Leah Martin nearly choked on her beer.
“What do you mean just pick one?” Her eyes scanned the entire bar before settling back on her friend. “Pick one what?”
“A guy, of course.”
Yeah, because it was just that simple. For Valerie maybe. Even though they were close in size, Valerie always wore her weight better and turned heads everywhere she went. It probably helped that she had expressive doe eyes, wavy platinum blond hair, and looked more like a cutesy toy poodle any guy would give their right testicle to take for a walk.
“I hate to tell you this, Val, but that only applies to women who look like you.” If Leah had to classify herself in that same frame of reference, she’d accurately describe herself as a bulldog. Not only did she have the breed’s innate stubborn streak, but she also had the matching broad shoulders, wide hips, large chest, and—if she didn’t lose a few pounds—probably the same short life span. “Hippy brunettes with body image issues and smudged eyeliner don’t get the luxury of just pick one.”
“Oh, shut up,” Valerie said, rolling her eyes. “Your eyeliner looks fine.”
Yep, that about sums it up. My eyeliner is the only thing that looks decent on me tonight.
The little black dress she wore was just that—too little—and was slowly squeezing the life out of her. Especially after packing on ten extra pounds in the last few months. The sheath of fabric clung to every curve, as well as every bulge. Thank God they lived in Texas instead of Alaska or an Eskimo might’ve mistaken her for a seal and tried to skin her.
“So what’s your pleasure?” Valerie asked, not giving up. “Plenty of gorgeous men in here tonight.”
“Sure, if I squint.”
“Okay, stop being negative. You’re gorgeous, and lots of men love curvy women. I should know. Now pick one.”
No point in arguing with her. Once Valerie set her mind to something, she didn’t stop until the mission was accomplished. But the only time Leah had ever had her pick of anything was when she stood in front of the doughnut case at work, deciding between a chocolate éclair or a cream cheese Danish.
“How am I supposed to know who to pick? It’s not like they wear signs on their foreheads saying, I DIG FAT CHICKS.”
Valerie shot her an exasperated look. “We’ll just establish a baseline for the kind of guy you want.”
“The kind of guy I’d want wouldn’t be hanging out in a bar called Rusty’s Bucket. In fact, I wouldn’t be here either if you hadn’t forced me to come.”
“Leah, you got dumped. Happens to all of us sooner or later.” Valerie’s voice softened as she reached for Leah’s hand. “It sucks, I know. But you’re always at work or upstairs in your apartment, which means you never leave that damn building. It’s not healthy. You can’t hide out forever.”
“I’m not hiding. I’ve just…been busy. I never imagined I’d be this swamped only a month after grand opening, and I’ve had to put in a lot of extra hours.” Leah caught Valerie’s I’m not buying it expression. “Come on, Val. The wedding is tomorrow night. Everything has to be perfect because...well, you know.”
Valerie rolled her eyes. “Why does it even matter?”
“Because my reputation is at stake. It’s my cake the happy couple will be stuffing into each other’s mouths. They can choke on it for all I care, but it’s going to be the tastiest damn wedding cake they’ve ever eaten while keeling over. Everything has to go as smoothly as possible, and I have a million things to do before tomorrow night. I still need to—”
Valerie raised her hand to stop her from continuing. “What you need is a break. Let’s find some guys to dance with and have a few hours of fun before you lock yourself up in the cave again. Just humor me, okay? Now, what would you say your dream guy’s most attractive quality would be?”
Leah sighed. “A pulse.”
“No vampires. Check. What else?”
“I don’t know. This is stupid.” Leah caught the disappointment in Valerie’s eyes and groaned. “Okay, fine. I guess I’d want…”
Her gaze sifted through the crowd, landing on two men at the bar. While the one standing motioned to the bartender, the other rolled up the sleeves of his blue button-down shirt, drawing Leah’s attention to his tanned, muscular forearms. When he finished, he bumped his elbow against the other man’s ribs and said something that made them both laugh. The warm, amused smile he wore sent a zing of pleasure through Leah, like she’d been given an intravenous shot of serotonin. Him. I’d want him.
Leah smiled. “I guess I’d want someone who could make me laugh.”
“That’s great and all”—Val groaned with annoyance—“but you’re killing me here. What would he look like? That’s what I want to know.”
“Tall, dark brown hair, well-toned forearms, killer smile, a bit of scruff on his face, and a light blue shirt,” Leah said automatically, still eyeballing the man across the room.
“Um, okay, wow. That’s pretty specific.”
Leah gazed back at Valerie, shaking her head to clear the man’s image from her mind. “Sorry, it just sort of…popped out.”
“No, no, it’s good. Gives us something to go by. At least now we have a starting point. Okay, so let’s see,” Valerie said, peering around the crowded room. “Ah, there’s a guy in a blue shirt.” She nodded toward a man sitting four tables away.
He wasn’t looking in their direction so they waited for him to turn around. Then they both cringed.
“Well, I guess two out of seven isn’t bad,” Valerie said, crinkling her nose.
“Two? The blue shirt is a given, but I doubt he has a pulse. Definitely pale enough to be considered a vampire, though…well, if he had any teeth.”
“Okay, what about…that guy?”
Leah glanced in the direction Valerie pointed. “Oh, come on! Give me a break. Even I’m not that desperate.”
“What’s wrong with him? He’s exactly what you described. I’m all for being picky, Leah, but you’re just going to dance with him, not marry the guy.”
The man at the bar noted their attention and swiveled his stool around to get a better look at his captive female audience. He took an extended pull from his longneck, swept his thick tongue across his bottom lip, then set it down before giving them a not-so-sexy wink.
“I’m glad you think the best I can do is a guy who actually has teeth, but I never said I wanted a guy in stained overalls and white rubber boots. If you like Shrimper Bob so much, then you go talk to him.”
“Wait. What? No, not him.” Valerie grasped Leah’s head and turned it a fraction of an inch to the right. “Him!”
Leah didn’t know why she was surprised. She’d given Valerie his basic description, which was the equivalent of placing a flashing neon sign above his head with an arrow pointing down.
Granted, she’d left out some of the other noticeable details. Like how his large hand wrapped strongly around his beer, yet brought it to his mouth slow and gentle, as if he were touching his lips to a woman’s breast. Or how the muscles in his back bunched beneath his shirt while leaning over the bar, as if a satiated woman lay limply beneath him.
Leah wouldn’t have minded being that woman. But when he shifted on his stool and his eyes met hers, then darted away, she got the message loud and clear. Not interested.
“You’re totally eye-humping him,” Valerie shrieked, smiling at the new mission she was about to partake.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, right, Leah. I can see the drool dribbling down your chin.”
Insecure about whether her friend was telling the truth, Leah nonchalantly wiped the back of her hand across her face.
“See?” Valerie said, laughing. “You do think he’s hot. Know what else? It wouldn’t surprise me if you had described him from the start.”
“Shut up, Val.”
She laughed again. “God, I love it when I’m right.”
“I didn’t say you were right.”
“No, but you always get defensive when I am. Why didn’t you just point him out to begin with?”
Leah shrugged. “Not my type.”
“Oh, please. A guy like that is every woman’s type. What you’re actually saying is that you don’t think you’re his type.”
“It’s the same thing, no matter how you put it. Either way, he’s not interested.”
“Oh, so now you’re a mind reader, I guess. How do you know what he’s interested in? Maybe he’s waiting for you to ask him to dance.”
Leah grimaced. “You’ve seen me dance, and it’s not pretty. If he isn’t interested now, he definitely won’t be after seeing that.”
Valerie giggled and leaped out of her seat. “Guess we’re about to find out.”
“No, Val. Don’t go over—” Damn it.
* * *
Sam Cooper wasn’t about to turn around.
In the mirror behind the bar, he watched as the yappy blonde in his ear made a play for his buddy Max. Not only had she flirted with him, but she touched his biceps—Max’s second favorite part of his anatomy—and cinched the deal. Within seconds, she had him promising to join their table, offering to buy her and her brunette friend a drink, and eating out of her slick little hands. The lady was damn near professional. The sonofabitch never had a chance.
After she finally walked away, Max turned to Sam. “I need you to stay a little longer and be my wingman.”
“Nope. You’re on your own, Rico Suave. I told you I was leaving after this beer.”
“Yeah, but that was before the dark-haired girl caught you checking out her rack and her friend invited us over to join them.”
Sam grinned. He had noticed the well-endowed piece of real estate on the pretty brunette across the room, but that wasn’t what grabbed his attention the most. It was the way her expressive eyes flickered over him as she licked her pouty lips. That alone did more for his libido than her oversized breasts—not that those weren’t nice to look at too.
But…“I’m not interested.”
“Even though you’re single now?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I just broke up with one crazy broad. Last thing I need is another one breathing down my neck.”
“Oh, come on. You only dated Sylvia for a month. How much damage could one chick do in such a short amount of time?”
“She wanted to get married.”
Beer spewed out Max’s mouth as he burst into hysterics. He reached for some bar napkins and wiped at his tear-filled eyes before cleaning up the spray on the bar. “Sorry to hear that,” Max said, still chuckling.
“Yeah, the sympathy is rolling off you in waves.”
His buddy suppressed his lingering smirk by running a hand over his face. “No, I mean it. I really am sorry to hear that. But I’m a little confused. Just last month, you said it was time for you to settle down. It’s fast, but if she wants the same thing…well, I guess I don’t see what the problem is.”
“I told you. She’s crazy.”
Max shrugged his brows suggestively. “Like crazy-in-bed kind of crazy?”
“No, crazy as in crazy-as-a-loony-tune. She had the whole thing planned out. First she’d meet Mr. Right—which apparently was me—and then she’d marry him and have a white picket fence, a dog named Spot, and exactly two-point-five kids. The woman had goddamn charts.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. That’s why women are off my radar for now. I don’t need or want the complication. The hell if I’m going to marry someone because they have a schedule to keep.”
Max motioned for the bartender, ordered four beers, then turned his attention back to Sam. “Look, I’m buying this round. Come on, take one for the team. You know I’d do it for you.”
“I wouldn’t need you to.”
“You cocky bastard,” Max said with a laugh. “I just need you to entertain her friend while I make my move.”
“I’m surprised you’re even interested in the blonde. I thought you only liked women so skinny you could pick your teeth with?”
Max grinned. “Let’s just say I’m willing to make an exception on a case-by-case basis. Now, come on. Do a good deed for your buddy. You know you want to.”
Sam groaned and glanced at his gold watch. “One hour. If you haven’t worked your magic by then…Well, you’re going to owe me. Big time. By the way, you’re buying my beers the rest of the night too.”
Max paid the bartender, picked up two beers, and headed across the room with a smile on his face and an eye on the blond yapper. Poor bastard. Against his better judgment, Sam grabbed the other two beers and followed.
The women had their heads together whispering but stopped talking the moment they approached. The blonde smiled up at them, but the brunette kept her gaze lowered, and her cheeks blushed fiercely. It almost made Sam want to check and see if his zipper was down.
While introductions were being made, he forced himself to keep his eyes on hers because staring at her glorious chest or that delicious mouth implied a strong sexual interest he preferred to avoid. But when her glistening green eyes lifted to his, he decided her forehead was a safer bet.
Sam hadn’t even gotten out a single word before the blond Chihuahua beckoned his friend toward the dance floor with a sexy come-hither wiggle of her hips and a crook of her finger. Max smiled and glanced over at Sam, who shrugged and took a seat across from her friend. Hell, maybe an hour was generous. At this rate, he’d be heading home in twenty minutes. Thank God.
He slid a beer across the table. “So, Leann…”
“Leah,” she said, her brow wrinkling a little. “My name’s Leah.”
Shit. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, though her tone conveyed otherwise.
Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, I guess the two of them didn’t waste any time ditching us.”
“Yeah, I guess not.” She hesitated but then continued, “You’ll have to excuse Valerie. She’s not very subtle.”
“That’s okay. I like when a woman goes after what she wants.” Damn. Why did I word it that way? He made the mistake of glancing at Leah’s mouth, which curved into a delighted smile.
Disturbed by the pleasant sensation it gave him, he fastened his eyes back to her forehead and kept them there. But he couldn’t stare at her head for an hour straight. If he didn’t do something soon, his eyes would eventually work their way back down to her face. Or worse, her cleavage.
“Maybe we should go out on the dance floor and show them how it’s done.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Well?”
“I, uh...I can’t dance.”
“Everyone can dance.”
“No, I mean I really can’t dance. Last time I tried, someone called 911 because they couldn’t figure out if I was possessed or having a seizure.”
Sam laughed and accidentally lowered his gaze again. Her wide eyes and pinked-up cheeks told him everything he needed to know. The girl was terrified of embarrassing herself again, and for some strange reason, the desire to relieve her of that mental anguish washed over him. “If you can walk, then you can two-step. I’ll teach you.” He rose to lead her to the dance floor, but she didn’t move. “Come on,” he said, coaxing her out of her chair. “I promise not to let anyone call an ambulance…or a priest.”
She stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress by running her hands over her curves. Sam shifted his gaze and blew out a breath. Don’t look at her, you idiot, or you won’t be going home alone.
He held out his hand—one she reluctantly accepted—and then pulled her onto the crowded dance floor. He settled her left hand on his right shoulder and wrapped his free hand around her waist.
She stiffened.
“Relax,” he said, offering her a comforting smile. “This is supposed to be fun.” He quickly explained which leg to start on and the tempo of the dance, while she sighed nervously and forced her body to loosen. “Okay, ready?”
She nodded hesitantly, and he moved toward her, dancing her backward to the beat of the music. At first, she stumbled to keep up. She bit her bottom lip and concentrated intently on her foot placement, but she didn’t quit. Sam liked that about her, even if her jerky movements were throwing him off as well.
To help her keep the rhythm, he pulled her closer, forcing her to look over his shoulder instead of down at her feet. Then he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Quick, quick, slow. Slow.”
She improved instantly, and her movements lined up with his, matching the pace he’d set to the music as they glided across the dance floor. He was sure she was chanting the mantra over and over in her head and probably still wore a tense look of concentration and determination, but he hesitated to pull back to see for himself. Mostly because her soft skin emitted a sweet, delicious aroma, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Like the woman had bathed herself in vanilla-scented sugar. God, she smells incredible.
Her unexpected laugh had him wondering if he’d spoken out loud, but then he noticed her friend across the dance floor with a huge smile, giving them a thumbs-up. Not only was Leah dancing, but she was doing a fairly decent job at keeping up. Sure, her form could use a little polish, and she stepped on his foot every now and then, but he had to give the girl some credit.
“Your friend seems nice,” he said, making small talk to pass the time as well as smooth out the awkward silence.
“Valerie’s great, even under all that toy poodle cuteness.”
Sam let out a hearty laugh. “A poodle—that’s it! I had her pegged more as a Chihuahua, but I think you nailed it. All she needs is a large, obnoxious pink bow in her hair.”
“She stopped wearing hair ornaments after I made the reference last year,” Leah said with a giggle.
“She keeps staring over here. Why does she look so surprised to see you dancing?”
“Because I can’t dance,” Leah said evenly.
“Oh, really?” Placing his hand on her hip, Sam pushed her out, spun her around twice, and pulled her back to him in one smooth motion. “Looks like you’re doing a fine job to me.”
“It’s you,” she said, looking him square in the eyes with a heavy-lidded gaze that stole his breath. “Y-you make me look good.”
The song ended, and although they stopped moving, they didn’t separate. Silently, he stared at her face, taking in her features one by one. Emerald jewels stared back him, glistening under the strobe lights. She licked her plump, ripe lips nervously, coating them with a glossy sheen of moisture. Rosy cheeks, heated by the spike in body temperature, clearly had nothing to do with dancing. For a moment, Sam lost his wits.
“I don’t know about that,” he said, allowing his eyes to drop lower for a delicious view of her nicely rounded curves. “I think you look pretty damn—”
“Excuse me,” someone interrupted, tapping his shoulder. “Do you remember me from the other night?”
Sam and Leah both turned toward the black-haired beauty standing behind him. The young woman’s red leather pants clung low on her waist, displaying a midriff pierced by a sparkly diamond on a silver chain. Her top—if you could call it that—resembled a sexy push-up bra with rhinestones.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, glancing at Leah and then back to him. “But I saw you when I walked by and couldn’t help myself.” She giggled and blushed a little. “After all, it’s not every day a girl gets picked up and taken home by a stranger.”
Sam knew she referred to the innocent ride home he gave her when he found her on the side of the road with a flat tire and no spare, but he stiffened a little anyway. Anyone—including Leah—could easily take the girl’s comment out of context. And judging by the irritated expression on Leah’s face, she had done just that.
He could’ve told the truth. Hell, maybe he should have. But remembering what he was about to say to Leah made him rethink his position. The interruption had to be some sort of divine intervention. Otherwise he’d have his mouth trailing all over Leah’s body until morning. And that couldn’t happen. He meant what he’d said to Max. No women. Not even this one.
“Amy, right?” Sam asked the young woman and waited as she nodded in confirmation. “Would you like to dance?” Out of the corner of his eyes, he monitored Leah’s reaction. Her green eyes widened, and her mouth fell open before she snapped it closed. “You don’t mind, do you, Leah?”
“No, of course not.” She smiled briefly, but the disappointment was apparent in her lackluster eyes. Without another word, she pivoted and marched away, leaving him with an overwhelming amount of guilt in her wake.
“Give me a second,” he told the young woman and then rushed to catch Leah before she vacated the dance floor. “Leah, wait!”
She spun on him, her fierce eyes punching him straight in the gut. She was pissed and rightfully so. And that only made him feel more like a heel than he already did.
“Leah, it’s just that…” He should explain it all, if only to keep her from thinking he was a jackass. But he couldn’t. Not without leading her on, which wouldn’t be fair to her. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with her—with anyone, for that matter. And as cowardly as it was, the simplest solution was to let her think whatever horrible scenario she’d conjured up in her mind was true. “I’m sorry. You’re just not my type,” he blurted out.
Leah glanced across the floor, her eyes scrolling up and down Amy’s skin-baring, leather-clad figure. Then she peered down at her own voluptuous body and pursed her lips. “It’s okay, Sam. It’s not like I didn’t see it coming.” Then she turned and walked away.
He cringed. Not only was what he said the farthest thing from the truth, but the thoughtless brush-off sounded more like a fucked-up insult. Smooth, asshole. Real smooth.