15 Shades Of Pink (2 page)

He wiped down the bar, shaking his head. “A woman with a PhD in lying. Impressive. Need a refill, or will you be enjoying the top-shelf whiskey you stuck that poor chump with?”

“Lying for a good cause doesn’t count as lying. It’s creative protection.” I patted the bar top. “And keep the whiskey there, it makes me look sophisticated, right?”

“Next to the Coke with an umbrella and five cherries? Definitely.”

“Thought so.” I looked for Miranda in the crowd. She had moved on from the college boys and was now dancing with a tall, redheaded guy. He didn’t stand a chance. She’d crossed redheaded guys off her list months ago. Currently, she was looking for someone Australian, since she’d never had the pleasure, or someone with yacht, since she
had
had that pleasure and wanted to enjoy it again. That’s when I saw another guy making a beeline for me. I swore under my breath.

“Hey, how you doing?”

I smiled. “I’m a little itchy, actually.” I scratched the back of my neck. “A bit sweaty, too. I have a terrible headache. And cramps.” I grimaced and set my hand on my tummy. “How are you?”

He blinked at me a few times and then looked over at Miranda. “I’d be a lot better if I was leaving with
her
. You’re her friend, right? What’s her 411?”

Brady leaned between us. “Isn’t she back together with Gino?”

I looked backed at him, smiled and nodded. “Impressive,” I mouthed.

Brady scanned the crowd. “I swear I saw him tonight. Hard to miss a two-hundred-fifty-pound guy.”

I tapped my finger against my nose. “Are you sure he’s out of jail already?”

“Pretty sure.”

I shook my head. “It’s amazing how low bail is for breaking a guy’s arm—just for pinching his girlfriend’s ass.”

The guy slowly backed away.

“Give it a shot. I’m not sure if they’re back together or not,” I said.

His Adam’s apple bounced in his throat. “Thanks. I’m all set.”

I turned around and high-fived Brady. “Nice work.”

“Thank you, thank you. I only hope she provides you the same courtesy when losers come looking for you.”

That earned him a steely gaze. “You think I can only attract losers?’

He groaned and looked up at the ceiling and all those bras. “You know what I mean. A guy with a lame line, like the yahoos here.”

Frowning, I rolled my eyes. “It’s never really been a problem.”

“Oh, only the A-plus specimens show up for you?”

I looked away. “Knock it off.”

“What?” He reached for my arm and I pulled it away.

“Come on, I don’t look like Miranda.” I gestured to her waving her hands over her head in the middle of a group of hot Latino men. Only a girl as confident as her could do that in a strapless dress. “I don’t exactly have guys banging down the door.” Or knocking at all. It had been a while.

Another guy interrupted us. “Hey, you friends with the hot chick?”

I pointed at Brady. “That’s her boyfriend. He can tell you all about her.”

The guy held up his hands and stepped back. “Sorry, dude.”

“No problem. She’s a hot mess, anyway. You don’t want any of that action.”

He was gone before Brady could finish.

I flicked a cherry stem at him. “Stop it. Anybody would want her.”

“Oh, my God.” He dropped his head back, frustrated. “You seriously believe that’s all guys are interested in? Looks?”

I turned up my hands like, yeah duh.

He let out a long sigh. “Come on, Jane. We’re not all Neanderthals.”

“Yes, you are. I think your bra collection says it all.”  I jerked my chin towards the lingerie.

“I’ve never actually collected one myself. See? Not one of the bad guys.”

I pressed my eyes closed before launching into my theory on men. “I just mean its hardwired into your brain, or chemistry, or whatever, to look for the most attractive female mate. Haven’t you ever read those studies about men preferring a certain hip-to-waist ratio, which happens to be the most fertile ratio? Then there’s the clear skin and shiny hair that suggest good, healthy genes. You can’t help it. It’s in your nature to want the most attractive mate who will best allow you to spread your seed.” I took a long drink. “And for that reason, no man would ever pick me over Miranda. She is reproductive perfection.” A little drama always helped sell it, so I spread my arms wide. “It’s not your fault.”

By this time, Brady was pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You are so wrong.”

“And you must be drunk. I thought bartenders weren’t allowed to drink on the job.” I stood up and leaned over the bar, pretending to search for a contraband beverage.

A giggling brunette wearing too much dark eye shadow sidled up next to me and waved to get Brady’s attention. “Excuse me, my friend over there was wondering if you’re single?” She pointed to a girl covering her face with both hands; but there was no question whether or not the short, chubby girl with frizzy red hair was a looker. Being a non-goddess myself, I was allowed to make such judgment calls.

The brunette giggled a bit more. “She thinks you’re hot. If you want, she’ll give you her bra for your collection.” She pointed to the lingerie and slapped her hand over her mouth, totally overwhelmed with how audacious she was being.

I tried to suppress my grin, watching how Brady would handle this one.

He tilted his head and shrugged. “Man, sometimes it really sucks having a girlfriend.” He reached for a wine glass, and poured some Chardonnay. “But give her this and tell her thanks for the compliment; and that she should keep her bra for some other lucky fellow.”

The girl pouted, but she took the wine and dashed over to her friend.

“Very nicely done,” I said.

He smiled and bowed, when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around “Yes?”

“Ah, ‘allo love. I was wondering if you knew that lovely blond girl tearing about on the dance floor?” He had an accent that sounded British, but wasn’t exactly. Could it be the elusive Australian?

Now this is an interesting development
. “I do know her. Say, you aren’t Australian, are you?” Maybe I’d be getting out of here earlier than I expected.

He frowned at me. “No. If I were Australian I’d sound like an ass.” He shuddered a bit as he said it. “I’m South African.”

“Oh.” I scrunched my eyebrows, trying to remember Miranda’s status with the African nations. “Let me get back to you. You don’t have a yacht, do you?”

He shook his head.

“A dinghy?”

He just looked at me and walked away.

“What the hell?” I mumbled. “I was going to ask her if she was interested. She’s got a tour-of-the-nations thing going on.”

Brady refilled my Coke and dropped in a handful of cherries. “Back to your
totally
plausible theory on men and our shallow evolutionary desires. If that’s all we Neanderthals want is a beautiful woman—never mind smarts, or humor, or loyalty, or any of that business—what about you women? What do you want?”

“Simple.” I shrugged. “Power and money to help raise all your children.”

He laughed. “Then I’m in big trouble because I’ve got neither.”

“Well, not all women want that. I suppose those of us who aren’t evolutionary goddesses know we have to settle.” I wasn’t about to tell him that he was a Ryan Reynolds’ look-alike and could get any woman in the bar. “As we just saw, you don’t have a hard time with the ladies. How do you fend them off?”

“I tell them all I’ve got a girlfriend.”

I tucked my hair behind my ears and prayed it wasn’t frizzing. “Is that the truth or an excuse?”

He folded his arms and his expression turned serious. “I’ll be honest with you to balance out your lying. It’s an excuse, because I typically don’t like to swim in the dating pool that shows up here.”

I set my hand in my chin and leaned forward, intrigued. “Oh, and where do you go trolling for women?”

“I don’t make it a point to look. I figure I’ll find her when the time is right.”

“And if Miranda came over and said she was interested in you? Would the time be right then?” I toyed with the zipper pull on my purse so I didn’t have to see the truth in his eyes.

He shrugged. “I don’t even know her.”

With a wave of my hand, I dismissed that ridiculousness. “Stop it. Of course you’d go out with her.”

“Not necessarily. I might decide she was self-absorbed after a few minutes. And I’m not the only one.” He refilled a beer and slid it to the man next to me, waiting.

“I think my results so far here tonight would prove otherwise.”

“You’re polling the wrong crowd. If you and Miranda went somewhere besides a bar, I bet there’d be plenty of guys asking her about you. Here at a bar, a six-foot-tall blond woman is like a bug light. She totally stands out, attracting all the creatures buzzing about at night. And they have no idea they’re about to be zapped by you.” He pointed at me and I thought about biting his finger.

I rolled my eyes instead. “She stands out everywhere.”

He tipped his head and stared at me for a moment. I wondered if I’d forgotten to pluck my right eyebrow again. I fluffed my bangs and did a quick swipe for eye stubble. Phew. All clear.

“Do you always go out with her?” he asked. “Everywhere?”

“Usually.”

“Maybe Miranda’s your excuse to keep guys away.” He smiled, like he’d just come up with a great new As-Seen-On-TV invention.

I opened my mouth then snapped it shut. “I need a minute to think about that warped logic.”

“You’re not going to meet a nice guy at a bar. And certainly not with her in tow.”

“Then good thing I have a cat at home who loves me, because most of the men I meet are at bars.”

He planted both hands on the counter top. “Okay. You need to meet an entirely new population of men. You’ve been corrupted by losers. I’ve got a proposition. Come with me to my baseball game tomorrow—without Miranda—and we’ll see how many guys are interested in you.”

I tried to look incredibly offended. “Good Lord, you make me feel like chattel. Are you going to sell me to the highest bidder?”

“I’m just intent on proving your theory wrong. I’ll bet you have a date in three weeks.”

“Three weeks? You think it’s going to take that long? Thanks.”

He forced a great big smile for me. “No, I just imagine you’re going to be very difficult about this.”

“That’s very true. But let’s place the stakes on this bet.” I narrowed my eyes, thinking, and then snapped my fingers. “A t-shirt that says, ‘She’s Taken.’ I can flash it at guys when they come up to ask about Miranda.”

He frowned. “Now, what good will that be for me when
I
win it? Because I will.”

“I’ll have it printed to say ‘I’m Taken’ so you can use it when girls itching to lose their bras come up to you.”

He reached over the bar to shake my hand. “Deal. And I wear a Large. Meet me at this address tomorrow at one.” He scrawled directions to his baseball game on the back of a bar napkin as Miranda wandered over.

I picked up the glass of scotch. “Want some?” I asked her. “You helped me get it.”

She smoothed her hand along her swan-like neck, which looked like it belonged in a classy erotic photo display. “Can I have a glass of water?” She tucked her hair over one shoulder and smiled at Brady.

And he got her some water pretty damn fast.

“Who’s your friend, Jane?” she asked, lowering her lashes.

No, not the coy voice! Not the lust lashes!
“This is Brady. Brady, this is my friend Miranda.”

She reached over to squeeze the tips of his fingers. “Very nice to meet you.”

“Bad news, he’s not Australian and he doesn’t have a yacht. I checked.”

He laughed, and wiped the bar with his rag. “Plus, I have a girlfriend.”

And didn’t that make my heart sing?

She stuck out her bottom lip and turned to me. “In that case, I’m ready to go home. How about you?”

I hopped off the barstool. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

She headed for the door, and I swiped the napkin from the bar.

“The medication making her sleepy?” Brady asked.

“Nah, it’s a parole curfew.”

Out came the dimples. “See you tomorrow.”

“Only to prove you wrong.” I smiled at him over my shoulder as we left.

“Damn,” Miranda said, climbing into the cab. “He was cute. He would have been fun.”

I said nothing, annoyed for the first time that she could have whoever she wanted.
But Brady told her he was taken
. That made me squeal inside. “He’s a bartender. Not your type.” Normally, I supported any fling she was considering. She had very good reason to pack in as much fun as possible. I did my best to make sure she didn’t get hurt in the process. It’s a role I’d been playing for a while.

She leaned her head back against the seat while I tried to touch as little of the foul, plastic, peeling material on the seats as possible.

“So, what was your best excuse of the night?” she asked.

I tapped my fingers on my thigh, thinking, as the cab lurched through the city, the pine tree air-freshener swinging on the rear view mirror. “Actually, Brady helped me out with a good one.”

“The bartender knew what you were doing?”

“He overheard me. And I used one on him when he asked me if you’d want a drink. Told him it didn’t mix with your meds.”

She pretended to slug me. “Don’t scare away the cute ones.”

I threw up my hands. “What? I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I could be interested for a night or two.”

“He’s too nice for that.”

She gave me a look. “Did someone finally catch your eye?”

I shook my head too hard. “No, he was just fun, helping me come up with excuses. We told one guy your boyfriend was in the bar—fresh out of jail.”

She rested her head on my shoulder. “Oh, Janey, I do love you.”

The cab pulled in front our apartment building. She lived across the hall from me in downtown Springfield. Which was like a zebra living in Idaho, really. Why she wasn’t a model living in Boston or some other big city was beyond me. But she was quite content working as a kindergarten teacher with her summers off. Those poor little boys in her class would never find a woman who could live up to their first teacher crush. I’m sure there were a few smitten daddies, too, scheduling extra parent-teacher conferences.