Out of Reach (10 page)

Unexpectedly and unnoticed, Kade slips onto
the barstool next to me and insinuates himself into the
conversation.

“Are we taking bets yet?”

Startled, I jump slightly in my chair.

“Well if it isn’t our dark knight. And where
have you been?”

“You know I can’t leave the bike just
anywhere. She has special needs.”

Well aware of her special needs, I let that
one slide.

“I see my ladies haven’t even ordered me a
beer! Not very thoughtful if you ask me.” Kade grins wickedly.

“We didn’t know how long you’d be,” I
counter.

“And we didn’t want it to get warm,” Melanie
adds quickly.

“Well look at that, you were being
thoughtful after all!” Flagging down José, Kade orders a round of
beers. “Well, the fans certainly are out in force tonight.” Kade’s
gaze sweeps across the ever-growing female population of the
crowd.

“Yes,” Melanie agrees polishing off her
bottle. Kade hands her a fresh one as he stands up.

“You ladies going to behave yourselves
tonight, or am I going to have to drive you home ... again?”

Melanie rolls her eyes. “Not if all goes
well tonight.” Hopping down off her stool, she gives us a big wink
before heading off in the direction of the restroom.

I rest a hand on Kade’s arm. “You’re not
sitting with us tonight,” I say, more as a statement of fact than
an actual question.

“No, I don’t feel like ogling the firemen’s
reflections tonight,” he chuckles.

“Hey, it’s better than outright staring at
them,” I say stifling a laugh.

Looking down at me he responds, “Whatever
you say, Gwen, but I find direct eye contact to be much more
effective.” And with that he strides purposefully to the back of
the room, claiming one of the open booths.

Catching Melanie’s reflection in the mirror
above me, I grab my beer and turn on my stool to face her as she
approaches and settles back down onto her seat. We chat mindlessly
for a bit about our upcoming shopping extravaganza and my mind
begins to wander. Eavesdropping on several of the women around us,
I notice many of them have honed in on Kade.

Nudging Melanie, I lean closer and whisper,
“Our Kade seems to have quite a few admirers tonight.”

“Of course he does, he’s hot,” she answers
without looking at me, remaining engaged in her current eye flirt
with a short stocky guy across the way.

“Huh,” is all I can get out. Finally looking
my direction, she continues her thought.

“Come on, Gwen, the guy’s a wall of solid
muscle, with the whole dark, mysterious thing going on. And those
rich amber eyes, I’d swear they glow.”

I must have continued to stare at her like
she was from another planet because the next thing I know she’s
shaking me, “Gwen, you okay?”

“Um, yeah,” I mumble. She’s laughing at me
now.

“You know, for a scientist your powers of
observation really suck sometimes.”

I catch her giggles, joining in a little too
eagerly, more than happy that my response has been so completely
misinterpreted. Leaning over the counter, I slowly sip my beer,
trying to gain some perspective from the cluster fuck of ideas
racing around my head. Did I really hear her correctly? Could
Melanie be attracted to Kade? Or was she simply giving a no holds
barred description of the guy? I mean, her assessment was dead on:
he is tall, dark, and handsome. It wasn’t so much what she’d said
that struck a chord with me, but how she’d said that last part
about his eyes.

No, no,
no
, I think to myself.
This cannot be happening. It’s too weird, my two best
friends! I can’t handle it.

About now, when I’m ready to hyperventilate,
my brain finally kicks in to do what any sane person’s would:
rationalize.

The biggest
truth
, I remind myself,
is time. We’ve all been friends for years. If any
romantic interest had ever been there, surely it would have
surfaced by now.

Risking a sidelong glance at Kade, I see him
sitting in his booth keeping an eye on the two of us. But his gaze
doesn’t linger; it seems to sweep the room, pausing here and there
before returning, like a bodyguard’s would.

No, Melanie isn’t interested in Kade. She’s
just being her normal speak-her-mind-self.

Flagging down José, I order Melanie and me
another round. Judging by the waning light outside and the size of
the crowd inside, it must be nearly eight o’clock. Standing up I
flash Melanie the international sign for “Watch My Purse” and head
to the ladies room, preferring to have an empty bladder before the
show arrives.

Chapter 14

As I walk away from the girls my flesh
continues to burn from the brief touch of Gwen’s fingers. I head
toward the back of the room to claim one of the open booths,
knowing that Gwen still doesn’t see me. I’m stopped several times
along the way, first by the leg of a sultry brunette. “Oh, excuse
me,” she says, fishing for an introduction with her body. Then
again by a voluptuous blonde who uses the more direct approach of
pressing herself up against me and asking if I’d like some company.
Politely I refuse, not interested in leading either woman on when
my affections lie elsewhere.

Wrapped in shadows I stare at the life going
on around me from my table in the corner. I catch an occasional
flirty glance as my gaze traverses the room. Flagging down a
waitress I order another beer, keeping an eye on the clock the
entire time. Brooding and alone I pick at the label of my empty
bottle and try to keep under the radar. Returning with a fresh beer
the waitress tries to engage me in conversation.

“Haven’t seen you in awhile, how you
been?”

“You recognize me?” I ask,
semi-surprised.

“Sure, I never forget a face,” she says,
leaning into the table with a smile. It’s a move designed to bring
us closer together while putting her cleavage on display at the
same time. “That and the two women you always come in with are hard
to miss,” she tacks on a few seconds later. And there it is: This
woman only recognizes me because of Gwen, unforgettable Gwen.

Suddenly uninterested in conversation, I
take a long swig off my bottle. “Thanks, I’m good. What do I owe
you?”

“For you, it’s on the house,” she says,
confusion clouding her face. Somewhere in the conversation she
knows she lost me, but it’s clear from her expression she has no
idea where. Slipping another beer onto the table she winks at me
and struts her stuff back to the bar, one final attempt to
recapture my interest. Looking down I see the white corner of a
business card peeking out from the bottom of the newest bottle.
Pulling it free of the drink I flip it over to find the waitress’s
name and number scribbled across the top.

Clever
girl
, I think to myself,
smiling.

My tension rises in proportion to the
swelling crowd. When I see Gwen having to fight her way to the
bathroom, I know it must be almost 8 o’clock.

I’ve got to get out of here.

Relinquishing my booth I work my way over to
the bar, prepared to make my goodbyes. Claiming Gwen’s vacant seat
I sit down next to Melanie. José drops off two new beers a short
time later. Winking at Melanie I grab Gwen’s bottle and take a
drink. She giggles with delight on the stool next to me.

“You know she’s gonna be pissed.”

“And you know it’s worth it,” I say, a
mischievous grin brightening my demeanor.

Catching sight of Gwen fighting her away
against the tide of bodies, Melanie leans in closer to me and
whispers, “Here we go.”

Winking back at her I take a long swig as a
slightly frazzled Gwen approaches.

“It seems my seat isn’t the only thing
you’ve acquired while I was gone,” she tells at me, hands on her
hips.

“Didn’t want it to get warm,” I toss back at
her. Sliding off the barstool, I lean close so the two women can
hear me over the band which has started warming up. “Unless you
ladies need anything, I’m going to call it a night.”

“But we just got here,” Melanie complains,
frowning. “And the band hasn’t even started yet.” I give the young
men, who all appear to be in their early twenties and extremely
nervous, a once over and cock an eyebrow at Melanie.

“You can tell me about it on Monday.”

“Alright fine,” she pouts before giving me a
big bear hug goodbye. Chuckling over the top of her head I look at
Gwen.

“You owe me a beer,” she says, all spit and
fire as she leans back against the bar.

“I’m good for it,” I mouth, stepping back
from Melanie and turning to get the hell out of there.

Chapter 15

Gwen

I have a fleeting sense as I watch Kade
waltz out of the bar that something’s bothering him, but Melanie
and I quickly fall into easy conversation and I forget about it. A
few minutes later the band gets going and, to our surprise, they
aren’t too bad. I can’t make out half of the lyrics, but their
first few songs have an uplifting beat and we quickly find
ourselves rocking out from our stools.

Halfway through my old-school impression of
head banging, I overhear the woman next to me say, “God, I hope
he’s in the calendar this year.”

“Yeah, Mr. February can make me a house call
anytime,” her friend chimes in.

“February? Why February?”

“Because silly, it’s my birth month and
those wintery blue eyes are to die for.”

Giggling, their string of compliments
continues, and spreads around the bar like wildfire. Lifting my
head, I run my fingers through the unruly strands of my hair,
smoothing them back into place as best I can after my recent dance
exploit. I don’t even have to glance up into the mirror: I know
exactly who those women are talking about. My fireman has
arrived.

Reaching into my purse, I grab my lip gloss
and apply a fresh coat of shine. Sitting up straight on my stool, I
take a deep breath then silently count to three before gazing into
the angled mirror above us.

The firemen have most certainly arrived, and
every woman within spitting distance of their table is on high
alert. While most of them are casually dressed, sporting jeans and
their navy logo t-shirts, a few of them are rocking the uniform.
It’s the work of a moment for my brain to dismiss most of the party
and lock onto the face of one uniformed man.

Yes, his eyes are a soft wintery blue; the
woman next to me got that much correct, but there’s so much more to
them than that. From my perch at the bar, I’ve seen frost in those
eyes on occasion and, let me tell you, the reflection of the winter
storm can be just as glorious as the friendly glow they’re exuding
tonight.

Shivering slightly, I hold my breath as my
eyes continue to drink him in. He’s fair-haired with sculpted
cheek-bones and lightly bronzed skin (the healthy kind that comes
from spending time outdoors), and tall enough that I have to tilt
my head back a little to look into the splendor of his face. Leanly
muscular but not too bulky, his body moves with the easy grace of
an athlete.

Shaking my head from side to side I sigh,
looking down at my beer bottle for distraction. It goes without
saying: I’ve been stalking this fair-haired Viking god of a man for
quite some time. In fact, he’s the reason Melanie and I started
frequenting The Spotted Dog on Friday nights.

“Here,” says Melanie, handing me a shot of
something. Giggling she says, “You look like you could use
one.”

Holding her glass up we both smile and
simultaneously throw back our drinks. As the warmth of the alcohol
spreads through me, I begin to relax. Melanie and I take up our
familiar pattern of ogling the firemen, people watching, and
dancing. Clapping for the guitarist as he finishes a well-executed
solo, my eyes are suddenly attracted by movement in the mirror
above. I see my fireman making his way toward the bar.

Sensing him approach along every nerve, I
sit stone-still on my stool and stare straight ahead. He leans up
against the bar directly between Melanie and me and proceeds to
order a couple pitchers of beer from José before turning toward
me.

“Are you planning to come over and say hello
to the guys tonight?” he asks me.

“No, not tonight,” I reply as nonchalantly
as possible. Stifling a grin, I glance over into his eyes and ask,
“Are you going to dance with me tonight?”

Looking over at the band he pauses for a
moment before directing his gaze back to me and answering, “No, not
tonight.”

Flashing me that crooked, school-boy grin,
he collects his order from José and heads back to his table.

Laughing at our by-play Melanie leans closer
to be heard above the music and says, “Smooth, Gwen, really
smooth.”

Not fazed by her razing in the least, I arch
one eyebrow and respond, “Oh, and I suppose you could do
better?”

“Of course I can.” Hopping down from her
stool, she fluffs her hair, adjusts her shirt, and assumes a
man-eater swagger. Briefly looking back at me over her shoulder,
she mouths, “Watch and learn.”

Reaching for my bottle, I swiftly twist
around on my stool so I can watch her work her magic firsthand.
Until this moment, few women have dared to broach the invisible
line between the firemen’s section and ours. Scanning the room I
laugh; every woman is glaring daggers at Melanie as she confidently
strides up to one of the young, handsome firemen. A few minutes of
animated flirting later and her dark-haired prize is escorting her
to the makeshift dance floor. I tip my bottle to her as she passes
by me and mouths, “And that’s how it’s done.”

After a couple songs, Melanie rejoins me at
the bar. Dinner has been served at the firemen’s tables and
Melanie’s guy bows out to go enjoy his meal.