Deep Blue

by Jules Barnard

  “Do you?” I glance at the guy again and waggle my brows. Medium brown hair, a dimple that flashes whenever he smiles at his female customers—I couldn’t have picked a better prospect. “He’s cute, Gen.”

  She fumbles with her cash caddy. “I don’t know Mason that well, but he seems nice …” Her mouth twists and then softens. “It’d be good to make new friends.”

  I nod soberly. “I support this endeavor.” Project Gen Hook-up moving ahead of schedule!

  A few hours later, Gen and I pass through the sliding doors at Harrah’s and the air conditioning suctions me inside, my ears popping from the pressure.

  “Wow,” Gen says, eyeing a nearby cocktail waitress serving a slots customer. “It’s a good thing you had a contact at Blue and not one at Harrah’s, or my ass cheeks would be on display beneath Cherokee nylons.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say. She’s been bitching all week about her uniform.

  She responds with a meek smile.

  We walk to the center of the casino and Gen points out Bartender Mason in the lounge. He’s swapped the white and black casino uniform for a pair of jeans and a dark button-down. Broad shoulders fill out the shirt to hot-guy perfection. I nudge her in the ribs a couple of times, signaling my approval.

  She swats my elbow and glares. If we weren’t close to her new friend, she’d tell me I’m behaving like a twelve-year-old, which is why I do it now, when I can get away with it.

  Mason stands, a wide smile spreading across his face as he glances at me and takes a leisurely look at Gen in her short denim skirt, T-shirt, and sandals. Neither of us anticipated going out after work when we dressed this morning, so we’re both on the casual side, only I’m in skinny jeans and a tank top. A couple of guys sit at Mason’s table, along with a girl.

  “This is Adam—” He gestures to a dark-haired pretty boy with pressed dress sleeves evenly rolled to his elbows.

  Adam smiles and does a not-so-sly perusal of our bodies, lingering on my chest. I’d like to say it’s because I have a large rack, but really, it’s because I displayed my boobs nicely.

  “—and Jaeger.”

  Jaeger? As in Mick Jagger, but with a long a? That name sounds familiar, but I don’t recognize the guy.

  Jaeger is a head taller than Adam, wearing a casual T-shirt and worn blue jeans, and his arms are as long as a basketball player’s. His light brown hair is cut close to his head, and though there’s something familiar about his face, I can’t place him. He’s cute, though, with a strong jawline and symmetrical features that are too classically handsome to lump him in with the meatheads; his brows don’t protrude enough. He’s more genetically big than steroid-inflated.

  Jaeger gives Gen a cursory glance, then looks at me. His gaze falters, remains a second too long, eyes gleaming down my body and back to my face. He half nods in acknowledgement and returns his attention to his friends.

  He hesitated when he looked at me. A sign I’m right about us knowing each other? I can’t tell for sure, nor can I ask him about it, because Adam is talking to him.

  I study Jaeger some more and my gaze catches on full lips, trailing down to a very broad chest, muscled shoulders and arms, and—large hands. The guy has strong, well-formed hands. A shiver racks my body.

  I have a weakness for men’s hands … and I’ve veered off course. I’m checking out men for Gen, not me. But the only thing I’d complain about on Eric’s body is his long, thin hands. The rest of the package is so good, however, that I happily overlook it.

  This is beyond annoying. I swear I know this guy. Did we go to high school together?

  I wonder if Gen has noticed how amazing Jaeger’s hands are. If Mason doesn’t work out, Jaeger should be put at the top of Gen’s list of prospects.

  “—we worked at Heavenly together,” Mason says, and I tune back in to the conversation.

  I take a seat beside Adam and Jaeger, leaving Gen the chair between Jaeger and Mason.

  Gen and Mason strike up a conversation about one of the supervising waitresses from work, and I listen in as Adam continues what must have been the conversation Gen and I interrupted when we arrived.

  “I don’t know what he was thinking.” Adam shakes his head in disbelief. “Why would he cheat with prostitutes? Groupies, maybe—but prostitutes? Germs, man. Disease.” He mocks a shiver. “Just not right, even for a celebrity.”

  Gen and I are entertainment news junkies. I run through my mental Rolodex to ascertain which trashy celeb Adam’s referring to. The pop star? Or the athlete whose prior reputation was as a virgin former choirboy? It’s a tough call. I lean closer to catch details.

  Jaeger eases back in his chair, his shoulder inches away. His body heat crosses the space between us, a pleasant whiff of shaving cream filling my senses, making my heart beat faster. He runs his knuckles down firm thighs, and a ripple of attraction shoots through my belly.

  What the hell? I sit up, eyes trained on Adam. I haven’t noticed another guy since before Eric, and here I am, checking out and feeling things for one of Gen’s prospects, like he’s for me. Suddenly, I’m on edge.

  My gaze darts to Jaeger’s face and I wonder again how I know this guy. The more I look, the more familiar he appears.

  Jaeger nods as if he’s listening to Adam, but he doesn’t contribute to the conversation. Almost as though he knows Adam will continue without input from others. Adam’s overly chatty. That’s annoying. It’s a good thing Mason introduced the girl Breanna beside Adam as his girlfriend, and I already struck him from the list.

  Gen and Mason’s conversation dies down and Mason looks up. He pushes a spear of olives from one side of his martini glass to the other. “Why bother getting married? He should have stayed single.” He lifts the glass and takes a swallow. Mason has obviously been paying attention to his friends’ conversation while he chatted up Gen.

  Gotta be the athlete. The pop star isn’t married. “You’re talking about that basketball player, right?” I say.

  Mason nods.

  “He’s a bastard.”

  A low rumble escapes from Jaeger. I glance up and catch a faint smile.

  “His wife and kids will make out, no matter what he did.” With his thumb and forefinger, Adam picks a loose thread from the back of Breanna’s blouse and flicks it to the floor.

  She doesn’t seem to notice his anal-retentive grooming of her. “Adam, money isn’t everything.”

  “I agree. I wouldn’t consider that a good lot in life,” Gen says, gripping the glass the waitress placed before her. “The wife has a husband she can’t trust and small children to raise—probably by herself.”

  Ugh-h-h. Don’t go there, Gen. You’re wearing your heartache on your sleeve!

  Mason shoots her a sweet smile. Good. He doesn’t seem put off.

  The conversation slowly turns to the lighter topics of skiing and snowboarding.

  Mason’s head notches up, his attention on Adam. “Remember when you thought you saw Gisele on the slopes a few years ago?”

  Adam raises his hands for emphasis. “Man, it was her, I swear!”

  Jaeger’s shoulder dips closer to me. “How have you been, Cali?” His deep voice turns my spine limp and spongy. I could melt from the sound of it and happily live as a sticky puddle on the lounge floor.

  We do know each other. “I’m sorry—you’re familiar, but I can’t remember how.”

  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, head angled toward me without directly looking. “Tyler.”

  Tyler’s my older brother.

  It all makes sense now.

  Images cross my mind of a tall, slender guy with blond, shaggy hair who used to hang out with Tyler during my freshman year in high school. My gaze rakes Jaeger’s hard, well-defined, heavily muscled body. Is it possible for a guy to add sixty pounds of muscle and a couple extra inches of height between the ages of eighteen and—? I mentally calculate. He’s gotta be my brother’s age, about twenty-three—no, Tyler skipped a grade—Jaeger must
be twenty-four.

  His hair is darker, but it was longer and probably sun-bleached when we were in high school. The guy I remember also had an unusual name, though I couldn’t say for sure that it was Jaeger. His family was originally from another country. He was quiet, like this guy, and now that I look closer, the face is similar. This must be the same person, and if it is, he’s filled out. A lot.

  He was also a skiing champion and had a long-term girlfriend.

  I never thought he noticed me.

  “—you ran over a family of four and almost killed yourself on a low-hanging branch to chase her.” The corners of Mason’s mouth turn up as if merrily reliving the memory of Adam pursuing Gisele like a jackass.

  I glance at Jaeger. He’s looking at Mason, a small smile curving his lips. It’s the cutest guy smile I think I’ve ever seen, and it transforms him from large, enigmatic male into something more approachable and appealing. He’s definitely going on Gen’s list.

  “It would have been worth it,” Adam mumbles. “If I could have talked to Gisele, I know I could have gotten her digits.”

  Mason laughs and Jaeger shifts in his seat. His mouth morphs into a full grin, and his gaze strays to mine, hovering. His smile reduces to something sultry and curious. Heat rises from my girl parts to my chest. I lose the ability to breathe.

  Holy shit.

  Jaeger hasn’t looked at me dead-on since we arrived, and the impact tumbles my brain. His eyes are dark green along the edges of the iris, like the center of a pine needle, growing lighter toward the middle. Abruptly, he looks down at his hands, before observing his friends again.

  I slump in my seat. This might be Tyler’s high school friend, but he’s changed.

  I’m reeling. I mean, really freaking out right now. I’ve never felt instant sizzle before, and with Jaeger—my brother’s friend? That’s a no-go zone. I have a boyfriend!

  I lift my hand and signal to the waitress. She sees me and walks over. “Shot of Cuervo, please.”

  Startled faces peer at me from around the table. What? “Anyone else want one?”

  Jaeger and Adam order a shot.

  Breanna purses her lips and glares. “Excuse me!” She pokes her chest and flips her hand out at Adam. “Girlfriend sitting here. Why are you talking about pursuing another woman?”

  Oh right, the Gisele conversation. God, that seems trivial compared to the mini-crisis going on in my head.

  “Bree, that was way before we met.” Adam squeezes Breanna’s shoulder.

  “Right, ’cause if you saw Gisele now, you would totally ignore her and have zero interest out of your love and respect for me. Is that what you meant to say?”

  “Uhhh, yeah. Absolutely.” Adam smiles mischievously at his friends while he pats Breanna on the back.

  “I saw that!” Breanna snaps.

  Mason coughs into his hand, the corners of his mouth upturned.

  “Hey, what about you, bro?” Adam glares at Mason, who Adam seems to think is the cause of the strife between him and his girlfriend.

  “What about me? If I ran into Gisele, the real Gisele, and not some pseudo-lookalike, I would have been a hell of a lot smoother than you.”

  “I’m talking about when you challenged Shaun White. I seem to recall you getting your ass kicked all over the mountain.”

  Gen absently passes me the green olives from her martini. She must not be too worried about Mason getting razzed by his friend if she’s thinking about my stomach. Grinning, I pop one of the olives into my mouth and glance up.

  I choke before the olive passes my tonsils.

  Jaeger is staring at my throat.

  His gaze lifts to my eyes and heat rushes my face. I’d like to say the look he’s giving me is one of observation, as though he’s watching an exotic bird eat an unusual food. Gen’s informed me on more than one occasion that my love of green olives is unnatural. But Jaeger looks sexy, and hot, and his gaze is sending fiery signals to my girl parts again.

  “I remember you now,” I say without breaking eye contact. “You had a girlfriend.”

  The heat in his eyes disappears. He turns away. “That was a long time ago.”

  An enigmatic response from an enigmatic person. This is the Jaeger I remember. Quiet. Reserved.

  Jaeger glances at Gen and his expression softens. There’s no reason to strike him from the list, not when I remember him as a good guy.

  “He’s an Olympic champion,” Mason says, overriding my wayward thoughts. “He had a few more skills than me, but I carved it up pretty good—got in some decent tricks.”

  Adam frowns and rolls his shoulders. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Guess you had to be there.” Mason shrugs and finishes off his martini. He has a fresh one in front of him he must have ordered with the tequila shots.

  I flag the waitress again and request another shot, chasing it with a second martini to dull the hormones riding me. It’s been almost a week since I saw Eric … and a lot longer since we had sex. My libido’s been neglected. Any hot guy could incite the reaction Jaeger does.

  I listen to the others talk and lose track of the conversation. After a while, I grab Gen’s chair. Or maybe her arm. Am I leaning on her?

  She glances at me wearily. “Mason, we’re gonna get going. Thanks for inviting us tonight.”

  Crap, those shots that dulled my senses also made me forget to keep tabs on the chemistry between Gen and Mason. Did they hit it off?

  Mason smiles politely. “Great to meet you, Cali. I look forward to seeing you around at Blue.”

  What a sweet guy. He’s a keeper, and I’m going to tell Gen so, just as soon as my tongue thins out. “Definitely!” I practically yell. It’s the only word I can get past my numb lips.

  Gen’s eyes widen. “I think we’ll take a taxi.”

  I wave goodbye to the rest of them, and they return the gesture, except for Jaeger, who observes my every uncoordinated move, his mouth tense, brows drawn. I’m drunk, but not so drunk I don’t know what a loud, clumsy drunkass I am. Good thing I’m already in a relationship, or there’d be embarrassment on the menu for tomorrow.

  We leave Harrah’s and I tell the cabbie to take us to the Last Stop. They’re open long after the casinos slow, with two a.m. breakfasts that have just the right amount of grease.

  Gen slides into a booth. I bump my hip on the table as I slither in across from her.

  “You’re hammered, Cali.”

  “Yup.” I hiccup, the foul flavor of vomitus and alcohol singeing my tongue. “Need water.”

  Four glasses of water and a late-night breakfast large enough to feed a two-hundred-pound man later, my mouth regains its dexterity. “Mason’s hot,” I say casually.

  Here’s where I unearth the truth about Gen’s feelings for Mason. “I’m definitely going to keep my eye out for him at the casino. I need something pretty to look at while I slave away shuffling cards.”

  I shift my gaze to catch her response. If one wishes to elicit a reaction from the elusive species known as reservus quietgirlius, one must poke.

  Gen snorts indelicately. “Oh, it’s rough for you, isn’t it? Try carrying around a fifteen-pound tray all night—in heels.”

  My brows pinch and I quickly smooth them out. I expected annoyance at my checking out Mason, and she gives me nil. Not cool. Point one to Gen, but I have more in my arsenal.

  “Did you see his shoulders and arms? Those snowboarders are in good shape.”

  “Okay—girl with a boyfriend.”

  Ouch. That one hit the soft spot. I already feel guilty about my hormonal response to Jaeger. “I’m not actually interested. I just appreciate a nice-looking guy when I see one. I think Mason likes you.”

  Gen swishes the ice in her clear plastic cup. “He doesn’t like me. He’s a friend.”

  Okay, now I’m annoyed. She’s not ’fessing up to anything. “He likes you, Gen, and he’s cute and sweet. What’s wrong with him?”

  “There’s nothing wrong
with him. I’m just wondering if maybe it’s too soon for me to date other guys.” She thunks her cup on the table, avoiding my eyes. “I haven’t gotten over the last one that hurt me.”

  A perfectly valid point. So why do I feel like the A-hole isn’t the real reason she’s suddenly shying away from dating? She needs to date other guys in order to get out of her slump.

  “I thought you were open to going out? Dating isn’t a relationship, it’s just … hanging. No strings, just fun.”

  Gen straightens. “I think maybe friendships are more my speed right now.” She shoves a forkful of hash browns into her mouth, shredded bits dangling from one corner of her lips as she chews.

  She doesn’t fool me by shoveling in food like a toddler so she can’t talk. Gen’s the consummate lady. I recognize avoidance tactics when I see them.

  “Enough about my dating woes,” she finally says. “Let’s get in a game of table shuffleboard before we leave.” She eyes the back wall where it’s located—changing the subject, dammit!

  “Fine, but be prepared for an ass-kicking. You know how good I am.”

  Gen chokes on her last bite. “That’s absolutely not how I remember your skills at shuffleboard, or Ping-Pong, or any other game or sport requiring hand-eye coordination. Why do you think I want to play you? I need an ego boost after being called Snow all night by the cougars.”

  The nickname Snow White is a part of Gen’s hazing by the veteran waitresses. “Cougars—are they hooking-up with younger guys?”

  “One of them stared at Mason the entire time he and I shared our dinner break. She wants to take a bite out of him badly. I don’t think those cougars are too happy we’re friends. Can you believe it? Mason’s gotta be at least ten years younger than most of them.”

  Gen and Mason had dinner together? Nice. Maybe she’ll change her mind about this friends-only business.

  “If I were their age and single, I’d be a cougar. So yes, I believe it.” I flex my fingers like I’m doing digit stretches. “I wouldn’t be so cocky about table shuffleboard if I were you. My dexterity and speed have improved dramatically after long hours of dealing cards.”

  Gen rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh.”