was her chance.
Maybe her last chance.
“Money,” she muttered.
She didn’t have time for a get-to-know-you chat followed by the prospect of a date followed by her warming up to mention, “Hey, so my sister is getting married in two weeks...” She had to cut through the small talk and arrow straight to the point. Cash would make that a hell of a lot easier. She opened her clutch to count her credit cards. Five. That should be enough.
She rounded the corner to the ATM at the back of the bar, a plan in mind and a glass of good chardonnay in her belly.
She would take the simple approach and ask him if she could pay him to come with her to Ohio. Enough with faux dating and weighing the odds. She needed a date, and hopefully this guy needed a couple grand.
On a mission, she slid the first of five credit cards into the machine and punched the withdrawal button.
She would find a date to Gwen’s wedding.
And she would find him tonight.
Gage Fleming finished off his IPA and tipped the bottle’s neck at the bartender. “I’ll take the check when you have a second.”
Seattle had come out of a long winter and cool spring, and was now firmly entrenched in summer. The energy was different during the hot months. The skirts were shorter and the nights were longer, and for him, the workdays were longer, too. He hadn’t left his desk until well after seven thirty—hadn’t gotten here until well after eight thirty. Given the hellacious week he’d had at the office, it didn’t surprise him that he wasn’t as upbeat as usual.
“Sure thing.” Shelly was petite, wearing a ball cap with her ponytail sticking out of the back. Her lashes were thick, and her lips were shiny with gloss. Cute as she was, he didn’t plan on asking her out. Even though she was his type, from her shapely calves to her low-cut V-necked T-shirt with the bar’s gold-and-red emblem on it. Even though she’d been offering her smiles freely and borderline flirting back with him, Gage wasn’t feeling it.
His best buddy Flynn and Sabrina, his other best buddy turned Flynn’s girlfriend, had taken off a few minutes ago. Gage hung around at From Afar, finishing his beer after a long week and what felt like a longer workday.
He’d been friends with Flynn, Sabrina and Reid—who wasn’t in the country at the moment—since college. Sabrina being in the mix was nothing new. Her being in love with Flynn and vice versa: totally new.
Gage had said yes to the after-work beer, not thinking it’d be any different than any other hangout they’d had before. It had been different, though, since the couple couldn’t keep their hands or eyes on anything in the room but each other. But he couldn’t begrudge his friends. A few months back, Flynn and Sabrina had slipped from the friend zone to the in-zone. Flynn was the happiest he’d been in a long while.
“Here you go, sweetheart.” The cute blonde winked at him and moved away to greet another patron.
If he wasn’t mistaken, that lifting feeling in his chest was relief at his decision not to dance the dance with her. Flirting was easy—hell, second nature—to him. Asking her out wouldn’t be an issue. He had it down. He’d heard yes more times than no, and often heard “Yes!” shouted with exuberance later the same night in his bed.
Over the past few weeks, however, he’d noticed he was tired of the game. Going out on a few dates, a round or three of spectacular sex (or okay sex—but even okay sex was pretty damn good), and then finding his way out before things progressed to anything serious... If they got that far. Lately, he’d grown tired of the awkward parting in the middle of the night or the next morning. Tired of the walk of shame.
Thirty years old was too young to be this jaded.
You’re just tired after a long week. Don’t analyze it to death.
He leaned forward to pull his wallet from his back pocket, ready to pay and take his gloomy self home, when he noticed a stunning vision striding toward him. He froze, the scene unfolding in slow motion.
Strawberry blond hair washed over slim shoulders in a waterfall of color, bright against the narrow black sheath dress draped over her slender form. Electric blue eyes flashed with determination. She was long-limbed, her walk confident, and her full pink mouth was set in a firm, unsmiling line. One eyebrow was arched and she homed in on him like he was the target and she was a missile.
With his next breath, his libido returned. Lust slammed into his solar plexus and dried out his mouth.
Which made no sense.
In those heels, in that dress and with no smile to speak of, it was obvious he was in the presence of a way-too-serious woman. He’d had a close call with a woman like this one in his past, and he’d since decided that cute, bubbly bartenders were more his style.
Even so. Intrigued and more than a bit curious, he shoved his wallet back into his pocket when it became clear that this striking woman was coming right for him.
This one, he’d dance with. If only to shake things up a bit.
He’d buy her a drink, turn on the Fleming charm and see what happened. It’d been a while since a woman had snagged this much of his attention. Whether it was the strawberry blonde’s determination or the set of her small shoulders, he couldn’t be sure, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off her. How could anyone look that damned delicate and at the same time like she ate nails for breakfast?
He didn’t know. But he was going to find out. Something told him that she’d be worth it, no matter the cost.
“Shelly, I’ll have another IPA after all,” he said to the bartender, and as the strawberry blonde placed a manicured hand on the back of the bar stool next to him, he smoothly added, “and whatever she’s having.”
“You got it.” Shelly dipped her chin at the strawberry blonde. “What’ll it be?”
Strawberry yanked her gaze from Gage, her expression almost shocked that the bartender was talking to her. “Um. Chardonnay.”
Shelly fetched their drinks and Gage turned to greet his guest, pulling the stool out for her to sit.
“No. Thanks,” she replied coolly, almost like the “thanks” part was an afterthought.
Instinct told him that she wasn’t as cool and calm as she pretended to be. If she was actually the man-eater she portrayed, she’d look him in the eye right now. Instead, she appeared to be steeling herself for some sort of proposition. Maybe she’d had a bad breakup, needed a little rebound.
That he could do.
“Can’t enjoy your chardonnay without having a seat,” he replied easily, patting the stool with one hand. Her eyebrows slammed down over her pert nose and she pegged him with an expression that bordered on fury.
A zap! hit him low in the gut. A warning drowned out by intense curiosity.
Let’s tangle, honey.
A
