The redhead to my right. She’s the one tonight.

She’s dressed nice—short black dress. Heels. Wavy hair. Red lips. The blonde she’s sitting with is trying way too hard. Fake boobs—not nice enough that they’re a set of mine. Tight clothes. Lots of makeup. There’s a line between sexy and trashy, and she’s well on the wrong side of it. Granted, my hookup a couple of weeks ago was firmly in the trashy realm. She was a bar top dancer at a cheesy bar, for fuck’s sake. What can I say, once in a while I’m into that kind of thing. But tonight, I already have my sights set on the smart-looking one of the pair.

Which means I made eye contact once, and now I’m ignoring her.

But she’s not ignoring me. Not at all.

Ian walks up and takes a seat next to me. My business partner has the top button of his shirt undone, his sleeves cuffed. His salt-and-pepper hair and the fine lines around his eyes show his age, but women—even young women—are rarely turned off by it. Apparently they think he looks distinguished.

I glance at his left hand. No ring tonight.

He might enjoy appearing distinguished, but he doesn’t want to appear married.

“Brianna out of town?” I ask, using his wife’s name on purpose. It digs at him when I do.

I see the slight twitch of his eyes, but otherwise he doesn’t react. “Yeah, for the weekend. Again.”

He acts put out, but I know he doesn’t give a shit when his wife leaves. He welcomes it. His eyes land on the girls at the table to my left and I don’t bother disguising my eye roll. He’s such a douche. I don’t care how many women I send packing after a few hours of fucking. I don’t have a wife.

“So you’re here for what?” I ask. “Someone else to stick your dick in tonight? Brianna not giving it up these days?”

“Fuck you,” he says.

Ian’s been cheating on his wife for years and I’ve never hidden my disdain. Not that he gives the slightest shit about that either. He couldn’t care less that I think he’s an ass. And it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it. He’s going to pick up women whether he does it when I’m watching or not. His extramarital debauchery doesn’t have anything to do with me.

Although sometimes I regret going into business with him.

“That one?” he asks, with a slight gesture toward the redhead. “She’s watching you.”

I lift one shoulder, like I don’t care.

“You are the master of that,” Ian says.

“Master of what?”

“Playing it cool,” he says. “I watch you do this all the time, and it always works. You act like you don’t need her in the least. She’s going to be throwing herself at you before the night is over.”

“I’m not playing anything,” I say. “Yeah, I noticed her. If she wants to talk to me, she will. If I want to talk to her, I will. It’s pretty simple, Ian. Guys who think otherwise are making things way too complicated for themselves.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he says. “You’re a closer. I’ve always liked that about you.”

I lift one shoulder again. What Ian thinks of me is completely uninteresting. I wish he’d just shut up and get on with whatever the fuck he’s going to do tonight. I don’t want to sit here and have a chat.

“I’ll take the blonde then,” he says. “Subtlety works for you, but I like the direct approach. I’m going in.”

This is a game to Ian, and one he’s good at playing. He’ll saunter over to their table and start right in with the charm. From the corner of my eye, I can see him. He’s ignoring the redhead, his focus on the blonde, almost to the point that it’s rude. But he’s going to make the blonde feel like she’s something special to have attracted his attention. And probably send the redhead straight over to me without so much as a word.

It works, as I figured it would. The redhead stands, shouldering her little purse, clutching a cosmo in her other hand. She makes a gesture toward my table, letting her friend know she’ll be right over here.

I stand as she approaches my table and suddenly I’m no longer ignoring her. I give her unflinching eye contact, a subtle smile.

“Hi,” she says, her voice a little breathy. My rapid change in demeanor has her off balance, but she offers me her hand. “I’m Autumn.”

“Weston,” I say, taking her hand. My shake is firm, but not domineering.

I sit, but don’t invite her to do so.

She glances around. “Um, mind if I join you? I think my friend and your friend might want to talk alone.”

I nod to the other chair. “Sure.”

She smiles again and sets her drink down. “Thanks.”

I lean back in my seat and rest my hand on my glass while she sits. I don’t take my eyes off her and her cheeks get a little pink.

“So, do you come to this place a lot?” she asks.

“Some,” I say.

“I think I’ve been here twice,” she says. “Once was on a date, although I guess you don’t want to hear about that.”

I raise a shoulder. Like I give a shit about one of her past dates. She’s not here with him now, so what does it matter?

“It’s nice though,” she says, glancing around. “I like the ambiance.”

“Me too,” I say.

“So what do you do?” she asks.

“I’m a surgeon.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Really? That must be very stressful.”

“It can be,” I say. “What about you?”

“My job isn’t very interesting,” she says. “I work for an insurance company.”

Her drink is only half empty, and I’m not finished with mine. But I’m sensing it’s time to move her. It’s faster than I usually work, but my gut rarely steers me wrong. “How about we go over to the bar and I’ll buy you a fresh drink.”

Without waiting for an answer, I stand and she follows with a smile. “Sure.”

It’s also time to touch her. I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her to the bar, moving her as far from Ian and her friend as possible. I can almost feel the anticipation coming off her, like little zaps of electricity. I have this in the bag already.

I buy us both a drink and stay near the end of the bar, leaning casually against it while she talks. I don’t add much—generally I don’t need to. Women like to talk and they really like it when they have a willing audience. She’s not hammering me with inane babble that makes me want to stab my eyes out. She’s mildly interesting and I ask leading questions to keep her talking. I hold eye contact and gradually shift closer so I can touch her occasionally.

She responds perfectly to everything I do. Her attention is entirely focused on me. Her body language is open, she smiles easily and often. She touches me back, and blushes a little when I touch her.

“Anyway, that weekend was a little crazy,” she says, finishing up a story. She brushes her hair back from her face. “So, do you live nearby?”

The question catches me slightly off guard, because I wasn’t expecting her to escalate so quickly. But her tone leaves no doubt in my mind as to why she’s asking where I live. Most guys miss this moment; it’s often the first opportunity a woman gives you. She’s testing me, feeling out whether I’m interested in taking this all the way, and letting me know she’s open to it. Or at least, open to me convincing her that she is.

And I’m about to do just that, when an unwelcome and very annoying thought goes through my mind. The roommate. Kendra.

I’m sure she’s home. I swear, she’s always there.

She’s so fucking friendly. I have a sudden vision of walking this Autumn chick in the front door and Kendra jumping up to make us all a goddamn snack. Or suggesting we watch a movie. And even if I do successfully navigate Autumn back to my bedroom before Kendra can interfere, I bet she’ll be out there when the chick leaves. She’ll strike up a conversation. Offer to make her coffee or some shit. Next thing I know, a girl who I do not want hanging around will be all buddy-buddy with my roommate.

Oh my god, Kendra would probably get her number and then invite her over for fucking girls’ nights. She’d do it just to piss me off. I’m sure of it.

The little cockblocker.

I falter a little, but answer, hoping to plant the notion of going back to her place instead of mine. “No, I don’t live close. I’m up north a bit. What about you?”

“I live just off Denny, but my roommate is home,” she says. “Like, share a bedroom roommate.”

Damn. That’s a harder sell, although it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fucked a girl under the covers with a roommate sleeping nearby. But I can tell by Autumn’s tone that the idea’s a non-starter.

I’m being way too hesitant and I can see my window of opportunity closing. Autumn’s gaze is wandering, her body language changing. She’s turning away from me, her attention elsewhere.

Should I risk bringing her back to my place? Walk her in and out so Kendra can’t get in the way? Maybe I should tell her my roommate’s crazy. But then she’ll have the idea of a crazy female roommate in her mind, and that could bother her for too many different reasons. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? I never overthink things like this.

Autumn glances around. “I should see where Lindsey went.”

Damn it. I was right there and now she’s losing interest. Fucking Kendra.

I follow Autumn across the bar to where Ian is helping Lindsey put on a coat.

“We’re taking the party to Foundation,” Ian says. “You two coming?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Autumn says.

She doesn’t look up at me. I could probably still salvage this if I go with them. I’ll have another shot at closing the deal with Autumn. She’s hot enough, it might be worth the extra effort. But I’m going to run into the same problem. Where do I take her? Her place isn’t an option. My roommate situation makes my place less than ideal. I’m not usually a rent a hotel room for a hookup kind of guy, but the Marriott isn’t far from here. Although, if what’s-her-name is working the front desk tonight, she could give me trouble. Car sex can be great, but that’s only fun when it’s spontaneous—not when I don’t have a decent place to bring a girl.

The whole thing pisses me off, ruining my mood. Fuck this noise. “I’m calling it a night. You guys have a good one.”

Autumn looks at her friend and shrugs, as if to say, I don’t know what his problem is. I start to walk away and hear Ian smoothing things over—something about my high-pressure job, and she can still come along, it will be fun with just the three of them.

Ian will probably end up banging both of them before the night’s over.

I turn and point to Ian, pitching my voice so the girls can hear me. “He’s married, by the way.”

Both girls’ mouths drop open and Ian tries to murder me with his eyes. I keep walking. Fuck him.

I’m not in the mood to go anywhere else, so I drive home. Sure enough, Kendra’s car is in the driveway and the windows glow with light. She’s here, and she’s awake.

I come inside and toss my keys on the table by the door. Kendra’s on the couch, her legs stretched out, her laptop on her lap. She glances up at me and starts to smile.

“Don’t,” I say and head to the kitchen.

“Don’t what?”

I pull the bourbon out of the cupboard. “Don’t ask me about my day or where I’ve been tonight.”

“Geez, touchy much?” she asks. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“So you’re a mind reader now?” she asks. “That’s a talent I didn’t realize you had.”

My temper flares, sending a jolt of anger through me. “What the fuck are you doing home tonight, anyway? Can’t find a guy who likes ugly pajama pants? There’s a shocker.”

“Oh, so now you’re going to criticize my clothing choices and my social life,” she says. “Awesome.”

“Social life? What social life? Every time I walk in that door, you’re right there, on that fucking couch.”

“And this is a problem for you because…?”

I ignore her comment and pour my drink, then put the bottle away.

“No, seriously,” she says and her laptop clicks closed. “Why do you have such a problem with me? I don’t ask for an exorbitant amount of rent money. I didn’t make you sign a lease, so you aren’t locked into living here. I try to be nice to you when I see you. And half the time you act like a jackass.”

God, what a pain in my ass this whole thing has turned out to be. “Look, this was obviously a bad idea. I’ll find somewhere else to stay until my house is done. I’ll be out of your way in a couple days at most.”

“Weston, wait,” she says as I stalk past her. “You don’t have to move out.”

“Yeah, I do.” I shut my bedroom door behind me.

I down the bourbon in one swallow. I fucking hate people. They make things complicated. Frustrating. I don’t need this bullshit in my life.

I’ll go back to a damn hotel. And I’m calling the fucking contractor in the morning to tell him to get my goddamn house finished. I need my space back. Now.