find refuge in the ladies’ room.
Muttering her thanks, Chloe returned to the bar, where a sudden loud burst of applause and an exuberant apelike, fist-driven echo of “Whup, whup, whup!” reiterated beautifully the reason she was here, and renewed her determination.
He might not be a prince riding to her rescue, but, for all his boisterous behavior and cocky top jock attitude, Eric Haydon often conveyed a hint—admittedly, the barest, the most infinitesimal, the tiniest microscopic hint—of suave sophistication, a sort of cultured finesse that kept her Cary Grant hopes up.
And that played nicely into her plans.
Abandoning what she could of the smoke and the noise, Chloe wove her way through the common room and up three short steps onto the glossy hardwood floor of the bar’s more intimate pub. The place was softly lit by glowing brass lanterns. The rich wood toppers of the red and green padded booths gave her cover to sneak up and blindside her quarry.
Fortunately for Eric and his well-being, Chloe knew she’d find him here. The black Ford Mustang GT she’d seen in the bar’s back lot was his; the personalized plates that read HALF TIME were hard to miss. It was a hotshot car, an extension of his male ego. A show-stopping, attention-grabbing, top-of-the-line boy toy that had accomplished its objective.
Her attention had been grabbed.
With proof of his whereabouts, and a firm resolve, she was not about to let him blow her off in person the way he’d blown off her phone calls. Just let him try and hide out in the kitchen, or ignore her while working behind the bar.
She would not be deterred from her mission. Like it or not, she needed a man.
And even if he was a living, breathing, sleeping, eating, twenty-four–seven sports nut, Eric Haydon was the man she wanted. She would deal with his obsessive nature. She’d done it before, while partnered with him for the month-long scavenger hunt designed by Chloe’s business partner, gIRL-gEAR editor Macy Webb, for her monthly gIRL gAMES column.
Reaching the far end of the pub, Chloe sidestepped the waitress wearing old-fashioned baseball flannels, and looked up in time to catch sight of her victim behind the bar. A brief glimpse only, as Eric moved quickly out of range.
A smile touched Chloe’s mouth, and it was hard to deny the rush of a schoolgirl thrill tumbling through her empty belly, hungry as she was for food and his company.
During the month they’d spent on the scavenger hunt, they’d shared dinners, drinks and dirty jokes, not to mention one incredibly intense deep-throated kiss. She’d been banking on that making them friends.
And friends didn’t let friends drive their careers into the ground.
Chloe took a deep breath and headed for the bar. Eric turned then, walking toward her as she approached. The gray jersey T-shirt he wore snugged tightly over his shoulders and pecs, hung loosely to his hips.
The man’s body was a piece of work, hard and fit and deserving of a calendar spread. Chloe boosted herself onto a padded red stool, propped her elbows on the shiny black bar and settled her chin into the cup of her palms.
He really was drool-worthy with those shoulders and that butt and the wide white smile that dimpled both of his cheeks. He’d cut his dark blond hair recently, so it was shorter than usual, barely long enough to need a brush. And then there were his blue eyes, and his…
…oh, so loud mouth!
Chloe grimaced as Eric shouted and whistled at whatever sports thing was going on across the room on the big screen TV. Macy had been right when she’d called him a Tarzan. Chloe could just see him, muscles bunching, swinging from a vine, beating on his chest, wearing nothing but a skimpy loincloth….
“Well, if it isn’t Chloe Zuniga, Miss Pretty in Pink in the flesh.” Eric slapped both palms on the bar, jarring Chloe’s elbows.
At his reference to her wardrobe’s usual color scheme, Chloe smiled sweetly while trying to recall her well-rehearsed, extremely witty opening.
Having forgotten everything now that she was here and he was so close and so incredibly—and annoyingly—cute, she held both arms out to the side and swiveled back and forth on the bar stool. “Not a speck of pink, visible or otherwise.”
Eric stepped onto the bar’s low storage ledge and leaned forward, peering as far as he could over the counter. Chloe helped him out by lifting a foot to show off her socks, her cross-trainers and her long denim shorts.
Looking impressed, Eric stepped down and then grinned. “I feel like it’s St. Patrick’s Day and I’m searching for any speck of green I can find.”
“Nope. Not on this girl. No green and no pink.” Chloe wanted to stomp a foot in frustration. He hadn’t said a word about her cross-trainers.
Or about her Texans jersey, which was the hottest thing going, according to the teenage salesclerk who’d watched, tongue lolling, while Chloe had shimmied the jersey down over the midthigh hem of her skirt when she’d tried it on in the middle of the store.
Eric studied her face closely, snapped his fingers. “Your eye shadow. Definitely pink.”
“Definitely not. This is gRAFFITI gIRL’s Mosh Pit Bruise.” She closed her eyes and ran a fingertip over the lighter color just beneath her brow. “And this is Strobe Light White.”
Eric frowned in earnest this time, as if seeing something that didn’t quite click. And then both brows lifted in disbelief as it hit him.
“Chloe. Don’t look now, but you’re wearing a football jersey. And I think I saw athletic shoes on your feet. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were up to no good.”
Chloe pressed her lips together, waiting for him to put the two of her phone calls he’d avoided together with her laughably out of character ensemble. It didn’t take him long to do the math.
He backed a short step away, yanked the green towel printed with a red Haydon ‘H’ from his shoulder and wiped both of his hands. “The answer is no.”
She’d never thought this was going to be easy. She just hadn’t counted on coming up on a dead end so soon. “Now, sugar. How can you tell me no when you don’t even know the question?”
“I’ve got news for you, princess.” His head continued to shake from side to side. “You’re in enemy territory. You start trying to bust my chops and the uproar’s liable to bring down the roof on your head.”
Chloe did her best to look demure and damaged. “I’m crushed to know that’s what you think of me. Enemy indeed.”
His attempt to remain firm dissolved into a chuckle under his breath. “I spent a month as your scavenger hunt partner. Don’t think that poor pitiful me act is going to cut any of my mustard. Now, I have customers to see to.”
Just like that? He was blowing her off just like that? “Excuse me, but I am sitting at your bar and I have yet to see any service.”
The towel went back to Eric’s shoulder. His hands went to his hips. His expression went from bemused to businesslike. “What can I get you then?”
This wasn’t going at all like she’d planned, and she
