One More Kiss (A Too Many Men Romantic Comedy / Chick Lit Novel)

by Stephanie Rowe

  "Blond hair looks great with black."

  My hair, which used to be more of a light brown or dirty blond, now had fashionable blond streaks in it, thanks to Emma and Phoebe dragging me off for a day of self-improvement two weeks ago. I think that was after the invite to my sister's engagement party had arrived. I had to admit, I liked the blond look. And it did go with the black. Maybe I should wear black more often.

  I tugged on the tank top, which was a little snugger and more risqué than I remembered—couldn't be because of all those candy bars I'd been chowing down since the break-up, could it?—but Emma wouldn't let me take it off. I studied my reflection in the mirror, a little shocked at the amount of cleavage showing. The push-up bra might be a little much with that particular top…

  No, I could do this. I could be a woman, not a business suit.

  I updated my makeup for an evening look, then took out my bun and put my head upside down to fluff my hair. I yanked on my jeans, admired the pedicure which still looked good, put on my sandals, and I was ready to go.

  "That bra does wonders for your chest." Emma studied my breasts until I felt self-conscious and sort of shifted away from her. "Oh, get used to it," she said. "Everyone's going to be staring at those tonight."

  "So maybe I should change my shirt."

  "Too late." Emma grabbed my suit bag which contained my more conservative options and took off out of the bathroom. By the time I tracked her down, she was already walking out of my office, my purse under her arm and my clothes locked away.

  "Emma," I warned.

  She just flipped me a grin and bolted into Blaine's office, popping out to grab my arm before I could wiggle by her and into my office. "Don't even try it. You're never going to meet more guys if you refuse to get out there and live a little."

  "Why does she need to meet more guys?" Blaine's voice drifted out of his office, and I wanted to shoot Emma.

  Emma looked into the office, while I chose to lean against the wall next to his door, so he couldn't see me, and I couldn't see him. "Shannon broke up with her boyfriend of two years a couple weeks ago, and he's been rather a nuisance ever since. Really pressuring her. She needs a new love interest so she doesn't go crawling back to him for the zillionth time."

  Okay, it was time to end this conversation. I tapped her shoulder. "You wait for Blaine. I'll go catch up with Dave and Phoebe."

  "I'm ready." Blaine walked out of his office, and I could see his profile as he stared at Emma. Yep, he still looked good. Bastard. He turned and glanced at me, then looked back at Emma. Then he looked back at me again, and I saw his eyes flick over my outfit, much the same way as he'd checked out Emma that first night.

  See? There was a woman underneath those suits.

  Blaine dragged his eyes away from my chest and looked at my face. "Nice outfit."

  Sarcasm or genuine compliment? Suddenly, I felt sort of like a hooker. Lawyer-wanna-be by day, cheap call girl by night.

  "I picked it out," Emma said. "She thinks it shows too much cleavage. I think she should show off what she has. What do you think, Blaine?"

  Oh, my God. I was going to kill her. I shot a glance at Blaine. "You don't need to answer that." I glared at Emma and started walking down the hall.

  "Too much cleavage for work." Blaine's voice drifted behind me.

  "Well, duh. You haven't seen me like this all week, have you?" Yes, being a snippy bitch was probably exactly what Emma was talking about when she said tonight would be a good opportunity to be friends with Blaine. Next time she invited one of my enemies out to play, I was getting the flu and staying home.

  "It'll look fine for a bar," he said.

  I looked back over my shoulder to check out his expression. His gaze didn't waver from my face. "Well, thanks, then."

  Fine. He thought I looked fine. Be still my beating heart. Good thing I wasn't trying to impress him.

  Emma caught up and tucked her arm through mine. "Don't worry," she whispered. "He was totally checking out your butt, but since you're a colleague, he's probably afraid to tell you how hot you really are. You know, sexual harassment stuff."

  Not that I cared whether Blaine was checking out my butt or anything. But on a more general level, it was a victory for womankind.

  So, maybe tonight would be interesting after all. Maybe, indeed.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time we made it to the elevator, I was losing the ability to convince myself that Emma's cozy flirting with Blaine wasn't bugging me. In a valiant attempt to resurrect my state of denial, I averted my gaze and stared at the ceiling instead. Unfortunately, the mirrored ceiling didn't help my cause at all, because I could now covertly spy on them…and I could also see exactly how much of my breasts were visible from that angle.

  It was a lot. Like, a horrifying amount.

  Heaven help me. I was dressed like a total slut.

  Sure, Emma's shirt was about as low as mine, but her boobs were so small that she just looked cute and appealing. Me? I looked like I'd decided that topless was the new fashion trend for the Boston night life.

  No wonder Blaine had made that comment. I would have made that comment to myself, if I'd realized. Damn Emma for blinding me as to the reality of my cleavage situation until it was too late!

  No. Not too late. It was never too late to fix a mistake, right? I had another shirt upstairs. It would take only a moment to change.

  The elevator reached the lobby and the doors slid open. Emma tumbled out, and Blaine followed her close enough to masquerade as her shadow.

  I stayed pinned against the back wall, my hands locked around the railing. "I'm going back up. I forgot something."

  Emma spun around, grabbed my hand, and hauled me out. "Oh, no. Don't change your shirt. It's about time you admitted you had a body under there. Tell her, Blaine."

  He lifted his brow, and I stopped struggling long enough to listen to his response. I couldn't help it. If one hot guy, even if he was a pretentious jerk, noticed me as a woman, I was going to feel better. Yes, it was a pathetic statement of women's disempowerment, but that was the way life was. A well-timed compliment from an attractive guy could make a difference to a girl's mood.

  But as the silence grew, it gave me time to remember that a well-timed insult from an attractive guy could also make a difference to a woman's self-esteem. Damn.

  When was I going to figure out not to care what anyone else thought of me? I didn't want to hear what Blaine had to say, but I could see he was starting to open his mouth to respond—

  "Shannon!" Van hollered from his stand and waved me over, sparing me from whatever Blaine had been about to say.

  "Give me a sec." Grateful to have an excuse to escape for a moment, I left Emma flashing her wares at Blaine, and I ran across the lobby.

  Well, actually, I ran two steps then concluded I wasn't one of those ultra-talented women who could do decathlons in spiked heels. I did, however, manage to reach Van's booth without wiping out. "What's up?"

  For the first time since I'd known him, Van's gaze went to my breasts. "Good God, Shannon. What's up with that outfit?"

  My cheeks felt like they suddenly caught fire. "I already feel like a slut. Please don't make it worse. What do you want?"

  "'Slut' was not what I was thinking."

  The undercurrent in his voice made sudden heat pool in my belly, and I froze, my heart suddenly pounding. "Do I want to know what you were thinking?"

  His gaze settled on my face, but he gave away nothing about what he was feeling. "How do I know what you want from me?" he asked.

  I paused. It sounded like he was saying so much more than the words. "What do you mean?"

  He hesitated, then shrugged, and all the tension between us seemed to dissipate. "Nothing. You look like a woman I'd fantasize about on my death bed as I spent my entire life regretting I missed out on. That's all."

  I swallowed. "That's all?"

  "Yep." He paused, as if waiting for my response, but I had no idea how
to respond. Was he kidding? Or had he just put something out there between us to see if I'd pick up on it? If it was the former, I needed to be as chill as he was. If it was the latter...I didn't even know what I'd do if it was the latter.

  He cleared his throat and sat up, going back to all-business Van. "Max stopped by about twenty minutes ago."

  Whoa. Max? With my ho' attire and Blaine's disdain, I was feeling a little vulnerable right now. "What happened?"

  "I told him he couldn't go up."

  "And?"

  "He seemed surprised. Really surprised, actually. We commiserated for a bit how you seemed to be taking this break up more seriously, and then he left."

  "He didn't argue?"

  "Nope." Van lifted his brow. "Don't tell me you wanted him to argue? That this is some sort of test of his love?"

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "Is that what the outfit is about? Post-breakup blues?"

  I glared at Van. "Don't you have any personal boundaries?"

  He looked surprised, then his face cooled off. "Fine."

  Oh, so now I felt like queen bitch. "Van! Stop it!"

  He shot me a look. I knew that look. It was the "typical psycho female" look. Time to reclaim my reputation as sane and stable. "Well, thanks for sending him away."

  He shrugged. "It's my job."

  "We're going to leave," Emma called from the other side of the lobby. "We don't want to keep Dave and Phoebe waiting."

  Crap. No way was I going to let them off on their own. "I'm coming." I looked at Van. "Sorry I snapped at you. Really."

  "No problem." He glanced across the lobby. "Good looking guy. Have fun."

  "Shannon! We're leaving!"

  Van waved me off. "Go."

  I had a feeling I still needed to do some groveling to Van, but it would have to wait until another night. I had some serious professional issues to deal with first.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time we got to the bar, I was in a...um...how shall we say it? A less than stellar frame of mind?

  Pretentious Bastard had spent the entire walk over chatting up Emma. I'd even done a little experiment where I pretended to have a problem with my shoe and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and they didn't even notice. They got a full block ahead, while I was sitting on the curb faking an ankle injury. They hadn't even noticed when I sprinted...er...wobbled after them and caught up a half a block later.

  It was official.

  I was invisible.

  It was all the fault of Pretentious Bastard. Emma was my friend. She would never have failed to notice my plea for help if she hadn't been brainwashed by him. Maybe in his secret life, he ran a cult. He secretly manipulated wealthy people to join and worship Holy Blaine, but instead of bilking them out of all their money, he made them give all their business to M&S. And probably sex was involved too—obviously, Emma had no money, so he was brainwashing her for the sex.

  Well, good luck to him. Emma was way too grounded to fall for a cult leader like him who was so obviously a fraud.

  He flashed a grin at the bouncer as he walked into the bar. Did he see another victim to suck into his cult? I'm onto you, Blaine. He'd be sorry he pissed me off, when I exposed his multi-million-dollar scheme and sent him to prison, so he lost his money, his reputation, his connections, and his law license.

  "Shannon! Emma! Over here!" My friend Phoebe snapped me back to the present, and I waved back.

  She was sitting at a booth with Dave, and they'd spread out to take as much space as possible. True friends. Let's see Blaine try to suck them into his little cult. Never.

  Emma and Blaine veered in front of me toward the table and claimed the second seat on each of the benches.

  They were two-person benches.

  Which meant, I got to stand?

  Have I mentioned that I hated Blaine? As the last one to be invited, he should be the one without a seat.

  "Grab a chair," Emma said.

  "Right. Sure." Not a lot of spare chairs in a bar.

  I turned back to my friends, but Emma was busy introducing Blaine to Phoebe and Dave.

  Um, hello? These were my friends. My night out.

  Ignored.

  Fine.

  I stomped off, glancing over my shoulder at them, but they didn't even notice. Figured. There was no sense in making a scene if no one cared, so I gave up stomping. I walked over to the bar, where there were tall bar stools. None were free, but maybe one would open soon.

  Might as well stand here instead of standing at the table being ignored.

  "Hi." A guy in black jeans, black tee shirt, and shiny black shoes with slicked black hair and a gold chain leaned casually against the bar. "Here alone?"

  I eyed him, and watched his gaze settle on my breasts. Well, that's what I'd asked for, right? Of course, it was supposed to be Blaine, not some stranger, but I couldn't exactly kick him in the nuts, could I?

  Or maybe I should. Just because a woman wears a shirt where her breasts are practically hanging out in full view doesn't mean a guy has a right to gawk at them.

  "So?" He looked at my face. Impressive show of willpower. "Are you here alone?"

  "Why do you care?"

  He looked startled. "I don't know."

  "If you don't know why you care, why'd you ask?" I cringed as the world tumbled out of my mouth. What was wrong with me? Dave was my friend. I didn't want to snap at him. But I knew what it was. I was at the end of my coping capacity, and Dave had gotten the brunt of it. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

  He shot me a look. "I know. I get it." But then he walked away.

  Great. I felt so much better now.

  The bartender gave me a beer, so I guess the breasts had done something good for me tonight. I peered across the room at my brainwashed friends, but Blaine and Emma weren't at the table. Maybe Blaine had been identified by an ex-victim and the cops had taken him off to jail. Major bummer to have missed it.

  I maneuvered my way back through the bar and slid into the seat beside Phoebe. Ha. Let Blaine find his own seat now. "So, what's up?"

  "You got a beer?" Phoebe pursed her lips in her trademark pout that men found so attractive. "We can't even get a waitress. Emma and Blaine went to get us drinks."

  "No jail?" Too bad. I'd been sort of hoping that I'd been right about Blaine being carted off to spend the night behind bars. Alas.

  Phoebe and Dave looked confused, and I decided not to enlighten them. "It was my breasts. They blinded the bartender, so I grabbed the beer and ran."

  Phoebe eyed my chest. "You are showing quite a bit more cleavage than usual."

  "Emma's fault. She made me."

  Dave did a quick drive-by of my chest, and his cheeks got red. "I think it's fine."

  "Not too slutty?" Dave was pretty conservative. If he thought it was okay, then I'd feel better.

  "No one could ever think you were slutty, no matter what you wore," he said. "You give off a conservative vibe."

  A conservative vibe? That didn't sound too complimentary. "What do you mean?"

  Dave shot a look at Phoebe, who said, "You come from a conservative family. You work for a law firm. It shows."

  I stared at them. "That is so not true. I'm not like my family. I'm certainly not like one of the lawyers at my firm. That's ridiculous. I'm the antithesis of them. That's why my family wants to disown me."

  "They want to disown you because you don't have an impressive job. It has nothing to do with your behavior or your attitude," Phoebe said.

  "So, my 'vibe' is exactly what my parents want?" The mere thought of it made me want to cry. Seriously. Was it really possible I'd become my parents despite all my efforts to the contrary?

  Dave shrugged. "I guess."

  Oh, God. I shot a look at the last person who could save me. "Phoebe?"

  She patted my shoulder. "Shannon, relax. We aren't insulting you. We're simply saying that wearing that shirt isn't going to make anyone think you're a slut. You shou
ld be happy."

  Yeah, so happy that my parents had actually had some influence on me, and that I exuded McCormickness everywhere I went? Sob.

  "Hi." Emma set four beers on the table. "Blaine and I are going to go dance. Save our seats."

  She giggled at Blaine, then grabbed his hand, and dragged him through the crowd.

  Un-friggin-believable.

  "So, who is that guy anyway?" Phoebe asked. "He's hot."

  "Phoebe! You're engaged!"

  "So what? A girl can still look." She sighed. "Besides, it sucks being engaged to a guy who lives in Chicago."

  Yeah, that would be a bummer. Her fiancé had gotten the Chicago job a month ago, and then headed out. She'd applied to some law schools in Chicago to see if she could transfer, but it seemed to be too late to transfer for this year. So she was stuck.

  "I can relate," Dave said.

  Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "How?"

  "My wife travels a lot. Granted, she's not gone all the time like Zach is, but it's enough that I know how you feel."

  "Really?" Phoebe leaned forward. "So, do you sleep in the middle of the bed when she's gone, or do you keep to your side?"

  "My side. What about you?"

  "I sleep in the middle." She frowned. "Is that bad? Like some sign that I'm not keeping things waiting for him?"

  I watched Dave and Phoebe bond over their loneliness, and realized it was one of the first times I'd actually seen them talk. I mean, they knew each other because I dragged them both out on occasion, but now that I thought about it, it was usually me talking to each of them, and them not really talking to each other.

  Which was too bad. They were both awesome people, and apparently, they had some stuff in common. It would be good for them to be friends. It might help Yvonne relax if she knew Dave was out with two of us, instead of just me, homewrecker extraordinaire.

  I decided to give Dave and Phoebe some bonding time. It would be great if they got to be good friends. They both knew Emma pretty well, so that would be the final key to a foursome that was inseparable. "I'm going to the bathroom."