by Cindi Madsen
“Sorry,” I said to the woman. “I just didn’t want you to waste your night on him.”
“How did you see that?”
“I’m used to watching for the signs.” Unable to help myself, I slipped her my card. “If you ever want to know how to sort the pretending-not-to-be-married from the marriage-potential guys, send me an email.” I leaned in. “The guy in the back corner checked you out when you first came in. Maybe work your way over there?”
I cast a quick glance at the J.Crew dude, unsurprised to see a giggling redhead next to him. When a busty woman sashayed past, though, his eyes strayed. It should’ve given me more satisfaction that I’d been right about him, and while it was a red flag, it was a minor one the redhead could see for herself—besides, I couldn’t save everyone.
I walked toward the bar, tucking my cardholder back into my purse.
“What was that?”
I froze at the voice, telling myself that seeing Linc in the coffee shop earlier was messing with my head. The flutter in my stomach needed to be for an interested but intelligent and available guy who was curious and wanted to say hi. Maybe that guy at the end of the bar I’d already scoped out. Please don’t be Linc, please don’t be Linc.
I looked up to see Linc sitting on the barstool I’d abandoned. Behind him Ivy was motioning wildly while mouthing something about trying to warn me. Linc glanced at her and she plastered a smile on her face.
“So, I guess you two already ran into each other today, before I got a chance to tell you he moved back,” Ivy said. “And before I could tell you he’s going to start bartending here part time, too. Cool, huh?”
If cool meant horrific-development, then yeah. Super cool.
“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,” Linc said, his damn crooked smile on his lips. “You never answered my question. Why’d you chase off that girl’s date?”
“I didn’t. I kept her from wasting her night talking to a married man. It’s my job.”
Confusion flickered across his features.
“It’s complicated,” I said.
“Well, you’ve always been a complicated girl.”
No, I’d been too simple of a girl, not to mention naïve and wearing my rose-colored lenses when it came to love, and that’d been the problem.
Ivy poured a tray full of shots. “Tony’s in a mood tonight. If you chase off his customers, he’s going to come over and take his wrath out on you.”
“I can handle Tony. He loves me, and when I bring my students here, he sells tons of drinks.” Sure, he occasionally huffed and puffed about me sending guys fleeing from the bar, but a simple smile and the promise of another night where I packed the place with women, and he’d forget the one sleazy married guy I chased away.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Ivy held up her hands in the classic I’ve-washed-my-hands-of-you stance and then took the tray of shots to a group of college kids.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said in Linc’s general vicinity, making sure to avoid actual eye contact. Before I made it one step, though, he grabbed my arm.
“Wait. You already ran off this morning. Sit. Talk. I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to the last few years.”
I glanced at the guy at the end of the bar, still talking to his friend. I tried to catch Ivy’s gaze, hoping to use our honed telepathy skills to check if Mr. Potential was worth approaching, but she’d moved on to serving a guy who was obviously hoping for more than a drink from her.
Then I did the one thing I’d told myself not to do. I looked into Linc’s eyes. The next thing I knew, I was on the stool next to him. “Okay, let’s chat. But be warned, if you don’t want what happened to that guy to happen to you, I’d suggest not hitting on anyone while I’m here. You’ve got more red flags than I can explain.”
A mixture of mischief and amusement danced in his eyes, which just went to show he didn’t realize red flags weren’t a good thing.
He nudged me with his elbow. “If you want to keep me to yourself, all you have to do is say so.”
“That’s not what I was saying.” Crap. Did my voice come out flustered? Or with a possessive edge? My cheeks certainly felt hot, and with my luck, they’d probably blazed to a bright pink color, too. Usually I was better at controlling my outward responses, no matter what emotional turmoil was going on inside. It must be our past rising up, all those nights watching crappy reality TV or the sports movies he talked me into, playing cards as we ate take-out and ignored our homework. He was who I called whenever I needed cheering up, too, because no one could make me forget bad days or stress over grades like Linc.
But that was all in the past. No, I didn’t want him to hit on women, especially while I sat there next to him, but that was because of…reasons. If he worked his charm on other girls, though, I could go find a guy to flirt with. I’d made a goal, after all. I was putting my money where my mouth was. Which kind of grossed me out to think about literally, because money was so dirty, all those unwashed hands rubbing across the bills before they finally got to me.
And now I’m stalling. I glanced at Mr. Potential again. Damn it. Now he looked…plain. Dull. Receding hairline.
You mean smart. Focused. Bound to be devoted to the woman who won’t care about his hair or lack of it.
Linc leaned in, forearms propped on his thighs, and tapped my knee with his beer bottle. “Ivy tells me that you have your own business now. Some kind of dating program?”
Guys usually gave me this incredulous look when I explained my job. And it wasn’t a wow, you’re-so-motivated-and-successful incredulous. It was like, abort! She’s-going-to-analyze-me-and-how-is-that-even-a-real-career incredulous. Mason was one of the few who hadn’t been intimidated, but he called it “adorable,” and I wasn’t sure that was any better. I was making a difference in women’s lives, not teaching kittens the dance steps to “Single Ladies.”
I shouldn’t care if Linc thought it was a weird or adorable career—and I didn’t want to. But when it came to him, my emotions ran too high, so either of those reactions would still probably bother me.
I reached up and twisted a dark strand of hair around my finger, glad I’d taken the time to blow it out and flat iron it before my workshop—I always put my best, most professional foot forward whenever I taught my sessions. “Look, it’s been a long day—”
“Starting with a guy who made you spill coffee all over yourself?”
I couldn’t help returning his smile. “Exactly. So can we not talk about work right now?” I reached for my drink, caught Ivy’s gaze to confirm she’d kept an eye on it for me, and when I got a nod, picked it up and rolled the stem of the glass between my fingers. “Let’s just…”
“Drink?” he asked, and I nodded.
He tapped his bottle to my glass. “Cheers.”
After I finished my drink, I took the lemon slice off the rim and bit into it. “Where’ve you been, anyway?”
He gave me the one raised eyebrow, and it, in turn, sent a swirly sensation through my gut. I thought he was going to call me on my just drink decree, but then he set his empty on the bar and swiveled toward me. “I played for the Williamsport Crosscutters for four years.”
“Ooh, crosscutters. Those sound…scary?”
His jaw dropped. “Hey, don’t mock.”
“I wasn’t mocking. I just don’t know what crosscutters are. Do they cut hair? Lawns? Is it like that CrossFit thing everyone’s talking about on Facebook because misery’s more fun when it’s shared?”
“The mascot’s this bearded guy holding a cut log and a wooden baseball bat, so that kind of crosscutters.”
“Beards. Lumberjack vibe. Okay, I can totally get down with that.” I dropped my mangled lemon slice into the martini glass and wiped my fingers on my cocktail napkin. “Did you guys incorporate flannel into your baseball uniforms? I’m not gonna lie, that sounds kinda hot—on two levels.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, no flannel.”
I let out a dramatic sigh. “So much untapped potential.” Joking around with Linc made me remember all the fun banter we’d had back in college and how easy it was to be myself around him. Our friendship had never been the same after our one-night stand, so I got to experience the rejection on two levels, which had—to put it lightly—really sucked. To keep myself from dwelling on that damaging line of thought, I searched for another question. “Where is Williamsport, anyway?”
He narrowed his eyes, suspicion in the crinkled corners. “You really don’t know? Surely Ivy told you about my less-than-stellar baseball career?”
“Nope.” Because forever his name was a bad word, and then it faded and life moved on. Considering how close Linc and I had been at one time, I felt a little bad about losing touch, but I hadn’t initiated the spring break sex and then followed it up with the dodge-and-ignore method.
After that, I saw him on campus here and there, always talking to pretty girls, of course. Then, when we’d finally had a face-to-face meeting, he’d awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes looking everywhere but at me, as he started with the ominous, “About that night at the beach house…”
Out of self-preservation, I’d blurted out, “We were drunk, and it was spring break. Let’s just pretend it never happened.” And for all intents and purposes, it never did and never would again.
“Pennsylvania,” he said, and with the residual bitterness digging at me, it took me a minute to realize he was answering my question.
“That describes the enthusiasm for tree cutting—lots of crowded forests and lumber there, from what I hear.” Which was basically back in junior high when I studied different states and wondered why I’d ever need that information. “So, how was Pennsylvania?” I asked, silently applauding myself for being big enough to power through our rocky past and pull off small talk.
See? Ancient history. Totally mostly over it.
“Good. But I missed Atlanta. And the people.” His gaze met mine, and my heart contracted. Was I part of the “people”? No. It’d been years. He probably hadn’t given me a second thought until this morning, and even then, only because I was standing right in front of him. “Got close to playing for the major leagues, but I threw out my arm last year and…things change.”
“Yeah. They do.” I wanted to ask more about his injury, but I could tell by the forced casualness in his tone that he was disappointed, maybe even still hurting, and not only physically. He’d always wanted to play for the Braves—he used to joke he’d maybe settle for another major league team if pitching for the Braves didn’t work out, but he was sure they’d be offering him a contract in no time.
I was about to reach out and squeeze his hand to let him know it was okay and I was there. Because I suddenly missed our friendship and all the time we’d spent laughing and talking his senior year of college, even though things hadn’t exactly ended the way I’d wanted them to.
But then Ivy reappeared with another beer and lemon martini. “Remember that guy who talked to you a couple of weeks back, and I told you to give him your number, but you were too much of a wuss?” Before I could answer that I wasn’t being wussy, but trying to gauge his potential, she said, “He’s back, and he asked about you.”
She tilted her head toward the far end of the bar, opposite from the Mr. Potential I’d ruled out because of…well, because of Linc, although I hated to admit it, even to myself. “I assured him you and Linc are just friends, and he asked me to deliver your favorite drink to you. Linc, I brought you another beer, because I’m cool like that, but I expect you to pay for it, because I’m not that cool.”
I swore I could feel Linc’s eyes on me as I took the drink. I leaned forward to peek at the guy who sent it. I remembered he was good-looking, although exact details were fuzzy. Ah yes, cute business casual, dark hair, and killer grin. I’d almost automatically ruled him out for being too handsome, but he’d been a bit shy, and when he told me about his banking job, he underplayed his position instead of bragged it up, which was a good indicator he’d be kind and generous instead of conceited or too cocky.
He caught me looking, so I shot him a smile and mouthed, “Thank you.”
I sat back and Linc curled his hand tighter around his beer bottle, his expression shuttered for a moment before he seemed to blink back into the present. Then he shifted toward me, his knee brushing my thigh as he enclosed us in a mini bubble, the way he always used to when we’d get into big discussions back in the day. And by big, I mostly meant important stuff like arguing over who was the best superhero (Jean Grey, hello!).
In college, this would be the part where I’d falter and stay, in case it’d be the night he’d realize we had something amazing most friends didn’t. But like he said. Things change.
“Embrace the possibilities,” I blurted out, a little louder than I’d meant to. Martini in hand, I scooted off the stool and strode over to chat up the guy who’d sent me a drink.
Chapter Three
“Hey,” I said as I approached the banker.
He stood and gave me a shy smile, his gaze only catching on mine for a moment before turning to the drink in his hand. “Savannah, right?”
Point for remembering my name, although Ivy might’ve helped.
Usually I was good with names, but when he and I had met, I’d been on the fence about him, not to mention unsure about being ready to jump into the dating scene again. Good thing I was mostly sure now—my body’s momentary short-circuiting around Linc only proved it. Yeah. That was the reason I’d lost my cool.
Anyway, even if I had logged Banker Dude’s name, I might play coy. Not because I liked playing games, but because guys often read remembering every detail as desperate. Hate the game, not the player, and I’d learned nothing if not how to play.
I lightly touched his forearm, and his brown eyes lifted back to my face. “Sorry, I’m drawing a blank on your name.”
“Andrew.”
“Right. Thanks for the drink, Andrew.” In my heels, I probably had an inch or two on him, but he was preppy cute, every strand of his brown hair perfectly in place. Even without a tie accenting his blue and white striped button-down, he looked every part the banker. In evolutionary terms, that meant responsible and stable job. Probably good at math, too.
He gestured for me to take his stool—another point for gentlemanly manners—and I sat facing him instead of the bar. I asked him about his job to show I remembered some of our previous conversation.
Of course, then the subject of my job came up.
Game or not, I wasn’t about to lie. In fact, there was a quote I often used in my workshop on this very subject: In a relationship, honesty and trust must exist. If they don’t, there’s no point in loving. If you can’t be honest, stay single.
It didn’t mean offering up everything at once—especially before there was an actual relationship—but lying when asked a direct question was a no-no. I could evade, but why? It’d come out eventually, and his reaction would determine if he’d get another point and land himself on the possible side of the fence, or if I’d have to deduct two and wish him a good night. “I’m a board certified dating coach and consultant.”
He nodded a couple times too many, clearly searching for a response.
The guy on the stool next to me barged right into the conversation. “Did you say you’re a dating coach? Try to hit on me.” He spread his arms wide, as if I’d need an open target to stand a chance.
This was one of the other common responses to men finding out about my career—basically, show me how smooth you are. “Didn’t you come here with Andrew? I’m assuming you’re friends?”
He cast a quick glance at his friend. “I’m not saying forget about Andrew and hit on me for real. I just want to see what you got.”
Boobs and legs, and in my experience, that’s all it takes to win over a guy like you. “If you’d like to sign up for coaching, you can contact me through my website and we’ll talk about your options.�
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The guy scowled. “I don’t need any help with dating.”
I wanted to point out that if he didn’t, he would’ve already approached the woman he’d been not-so-subtly checking out for the past ten minutes. I knew it’d come across as bitchy, though, and for the moment, leaving Andrew with a good impression was still my goal.
“Go get your own girl to hit on you,” Andrew said, stepping between his friend and me and winning more points, even if he still hadn’t commented on my career. “Sorry about that.” He raised his voice and said, “Robbie’s more of a co-worker than a friend.”
They exchanged a few good-natured jabs, which said they were, in fact, friends. Robbie excusing himself so Andrew could sit on the stool next to me proved it even more.
Our conversation flowed fairly easily, with Andrew asking me about music. He liked country and jazz—a unique combination—and I favored pop, but we found common ground in a couple of indie rock bands.
Linc and I never liked the same music, either. He always played that angry screaming rock and I’d ask why the singer was yelling at me. My thoughts jumped from music to debating the merits of our favorite superheroes, and since so many of those type of movies had been made between college and now, I wondered if Linc had ever changed from his unmovable stance of Wolverine. Considering how nice the current Captain America was to look at, I’d considered switching teams.
Realizing my thoughts were heading into bad, distracted Linc territory, I jerked my attention back to Andrew and worked to make more small talk.
When my drink was gone, he asked if I wanted another, but I figured it was best to keep it at two as I reacquainted myself with the whole putting-myself-back-out-there vibe. Talking to and even flirting with guys had never been my problem. Figuring out the good from the not so good took more effort, and even when I’d thought I had it down, life decided to throw me for a loop.
Mason had hit all the requirements, though—I’d made sure of it. In the end, it hadn’t been enough to get over the fact that our lives suddenly headed in different directions, and that was the hardest thing to swallow. Although it was much easier to see clearly when I was analyzing from the outside in, instead of involved in the relationship, I still wondered if I’d missed something.