Read Online Plum Girl (Romance) by Jill Winters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jill Winters
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every time she called. How typical that Lyn Tang was the one guest Twit cared the most about confirming. In fact, lately he appeared all but obsessed with getting Tang on staff.
Clicking her mouse, Lonnie added absently, "I'm dragging my little sister, too."
"Whoa!" B.J. exclaimed, leaning his arms on top of her PC. "There's another one of you? I should've been told this sooner!"
"How old's your sister?" Matt probed, obviously just as intrigued by the idea.
"She's twenty-two."
"Boyfriend?" Matt asked.
"No comment. I don't pimp for blood relatives."
"Well, a boyfriend's no impediment, anyway," Matt said, cockiness on full blast. Lonnie just laughed and rolled her eyes.
"Does she look like you?" B.J. asked.
"No, and no more questions. Guys, seriously, I have to finish this thing," she said, and motioned to her computer screen.
Matt said, "All right, all right. But bring her to happy hour tomorrow night."
B.J. gave his predictable agreement, and the two of them headed for the elevators. Lonnie shook her head in half amusement, half exasperation, until she realized they had given her a good idea. If she guilted Peach into meeting her at Whiskey's, maybe the night wouldn't be a total loss.
When she got home that evening, she found Peach working on her mural, which took up one full wall. Peach had titled the mural BosYork because it was an urban scene that combined features of her two favorite cities. She'd started it soon after she'd moved in with Lonnie, but with her hectic schedule as Iris Mew's personal assistant, she was only able to work on it sporadically.
Lonnie looked at her sweet little sister, with her slim body covered by white overalls, her streaky gold hair in long pigtails, her pretty face smudged with periwinkle paint, and figured she was too angelic looking to turn her down. So she asked her if she'd meet her at happy hour the following night. At first, she mentioned something about remulching Iris's indoor plants, but then she agreed. Lonnie figured that Peach felt sorry for her because Dominick had blown her off. Luckily, this was one of those times when Lonnie had no problem with pity.
* * *
Whiskey's was a spacious, stylish bar, with dark wood, upholstered booths, and cozy lighting. Tonight it was also a jam-packed madhouse of suits. Lonnie'd been there about twenty minutes, just talking to B.J. and waiting for Peach.
"So, I told you about my ex-girlfriend who just got engaged, right?" B.J. asked. Lonnie mentally reviewed the stories he'd already told her that night: graduating first in his class at Penn Law, breaking his gym's all-time bench-pressing record, getting on stage at a Blues Traveler concert and jamming with the band on his slide guitar. Nope, he hadn't told her about the ex-girlfriend getting engaged yet.
"No, I don't think so," she said amiably, and took a sip of her extra-spicy Bloody Mary. She slipped sly glances at the door behind B.J., while he launched into a story about an ex-girlfriend who got engaged to a neurosurgeon, only to confess to B.J. that she'd never gotten over him.
"...and at that point she told me point-blank that I was the greatest lover she's ever had." Sure she did. "And her fiancé was only three or four feet away!" Then he stopped abruptly, and his expression turned more serious. "Oh, wait. You don't mind me telling you this, do you? I mean, I don't want you to yell 'sexual harassment' because I was telling you about being great in bed."
"Oh, no, it's okay." It's also a load of crap.
"Hey, check that out," B.J. said, and motioned with his chin for Lonnie to turn around. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Lunther at the other end of the bar talking to Delia. He had two cigarettes hanging out of his mouth; when he exhaled, he took them both out at once, as if they were joined. Delia had her hand firmly planted on his upper arm, and she appeared to be in giddy hysterics over whatever he was saying. Then she leaned in to whisper something in his ear.
Clicking her mouse, Lonnie added absently, "I'm dragging my little sister, too."
"Whoa!" B.J. exclaimed, leaning his arms on top of her PC. "There's another one of you? I should've been told this sooner!"
"How old's your sister?" Matt probed, obviously just as intrigued by the idea.
"She's twenty-two."
"Boyfriend?" Matt asked.
"No comment. I don't pimp for blood relatives."
"Well, a boyfriend's no impediment, anyway," Matt said, cockiness on full blast. Lonnie just laughed and rolled her eyes.
"Does she look like you?" B.J. asked.
"No, and no more questions. Guys, seriously, I have to finish this thing," she said, and motioned to her computer screen.
Matt said, "All right, all right. But bring her to happy hour tomorrow night."
B.J. gave his predictable agreement, and the two of them headed for the elevators. Lonnie shook her head in half amusement, half exasperation, until she realized they had given her a good idea. If she guilted Peach into meeting her at Whiskey's, maybe the night wouldn't be a total loss.
When she got home that evening, she found Peach working on her mural, which took up one full wall. Peach had titled the mural BosYork because it was an urban scene that combined features of her two favorite cities. She'd started it soon after she'd moved in with Lonnie, but with her hectic schedule as Iris Mew's personal assistant, she was only able to work on it sporadically.
Lonnie looked at her sweet little sister, with her slim body covered by white overalls, her streaky gold hair in long pigtails, her pretty face smudged with periwinkle paint, and figured she was too angelic looking to turn her down. So she asked her if she'd meet her at happy hour the following night. At first, she mentioned something about remulching Iris's indoor plants, but then she agreed. Lonnie figured that Peach felt sorry for her because Dominick had blown her off. Luckily, this was one of those times when Lonnie had no problem with pity.
* * *
Whiskey's was a spacious, stylish bar, with dark wood, upholstered booths, and cozy lighting. Tonight it was also a jam-packed madhouse of suits. Lonnie'd been there about twenty minutes, just talking to B.J. and waiting for Peach.
"So, I told you about my ex-girlfriend who just got engaged, right?" B.J. asked. Lonnie mentally reviewed the stories he'd already told her that night: graduating first in his class at Penn Law, breaking his gym's all-time bench-pressing record, getting on stage at a Blues Traveler concert and jamming with the band on his slide guitar. Nope, he hadn't told her about the ex-girlfriend getting engaged yet.
"No, I don't think so," she said amiably, and took a sip of her extra-spicy Bloody Mary. She slipped sly glances at the door behind B.J., while he launched into a story about an ex-girlfriend who got engaged to a neurosurgeon, only to confess to B.J. that she'd never gotten over him.
"...and at that point she told me point-blank that I was the greatest lover she's ever had." Sure she did. "And her fiancé was only three or four feet away!" Then he stopped abruptly, and his expression turned more serious. "Oh, wait. You don't mind me telling you this, do you? I mean, I don't want you to yell 'sexual harassment' because I was telling you about being great in bed."
"Oh, no, it's okay." It's also a load of crap.
"Hey, check that out," B.J. said, and motioned with his chin for Lonnie to turn around. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Lunther at the other end of the bar talking to Delia. He had two cigarettes hanging out of his mouth; when he exhaled, he took them both out at once, as if they were joined. Delia had her hand firmly planted on his upper arm, and she appeared to be in giddy hysterics over whatever he was saying. Then she leaned in to whisper something in his ear.
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