Wrong.
The place had been packed when he entered. But the majority of patrons had been men in business suits, clearly here enjoying an after-work libation before heading home—or out to dinner, or wherever men who had normal nine-to-five jobs went after work. Cole’s job was one that had irregular hours that generally ran from sunup to sundown, including weekends. But it had other perks, not the least of which was working only the hours one wanted to work—provided one wanted to work from sunup to sundown, including weekends.
Anyway, he’d spied one of those solitary places at the bar between two men, so he had made his way there and wedged himself in, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, and succeeding for all of three minutes.
That was how long it had taken for a pair of attractive young women in business suits to move behind him and pretend they were trying to get the bartender’s attention, when really, what they were doing was leaning into Cole and saying, “Oh, excuse me,” a lot. He might have given them the benefit of the doubt if it hadn’t been for the fact that every “Oh, excuse me” had been followed by a sultry giggle and even sultrier look, coupled with the fact that the first woman ordered a Sex on the Beach to drink, and the second ordered a Screaming Orgasm. Cole had been tempted to order a Could You at Least Try to Be Subtle in retaliation, but he was pretty sure a drink with that name hadn’t been invented yet.
He was mentally reviewing Susannah’s list of recommendations, trying to recall if there was an establishment on it called No Dames Allowed when a movement at the other end of the crowded bar caught his eye. It was the same movement that had caught his eye two nights before, at a different downtown bar. A movement of russet-colored curls that drew his eye faster than a yearling with champion bloodlines.
Damn. It was Craggedy Ann again. Either she was a real barfly, or Cole Early was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. And considering the way his life had been going the last several years—Sex on the Beaches and Screaming Orgasms notwithstanding—he was going to have to go for the latter.
He stood and turned to the two giggling women behind him. “Ladies,” he said, “take my seat, please.” Then, without awaiting a response, he started to make his way toward the other side of the bar.
Craggedy didn’t see him right off. She was too busy talking to the bartender working that stretch of the bar, a woman with long black hair who had her back to Cole. She was dressed in jeans again, coupled with yet another T-shirt, this one a beige V-neck. Since there were no empty seats at this end of the bar, either, she had to lean forward to be heard, between two men who chatted with each other, oblivious to her presence. Probably because her “Excuse me” had been genuine, and she hadn’t ordered any drinks with the words sex or orgasm in them. As Cole drew nearer, he realized Craggedy must know the bartender, because they were talking way longer than it took to simply order a drink, and Craggedy was nodding and smiling at something the woman said in a way that indicated the two were friendly.
And then, suddenly, she laughed at something the woman said, a full-bodied, genuinely delighted laugh that carried all the way across the bar and ended with her smiling in a way that momentarily stopped Cole in his tracks. Because it was the most uninhibited smile—and the most joyful laugh—he’d ever seen or heard from a woman. He remembered a song lyric from a while back about drinking whatever the waitress brought and always feeling full. That was what Craggedy’s laughter reminded him of. Of someone who, no matter what life served up, would have a voracious appetite for it and relish the flavor regardless of what it was, because who knew when the feast would come to an end?
He wondered if she was that uninhibited in all her pursuits.
Doubtful, he told himself as he began to inch his way toward her again, remembering the way she’d stiffened up when he touched her at the realty office. He’d named her Craggedy Ann for a reason, he reminded himself. Because she’d been so damned, well, craggedy. Evidently, it was only with her friends she felt so liberated. With him—hell, probably with most men, considering the appalling lack of feminine wiles the woman seemed to have—she’d been as buttoned up, figuratively, anyway, as a Victorian.
Damn. Where was a Sex on the Beach or Screaming Orgasm when you needed one?
As if he’d murmured the question aloud, her head snapped to the right and her gaze met Cole’s, her blue eyes flashing when she recognized him, with the same derision she’d shown Friday. Oh, yeah. She was definitely not the fun-loving, spontaneous, outgoing type, at least when it came to him. Nevertheless, when her gaze locked with his, for one strange, almost surreal moment, he felt as if everyone and everything else in the room evaporated, shifting into a weird, fuzzy haze that encircled the two of them and arced between them, connecting them in a way that was way too New Agey and chick flicky for his comfort. Then the moment was gone, and the voices of the other bar patrons were filling his ears again, and someone he’d never met before was laying a hand on his forearm and calling him by name and asking him what Silk Purse’s current odds were. And Craggedy Ann, he couldn’t help noting, was looking at him like an ill-treated foal who wanted to run from its abusive handler.
Oh, hell. She was going to bolt, and then he would have missed another chance to talk to her. Though why he’d want to talk to a woman who had so far looked at him either with dread or fear, he had no idea. All he knew in that moment was that he needed to talk to her.
“Wait!” he called out before he even realized he’d intended to speak.
But Craggedy Ann ducked behind the slender bartender working the bar, who in turn spun around to see what Craggedy was hiding from. When she saw Cole coming toward them, her eyes widened in panic. For all of two seconds. Then she began to look at him with an expression that troubled him even more than the openly sexual looks he’d been fielding from groupies for days. Because the only thing scarier than a sexually predatory woman was a financially predatory one. And this chick, whoever she was, had “Gimme” written all over her.
Not that there weren’t a lot of men out there who would have probably been glad to provide for her. She was a beautiful woman, her black hair offset by clear aquamarine eyes and an Angelina Jolie mouth, all of it arranged beautifully atop some more than decent curves that even the mannish white shirt, black trousers, and splashy necktie couldn’t diminish. But she wasn’t his type. His type was…
Well, normally, he would have said his type was any woman whose body had produced estrogen at some point in her life. At the moment, however, he was thinking in more specific terms. Specifically, any woman whose body had produced estrogen at some point in her life and didn’t look at him as if he were a big ol’ ATM. Even if he had, in the past, dated more than one woman he knew was interested in him primarily for one thing, and that was the fact that there were so many numbers before the decimal point in his annual income. That hadn’t mattered to him, though, because he’d only been dating those women for one thing, too, and although it had involved numbers—and letters, too—they had nothing to do with the women’s earning potential and everything to do with a label inside an article of lingerie they wore.
Craggedy’s friend Goldie Digger, he had to admit, would actually fill that requirement—and that article of lingerie—nicely. In spite of that, his gaze was still drawn to her friend. Who, he noted with some regret, wouldn’t fill much of anything.
In spite of Craggedy Ann’s obvious attempt to hide from him, Cole moved forward again, this time ignoring all the greetings, hands, and questions until he could circle the bar and see her pretending to study a drink menu with the same sort of fascination a high school freshman might show for the periodic table. Smiling, he covered what little distance remained between them until he was standing right behind her.
“Hello, again,” he said, ducking his head close to her ear to ensure she heard the words. And also to see if she still smelled like patchouli. Which she did. Which made him feel even luckier for some reason.
She spun around to look at him, her eye
s even bigger and more panicked than before, her mouth forming a perfect surprised O.
“Hello yourself.”
But it wasn’t Craggedy Ann who spoke. It was her friend, Goldie Digger.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Goldie continued. “Didn’t we meet at the Cannes Film Festival last year? Or George Clooney’s place in Malibu? Or was it that fundraiser at Bill Gates’s compound?”
Wow, Cole thought. If she shoveled it any higher, they were all going to be bagged up as Miracle-Gro.
“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder to Goldie. “Never been any of those places.” To Craggedy, he quickly added, “We didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves when we bumped into each other Friday. I’m—”
“Cole Early,” Goldie said, sounding a little frazzled. “That’s the name I was trying to remember.”
When Cole didn’t acknowledge her remark, she leaned across the bar as far as she could, and damned if she didn’t manage to insinuate herself between him and Craggedy. Her feet had to be dangling above the floor on the other side to have managed the feat, but that didn’t deter her from wriggling closer still. Even more annoying, Craggedy did nothing to stop her friend from coming between them. In fact, Craggedy inched a few steps to her left, away from him, stopping only when the presence of another body at the bar prevented her from going any farther.
But she didn’t stop looking at him, Cole noticed. Unfortunately, she didn’t stop looking panicky, either.
“I know we’ve met somewhere,” Goldie hurried on, tossing her hair in a way that probably would have been provocative if she hadn’t been hanging over a bar like a limp sausage.
Cole looked at her face long enough to take in the big eyes and full mouth and cheekbones sharp enough to hew logs. Definitely a beautiful woman. And definitely not one he wanted to get to know better. Now the woman on the other side of her…
Well, it wasn’t that he wanted to get to know Craggedy better, either, he hastily amended. It was just that she was a familiar face in unfamiliar surroundings, and Cole was tired of feeling uncomfortable. In situations like this, comfort was found with those who offended you least. Craggedy, by virtue of her appearance at the realty office Friday, was the first friend he’d made in this town. Hell, considering how he’d been juggling his days between the farm in Shelbyville, meetings at Churchill Downs, and a seemingly endless list of Derby-related functions, she was the only friend he’d made in this town.
“I’m Sabrina Calhoun,” the woman he wasn’t interested in getting to know better went on. “Bree to my friends. So you should definitely call me Bree. In fact, I’m sure you’ve already called me that. Probably from the other side of the bed.” She threw him a dazzling smile that said, “Just kidding…but we could change that right now.”
“Nice to meet you, Sabrina,” he lied, deliberately using the name she’d told him not to. “Who’s your friend?”
She seemed stumped for a minute, as if she couldn’t believe Cole was expressing an interest in someone other than herself. She was about to speak again, but a customer who’d been trying to flag her down since she’d started talking to Cole called out impatiently and quite adamantly, “Oh, miss. I’d like to place an order, please. If you can fit me into your busy social calendar.”
For a moment, Cole thought she was going to turn on the guy and tell him that no, as a matter of fact, she didn’t have room on her busy social calendar for him. Instead, with a rueful smile for Cole and a surprising amount of grace, she squirmed back down to the floor to perform the job she was hired to do. Something that left Cole free and clear—or, to put it in horseracing terms, fast and loose—to talk to Craggedy.
Funny thing, though. When he turned to look at her again, he couldn’t think of a single interesting thing to say.
LULU COULD NOT BELIEVE HER BAD LUCK. BEING IN the same place, at the same time, as Cole Early, not once, not twice, but three times in less than a week. Okay, so granted, the first time was a complete accident, and the second time she and Bree had gone out specifically to look for him. And okay, so it was a safe bet that the guy would eventually show up at the Ambassador Bar, since it was the sort of place tourists always flocked to, and Lulu spent almost as many nights here as Bree did when she was waiting for her friend to finish her shift. Still. It showed a remarkable abundance of bad karma on Lulu’s part to encounter him again, and she couldn’t remember doing anything lately that would warrant that.
On the contrary, she was always careful to do whatever she could to bank up good karma. She always held the elevator door for whoever was running to catch it. She always dropped her spare pennies in the leave-a-penny tray at the Circle K. She always tipped 20 percent, even when the service was only worth eight. She always stopped to provide a break in the traffic to let people turn left in front of her. Anything she could do to ward off things like…like…
Well, like the Cole Earlys of the world.
She reminded herself how arrogant and obnoxious he’d been at Eddie’s office on Friday, and was doing a pretty good job of remembering that when he moved in close enough for her to inhale the scent of him. He didn’t smell like any man she’d ever met, an eclectic—and not altogether unpleasant—mix of crisp man cologne, sweaty horse, and track dirt. And sunshine, she noted. He had that sort of full-day-outdoors-in-the-sun fragrance about him. The kind that made her reminisce about beaches and tropics and peel-and-eat shrimp with an ice-cold beer. He smelled like both indoors and out. Like work and play. Like business and pleasure. She liked it.
No! She didn’t like it! she immediately contradicted herself. Not only was Cole Early not the kind of guy she wanted to get involved with—flashy and self-important and in town only temporarily—Bree had dibs.
Not that Lulu thought for a moment that a man—any man, but especially one like Cole Early—would even give her the time of day when he could give that, and more, to Bree. But Bree was on the clock ’til her relief bartender showed up, and that was still a half-hour away. This was Bree’s chance to finally meet a guy who could give her what she’d always wanted—the shallow, mind-numbing, thoroughly demoralizing existence of a woman who received glittering gems and cases of champagne and carte blanche on Fifth Avenue in exchange for mind-blowing sex with a guy who smelled of business and pleasure and was probably hung like the stallions he trained. No way would Lulu ever trade her safe, quiet, no-glittering-gems-or-stallions-for-me-thankyouverymuch life for that. Gosh, that would just suck.
Somewhere in the BFF Handbook there had to be a provision for ensuring that, if a situation arose that offered an opportunity for you to make your Best Friend Forever’s dream come true, then you had a sacred charge to do whatever you could to make it happen. Which meant chatting up Cole Early until Bree was free to do that herself, but not being so interesting that she compromised Bree’s chances to catch him. Lulu was confident that if the situation were reversed, if it were Bree in the position of making Lulu’s dream come true—whatever that dream was, and someday, Lulu was going to have to figure that out—then Bree would do whatever she could to ensure it happened.
So Lulu was honor-bound to keep Cole Early here until Bree finished her shift and could ensnare him with her feminine wiles—which, judging by past experiences, would take Bree about a minute and a half. And Lulu was also honor-bound to make sure she didn’t do or say anything that would make her look more attractive than Bree. Hah. Like that would be a problem. Even if Bree didn’t have a million times more sex appeal than Lulu, Lulu wasn’t interested in doing the feminine wiles thing on Cole Early anyway. Not that she had a feminine wile with her at the moment anyway. Or, you know, ever. She still told herself to watch what she said and how she said it.
Her resolve faltered a little, though, when someone behind Cole jostled him and sent him careening forward, right into Lulu. He didn’t bump into her as hard as he had in Eddie’s office, just pressed against her in a way that made her aware of him from her breasts to her hips, thanks to the way his
body came into contact with hers in both of those places, long enough to make her wonder what it would be like to come into contact with both of those places on him without the burden of…oh, she didn’t know…clothes.
No! She didn’t wonder that at all! That was for Bree to wonder about!
“Sorry,” he murmured in a voice that was once again bereft of apology. And when her eyes met his…
Oh, damn. What had she been thinking about? For some reason, she suddenly couldn’t remember…
He took a step backward when he could, something that allowed her to think again. Unfortunately, mostly what she was thinking was that she wanted him to bump into her again. Only this time, without the inconvenience of…oh, she didn’t know…being vertical.
No! She didn’t want to be horizontal with Cole Early! Bree did! Lulu actually much preferred a different position, one that required the man to be standing behind her while she…
Well, this probably wasn’t the best place to be thinking about that right now.
“So who is the friend?” Cole asked, bringing Lulu back to the matter at hand—and, coincidentally, hands played a big role in her favorite position, which was…
Where was she? Oh, right. Remembering that Bree hadn’t had a chance to introduce her and Cole. Which was just as well, since Bree would have introduced Lulu with her real name, and something about Cole Early knowing her name didn’t sit well with Lulu just then. Once a person had your name, they had ways of finding out other things about you, and she just didn’t want a man like Cole having that kind of access to her. So maybe, since she wasn’t going to have anything more to do with him after tonight, she’d just give him a phony name. An unattractive phony name at that. Anything to make Bree look better and put her at the center of attention.
Hah. Like Bree wouldn’t be the center, right, left, front, and back of attention the minute she walked into any room.
“I’m, um…” She scrambled to think of an unattractive name, but all she could come up with was her aunt Hortense, who lived in Waddy and would likely smack Lulu upside the head if she ever found out Lulu had used her name because she thought it was, um, unattractive.
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