second Ben’s assessment,” Lori says. “Denim shirts work on a Texan cowboy, but in Portland it’s just wrong.”
“What, so I can’t even talk with him because you two don’t like his shirt?” Parker asks.
“What about that one?” Lori says, pointing. “Black shirt, six o’clock. Great shoulders.”
Parker and I both turn our heads to look.
“But he’s already with someone,” Parker says.
Lori and I exchange a puzzled glance.
“The redhead he’s talking to?” Parker says, looking at us like we’re dense.
“Oh, they’re not together,” Lori says.
Parker frowns in confusion. “How do you know?”
“Because he came in with his guy friends just a few minutes after we got here,” Lori explains patiently.
“And Redhead was here
before
we arrived,” I add.
Parker gives us a baffled look. “How do you two know this?”
Lori reaches across and pats Parker’s hand. “This is why you brought us, sweetie.”
“Why, so I can learn how to stalk people? I wanted help with picking up guys, not CIA training.”
“It’s not so different,” I explain.
Parker gives me a look. “Puh-
leeze.
I’ve seen how often you’ve watched Jason Bourne. Keep your guy-spy fantasy out of this.”
“No, he’s right,” Lori says. “It is a little bit like spying.”
I give a
thank you, Lori
smile, and she smiles back, holding my eyes. I jerk my gaze away, lest Parker catch on. Lori is ridiculously hot, and in any other situation, I’d absolutely have made a move months ago.
But strangely enough, I sort of get why Parker’s so determined not to let me hit on her friends. In a perfect world, Lori and I could hook up, scratch the itch, and move on. But despite Lori’s sex-kitten vibes, I hear about all the dates she goes on from Parker.
Real
dates, not drunken hookups.
I’m not looking for that. At all.
“So, wait,” Parker says, taking another slurp of her drink. “You’re telling me that I should be…casing the joint?”
“Absolutely,” I say, managing to keep a straight face. “Be sure you bring your pistol, too.”
She shoves her glass across the table at me. “Okay, smartass. I reject your sarcasm but accept your drink offer. So does Lori.”
“One vodka tonic, one Jack and diet coming right up,” I say, scooting out of the booth. “Also, Parks? Watch and learn.”
I ignore her puzzled
Huh?
and make my way to the bar, deliberately positioning myself on the other side of the redhead who’s talking to the guy in the black shirt.
The bartender doesn’t see me, but I don’t rush to catch her eye. I have a lesson to teach.
Black-Shirt Dude is talking Redhead’s ear off about football.
Big mistake, dude.
But his mistake will make my job easier. I’m almost bummed. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good challenge.
I raise my hand to get the attention of the bartender. A futile gesture, because the tatted-up blonde’s back is to me and she’s shaking the heck out of some cocktail, but it accomplishes what I need it to.
My elbow barely—just barely—hits the shoulder of Redhead, who’s standing to my right.
My hand is already touching her forearm in apology as she’s turning toward me.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, laying it on a little thick. Most dudes would grunt an apology, if at all. But this kind of over-the-top courtesy has gotten me the girl more than a couple of times.
My fingers linger on her forearm as she turns all the way toward me, surprise flickering over her face. And the face is a good one. I was expecting her eyes to be hazel or brown, but they’re blue. She’s got a full mouth, which I like, because,
hello,
and her body’s as good from the front as it was from the back.
“No problem,” she says, a slow smile sliding over her face. It’s a predatory smile, which is kind of a turnoff, but I’m not marrying the girl, so it’s cool.
“Buy me a drink and we’ll call it even?” she says.
Yup. I’d been right. No challenge here.
“What, so I can’t even talk with him because you two don’t like his shirt?” Parker asks.
“What about that one?” Lori says, pointing. “Black shirt, six o’clock. Great shoulders.”
Parker and I both turn our heads to look.
“But he’s already with someone,” Parker says.
Lori and I exchange a puzzled glance.
“The redhead he’s talking to?” Parker says, looking at us like we’re dense.
“Oh, they’re not together,” Lori says.
Parker frowns in confusion. “How do you know?”
“Because he came in with his guy friends just a few minutes after we got here,” Lori explains patiently.
“And Redhead was here
before
we arrived,” I add.
Parker gives us a baffled look. “How do you two know this?”
Lori reaches across and pats Parker’s hand. “This is why you brought us, sweetie.”
“Why, so I can learn how to stalk people? I wanted help with picking up guys, not CIA training.”
“It’s not so different,” I explain.
Parker gives me a look. “Puh-
leeze.
I’ve seen how often you’ve watched Jason Bourne. Keep your guy-spy fantasy out of this.”
“No, he’s right,” Lori says. “It is a little bit like spying.”
I give a
thank you, Lori
smile, and she smiles back, holding my eyes. I jerk my gaze away, lest Parker catch on. Lori is ridiculously hot, and in any other situation, I’d absolutely have made a move months ago.
But strangely enough, I sort of get why Parker’s so determined not to let me hit on her friends. In a perfect world, Lori and I could hook up, scratch the itch, and move on. But despite Lori’s sex-kitten vibes, I hear about all the dates she goes on from Parker.
Real
dates, not drunken hookups.
I’m not looking for that. At all.
“So, wait,” Parker says, taking another slurp of her drink. “You’re telling me that I should be…casing the joint?”
“Absolutely,” I say, managing to keep a straight face. “Be sure you bring your pistol, too.”
She shoves her glass across the table at me. “Okay, smartass. I reject your sarcasm but accept your drink offer. So does Lori.”
“One vodka tonic, one Jack and diet coming right up,” I say, scooting out of the booth. “Also, Parks? Watch and learn.”
I ignore her puzzled
Huh?
and make my way to the bar, deliberately positioning myself on the other side of the redhead who’s talking to the guy in the black shirt.
The bartender doesn’t see me, but I don’t rush to catch her eye. I have a lesson to teach.
Black-Shirt Dude is talking Redhead’s ear off about football.
Big mistake, dude.
But his mistake will make my job easier. I’m almost bummed. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good challenge.
I raise my hand to get the attention of the bartender. A futile gesture, because the tatted-up blonde’s back is to me and she’s shaking the heck out of some cocktail, but it accomplishes what I need it to.
My elbow barely—just barely—hits the shoulder of Redhead, who’s standing to my right.
My hand is already touching her forearm in apology as she’s turning toward me.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, laying it on a little thick. Most dudes would grunt an apology, if at all. But this kind of over-the-top courtesy has gotten me the girl more than a couple of times.
My fingers linger on her forearm as she turns all the way toward me, surprise flickering over her face. And the face is a good one. I was expecting her eyes to be hazel or brown, but they’re blue. She’s got a full mouth, which I like, because,
hello,
and her body’s as good from the front as it was from the back.
“No problem,” she says, a slow smile sliding over her face. It’s a predatory smile, which is kind of a turnoff, but I’m not marrying the girl, so it’s cool.
“Buy me a drink and we’ll call it even?” she says.
Yup. I’d been right. No challenge here.
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