Blondie was early.

Luke had positioned himself in the same booth at Tuck’s that they’d shared the previous week. He’d had six days to rack his brain on how she might know him, less than six days to find her a date, and approximately 144 hours to wait until he could see her again.

From his vantage point, he had a clear view of her entering the bar.

His breath didn’t catch, and he absolutely did not feel any sort of that romantic shit bubbling up inside him.

But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been full of anticipation on the cab ride in tonight.

It was in his competitive nature to enjoy watching a rival go down. In this case, Blondie’s loss was also her gain. Luke found her the guy of her dreams, simultaneously proving that he had a better hand on matchmaking, and then . . . what?

Not for the first time did he stop to ponder how this dating challenge benefited him. It didn’t. Except, of course, if he factored in the whole human interaction thing.

He watched her close in on the bar, her hands already dipping into her purse as she smiled at the male bartender.

Luke’s gut clenched.

Before he even realized what he was about, he had his cane clutched tight as he moved to her side. He caught her just as she was about to pass over her credit card.

“I’ve got it,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He passed a twenty over to the bartender, just as she whirled around to face him.

“What are you doing here?” She sounded both furious and pleased, and it pleased him to know that he had the ability to throw her off balance. She checked over her shoulder, blue eyes scanning the bar for any newcomers. “My date is going to be here any minute.”

Luke thanked the bartender when he returned with the change, and left the tip on the bar. He handed Blondie her pink, hoity-toity cocktail that looked like it shrank ball sacs for a living.

She thanked him, probably more out of habit than actual gratitude. Fitting the straw between her red-painted lips, she sipped her cocktail and then murmured, “Are you planning to watch?”

The question threw him into a sudden visual loop of her lean legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her. Luke shoved it away, dragged the cocktail out of her hand, and lifted the rim to his mouth. Looked like he was about to test the sac-shrinking theory.

Her red lips fell open at his audacity, blue eyes flashing, before she smiled demurely. “I hope you choke on it.”

Laughter climbed his throat. “So much for thinking you’re concerned about my welfare,” he said, offering the cocktail back to her.

She cradled the glass against her collarbone. “At what point did you ever think I was concerned about your welfare?” Lifting a finger to his chin, she tapped twice, leaving behind traces of moisture from the glass. “You’re delusional.”

Wouldn’t surprise him. Over a decade in the army could do that to a person.

“I thought we could go over a few things before your date arrives,” he said, opting for the truth. “Make sure you start off on the right foot.”

Her gaze dropped to his tennis shoes. “I’m assuming you’ve got two left feet, then.”

“Because of the cane?”

Blue eyes once again found his face. “Because you seem incapable of speaking without insulting somebody first.”

“It’s a special talent of mine.”

Luke felt his lips twist into a smile. God, she thought she was so funny. He could see it in the way she sipped her cocktail to hide her grin. In the way she dropped her eyes to his chest, trying to hide the warmth she naturally exuded.

“Are you really staying for the date?”

He looked down at the top of her head. Tonight, she’d pulled her blonde hair up into one of those perfect little hair buns that his sister Amy loved so much. The smoky look had been traded out for a more natural glow, aside from her red-painted lips that snared his gaze way too much for his liking.

Luke nodded toward their booth, ignoring the stirring in his body. “Gotta make sure things go as planned.”

Fiddling with her straw, she said, “What, are you going to give me pointers or something?”

“Sure.”

Her gaze jumped to his. “I was kidding.”

“I wasn’t,” Luke told her, restraining a grin. “Want to know my first pointer?”

“No, I’m good.”

He pointed to her tight up-do. “Guys think only one thing when they see a woman with her hair so in control.”

“Are they wishing that they could rock the hair bun, too?”

“No. They’re hoping they’ll get the chance to set that hair loose—”

“And steal it for themselves? Awkward.”

She was taunting him, and from the wicked glint in her gaze she was enjoying it too. Ignoring the ever-present twinge in his hip, Luke shifted his weight so he could whisper in her ear, “You ever hear that you’re a ball crusher?”

“I think the word you’re looking for is, ‘heartbreaker.’”

If her hair had been down framing her face, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she flicked it over her shoulders. Even without the hair toss, the saucy smile she sent him was a gift that kept on giving. It started with a quick upturn of her mouth and ended with a soft, feminine laugh.

Luke slid the cane’s handle from his right hand to his left, distributing his weight evenly. He had the strangest urge to throw the cane clear across the room, drop his hands on either side of her hips, and show her that if she meant to tease him, she didn’t have to worry about his heart breaking.

Instead he caught sight of his old buddy entering the bar, looking exactly the same as he had at eighteen. Well, minus the added weight on his frame, but otherwise still the same Aaron Capton from thirteen years earlier.

Show time.

“Your date’s arrived,” Luke said, switching his cane back to his regular hand. He glanced down at her, waiting for any sort of reaction. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“If I told you no, what would you say?”

“That some major ball crushing is about to go down—you just tell me which guy is giving you trouble and I’ll take care of it.”

He could tell it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but at the end of the day . . . he was in this for the competition, to ease the cloying boredom that he’d yet to shake since returning to New Orleans. Although he could admit, at least to himself, that Blondie was the escape he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

“All right,” she said, rolling her eyes as her fingers reached up to smooth down any stray hairs, “go take a seat and leave this up to me.”

Luke shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips.

If there was one thing he already knew about her, it was that she could hold her own with the best of them when it came to trash talk.

And Luke considered himself to be one of the very best.

When it came to Aaron Capton, Luke had done . . . surprisingly well.

Surprising, because Anna wouldn’t have been shocked to find herself at an empty table with only her cocktail for company.

But Aaron Capton exceeded her expectations. Dark brown hair was swept back from a perfectly masculine face, and while his frame wasn’t nearly as imposing as Luke’s, Aaron’s body was definitely more approachable. One glance and Anna could still think clearly, which she deemed a plus.

From what she’d gathered, he worked construction by day and played guitar in a local band by night.

Never one for the whole rock-star fantasy, even Anna could admit that Aaron’s smooth baritone would make for some excellent crooner music.

“So, you run a boutique downtown?” he asked, brown eyes watching her with interest from behind square lenses. “What type of store is it?”

Anna didn’t bother to hide her enthusiasm. Given the opportunity, she could talk business all day. Besides Julian, La Parisienne was her favorite topic. “A lingerie boutique. We were lucky that it was recently rated the hottest place to shop in the American Southeast.”

 His eyes widened behind his frames. “Is that the one on Chartres?”

 Familiar pride bubbled. Anna had invested almost thirteen years into La Parisienne, starting as an employee after dropping out of Tulane University when she’d been knocked up by Julian’s father. By the time she’d hit twenty-six, she had signed the deed to the business and made it completely hers. 

She took a sip of her cocktail, immediately slamming the door on the intruding memory of Luke drinking from her glass.

 She didn’t need to be thinking about that—him—especially when she was on a date with a perfectly nice man. The fact that she could feel Luke’s green eyes on her steeled her spine and set her teeth on edge.

Anna was ready to date, and from all appearances so was Mr. Capton.

 To Aaron she smiled and murmured, “That’s the one. Originally, we’d hired distributors to design our apparel, but since my cousin came on board last year, we’ve truly switched the business around. She’s got a knack for creating pieces that even entice celebrities to stop by when they’re in town.”

“Like who?”

Anna could barely remember them all. The first time an A-lister had opened the frosted front door and stepped inside had sent her brain whirling. La Parisienne was a local favorite, but to hit the national circuit? She’d never even conceived the possibility.

“Well,” she said, “just recently we had the cast from American Horror Story. They contacted us to provide some of our inventory for their latest season. And since that’s happened, we’ve had other costume designers approach us for the same sort of deal. It’s been . . . amazing, actually.”

Something she’d never forget.

Just like this moment, too. Maybe it was because this was the first time she’d truly allowed herself to relax on a date, but in the thirty minutes or so since she and Aaron had met, she felt comfortable. At ease.

The hopeless romantic in her already foresaw a second date in the near future, and she was just about to give Luke O’Connor the win when Aaron dropped his elbows to the table, beer bottle clasped loosely in his hands, and asked, “Are you wearing any of that fancy lingerie right now?”

He did not just . . . “Excuse me?”

 “Right now,” he repeated slowly, his brown eyes drifting down to her blouse. “Are you wearing any?”

 And to think that Luke had set her up with a gentleman.

Snapping her fingers, his gaze jumped back up to hers and he didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish at being caught staring at her breasts. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a no.”

His expression turned hopeful. “No, as in you’re not wearing any lingerie right now?”

“It’s a no, as in your chance of ever finding out just disintegrated and went up in flames.”

“That’s hot.”

“I just said that you have zero chance of getting me into bed, and you think that’s hot?”

Spare me from delusional men.

Her date took a swig of his beer, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “I think you’re hot—does that get me brownie points?”

Anna stared at him blankly, internally debating all the different ways she wouldn’t mind schooling him in the art of talking to a woman. Subtly she directed her gaze to Luke’s booth, only to find him watching their table avidly.

It was safe to say that his first attempt at matchmaking was a complete disaster.

His mouth moved, but whatever he’d said was lost on her. She couldn’t make out the words in the bar’s dim lighting, and, really, did it even matter?

While she’d give Luke a B-rating for effort, he’d failed epically on performance.

The thump of Aaron’s beer bottle hitting the tabletop jerked her back to her present situation. In other words, the second coming of the Date from Hell.

Anna opened her mouth to put an end to the suffering. “While I—”

Aaron swiftly cut her off, pointing the beer bottle at her. “Listen, Anna, I’ve got to tell you that this has been nice but I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“I was going to say the same—”

“You’re hot, I’ll give you that.” He paused for another pull of his beer. “Let’s be honest, though. You’re a cock-tease.”

“Because I won’t tell you if I’m wearing lingerie.” Her eyes narrowed. “You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you?”

“Not as ridiculous as the fact that you own a panty shop but won’t show the goods.”

Anna considered herself to be a very levelheaded woman.

She worked in customer service, was a single mother to a fourteen-year-old boy, and had driven La Parisienne from kitschy French Quarter shop to a near million-dollar business. And she’d done it all by the age of thirty-two.

But that was it. The gloves were coming off.

She snagged the strap of her purse, and grabbed her half-finished cocktail.

Don’t do anything rash, girl.

It wasn’t acting rashly if it was justified, right?

Anna lifted her cocktail, fingers splayed around the now warm glass, and—

“Aaron, man, it’s fucking great to see you,” said a familiar gravel-pitched voice.

She twisted to stare up at the man who was responsible for the utter ridiculousness of her night. She met his strained green gaze, frowning when he mouthed, “Don’t.”

Don’t, what?

Be insulted by her date’s utter disrespect?

Take action for being sexually objectified?

It wasn’t anything new in Anna’s line of work, unfortunately, but usually people weren’t so openly crass.

Her date lurched to his feet, beer bottle planted on the table as he and Luke shared one of those one-armed man hugs. “When you gave me a call the other day,” Aaron was saying, his hand absently wrapping back around the glass bottle again, “fuck, it was like a blast from the past.”

Luke didn’t smile. In the little time that she’d known him, Anna had quickly realized that Luke O’Connor’s smiles were exceedingly rare. If he hadn’t proved their existence by bestowing two on her, she might have thought them an urban legend.

Shifting his muscular frame around a chair, Luke leaned his weight on the cane and offered his free hand for her to shake. “It’s good to see you again,” he murmured, closing his hand around hers.

It was the first time that they’d touched.

His grip was strong; his palm rough against hers.

Anna had the sudden visual of them together in bed, those rough hands of his skimming her body and tugging off her clothes.

No. No, no, no.

“I was just letting Anna here know how great it’s been to meet her,” Aaron boasted, his brown gaze fixed on her. “We can’t thank you enough for setting us up tonight, Luke.”

Her molars cracked together. So, he wanted to play that game in front of his old friend? Not going to happen.

Turning to Aaron, she murmured sweetly, “Is that so? You were only just getting through telling me how much of a prude I am.” She dropped her hands to the table. “Something about, oh yeah, me refusing to tell you if I’m wearing lingerie or not?”

Behind the square lenses, his brown eyes went wide. “Did I say that?” He looked over to Luke, his expression turning beseeching. “Man, I was just talking about our old football days. Remember that game against Xavier? We were what? 14-13, right before you caught the ball and ran for eighty-seven yards? Jesus.” He slapped his hand against his jean-clad knee. “Best day of my life right there. Best moment.”

“Your best moment?”

The timbre of Luke’s voice sent a note of wariness chasing down Anna’s spine. A quick glance at his posture revealed tense shoulders and an even tenser jaw. His white-knuckled grip on the cane was just another indicator that Luke O’Connor was not pleased.

Not that Capton Dick took notice.

Kicking back in his chair, Aaron drained the rest of his beer and lifted the bottle in salute. “Definitely my best moment. When you got to the end zone . . . it was like the fucking heavens had opened up. I’ll never forget it.”

Luke nodded, seemingly absorbing that bit of information, before he ground his cane into the floor. “You know what’s not going to be your best day, Cap?”

Aaron stared at him blankly.

Anna inched back from the table.

Luke smacked the lifted legs of Aaron’s chair with the tip of his cane. Aaron caught himself on the descent, one hand planted flat on the table. “What the hell was that for, man?”

“For being a sexist prick. Apologize. Now.”

Nostrils flaring, Aaron threw a condescending glance toward Anna. “How am I being a sexist prick? She works at a goddamn panty shop. It’s one step up above a strip joint and you know it.”

Embarrassment and rage flooded her veins. Her periphery turned hazy, and, before she could even recognize that she was acting very un-Anna like, she tossed her cocktail in her date’s face.

She was done for the night.