to the hot concrete. The kick wasn’t hard enough to seriously hurt me, but just enough to make me think twice about trying to get up. “Let’s see what you got, cupcake.”
Holy crap. Seriously? I twisted, trying to reach for my purse. Of all the people she could mug, she picked the broke girl with her lifeline/paycheck in her purse. Was I paying off some karmic debt?
“I’m totally broke,” I squeaked. “You’re wasting your time here.”
“Do I look like I need a micromanager?” She opened the clasp and peered inside, stuffed my check into it, and snapped it shut.
“Thank you,” she said, all businesslike.
She took off, leaving me for a stunned moment to wonder what the hell had just happened.
Oh yeah. I’d been mugged. I was fucking broke, and she’d not only stolen my purse, but what cash I had, my already-spoken-for paycheck, and my cell phone. I wouldn’t be paid for another two weeks, and I didn’t have the money to replace my phone. Hell, I couldn’t even afford the early termination fee.
I’d worked hard for what little I had, damn it. And no punk-ass mugger was going to get that. Rage detonated like napalm, building and churning, making me do what was quite easily the stupidest thing I’d done in my life to date.
Disclaimer: nobody should try this at home. Ever.
Standing, I brushed myself off and kicked off my heels. And then I ran. Hard and fast, ready to wipe the asphalt with everybody who dared to stand in my way. My legs pumped hard and my arms only added to my momentum. The woman in black grew bigger with every step. She probably had no idea what was happening.
And then, when my speed and temper and unwillingness to let anybody else in this world bully me took over my free will, I launched myself in the air, fists first, and hit her squarely in the back.
She and I fell to the ground in a pile of limbs. I didn’t expect the landing to hurt so bad. She didn’t expect to land at all. I fumbled for my purse, but the moment my fingers curled around it, I found myself on my back with a knee in my gut.
“I admire your spunk, cupcake. But when you’re going to mess with the big girls, expect to get hurt.” And with one more punch to the face, she not only managed to stun me into submission, but take my last shred of dignity with her.
Chapter Three
Half an hour later, I sat in the back of a police car, holding a pack of ice to my head. I sat sideways, so my feet dangled out the side of the car, and all I could do was stare at the ATM machine while a crime scene tech dusted for prints.
Sergeant Pete Hernandez crouched in front of me, an expression of professional concern etched into his ridiculously hot Latin face. He was maybe thirty, tops, and had dark hair that whipped around his head in a thorny halo. “You sure you don’t want to go to the ER to get checked out? That scrape might need stitches.”
Shaking my head, I sighed. “What ever money I had to pay for that thousand-dollar ambulance ride is probably being spent on fake Louis Vuitton bags right now. Or assassin training.”
So it was an overestimation. Sue me. My paycheck might cover a Louis Vuitton coin purse. Tops.
He allowed a miniscule grin. “Insurance?”
“Nope. Still on my job’s probationary period. Hopefully next month?” If I was lucky.
“Okay. Hang on a sec.” He rose and jogged to the ambulance. After chatting with the medics, he returned with a baggie. “Here’s some gauze and antiseptic antibiotic.”
“Oh, wow. Thank you.”
“They said to clean the area with some of this first—” he
held up a small wad of blue packets “—then put on the gauze. Keep icing, keep it dry, and although you’ll probably have a scar, you won’t have an open wound.”
“I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Who can I call to pick you up?”
“It’s okay. I can just walk home from here.”
He sighed. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do, but I do suggest—highly—that you call a friend to stay with. You had the lights knocked out of you, and you might be riding high on adrenaline right now, but when that wears off, you’re going to feel scared. If you were my sister, no way I’d let you out of my sight for the next few days.”
God, he was sweet. But who would I call? I wasn’t really on number status with any of my coworkers yet. Jessica and Emily were out of town, and probably three sheets to the wind by now. Which left…Sawyer.
“Blair?” Pete said, tilting his head in that concerned sort of way people did.
“Sorry. I…I don’t know who to call. I just moved here, and I don’t have a lot of friends yet. The only person who might be available is my friend Sawyer, but I don’t have his number memorized.” Besides, he was probably at his front porch beating off single women with a bat right now. A thought that made me simultaneously laugh and feel jealous.
“You have a last name? I could look him up. We can get numbers that aren’t in the phone book, you know.” A dimple formed on his cheek. Geez, the guy was gorgeous. Enrique Iglesias could eat his heart out with Sergeant Pete in the room.
“Callahan,” I said, not missing the way his brows rose.
“Just did an alarm call at the brewery a few weeks ago and I should have his cell on my phone. Be right back.” Pete walked a few yards away, scrolled through his phone, and put it to his ear. After a minute, he ended the call and returned. “I’ll stick around until he gets here, all right? Should only be a minute.”
“Thanks.”
Pete sat in the front seat of his car, leaving the door open like mine, and made small talk while we waited. He probably made for a pretty great catch, if you went for the strong, alpha type. If he and I had met under different circumstances, he might be perfect for my little quest. I didn’t think dating the cop who’d wiped bloody snot off your chin and put Band-Aids on your scraped knees was a great way to start a month-long sex fest.
