The sun had already set when I stepped outside and the late January wind had a bit of bite to it. I rarely paid attention to the weather report most of the year, but during the winter, I generally checked it going into the weekend.

When I was twenty, I'd ended up getting snowed in with a stage-one clinger who'd thought that because I couldn't drive home through a foot and a half of snow, I wanted to marry her. I'd eventually ended up wading through snow up to my knees and about froze my balls off just to get away from her. After that, I'd made sure that if a storm was coming, my plans involved booze and drugs, not sex. I'd rather be left getting myself off than go through that insanity again.

I got into my car and headed back into the city without any real idea of where I wanted to go. I'd expected dinner to go badly enough that I'd want some sort of outlet when it was done, but I'd figured I'd either make a play to get my 'fiancee' in bed or go to a club to find an easy hook up. Maybe even see if Angelique was working again. Fidelity couldn't be expected in an arranged marriage, especially during the engagement period.

Not that it mattered now. I'd successfully torpedoed that. There was no way the Stirlings would let me anywhere near their daughter after what I'd said about how they treated her. For Rebecca's sake, I hoped her parents got their heads out of their asses. I was starting to wonder if her brother had taken off for Europe just because of a woman. Family sure made running away seem like a viable option.

If I hadn't thought my parents would cut me off, I would've headed straight for the airport and bought the first ticket to a decent city. Part of me was still tempted. I could clean out my bank account and put as much on my credit cards as possible before my dad figured out what I was doing. Then I remembered that I had a cap on how much money I could withdraw at one time and in a twenty-four hour period. Dad had added that safety precaution a year ago when I'd taken out five thousand dollars one night and blow it all on a three day bender. I was pretty sure I'd even gone to Atlantic City at some point, but things had gotten pretty blurry after the first day.

I drove down to the part of the city that had the best clubs and pulled into a parking space. I sighed. I wasn't really in the mood to be at a club. Dancing, talking, none of that sounded very appealing at the moment. I knew if I went into a club, I'd inevitably be fending off passes. I wasn't arrogant, just truthful. I'd never gone into a place where I hadn't had at least one woman try to slip me her number and as much as I didn't want to go home alone tonight, I didn't feel like the work it would take to get a woman to go with me.

Why did it have to be so hard anyway? Not getting their attention, but getting laid. Why couldn't I just see some hot woman, walk up to her, tell her I wanted to fuck her brains out and take her somewhere private? There were some women like that, I knew, but most of them at least wanted a drink, wanted to flirt. A lot of them wanted to show me off too. They wanted the other women in the club to see me, wanted the other men to know they couldn't be touched. Normally, I liked that kind of back and forth, or at least didn't mind it as long as it got the woman hot and bothered. Tonight, I just wasn't in the mood. Even if I went to Exotica to see if Angelique or one of the other girls were there, I'd have to put some effort into it.

I didn't want to make an effort tonight. In fact, all I wanted to do was get pass-out drunk so I wouldn't have to think about tomorrow. Dad was going to be pissed I wasn't answering my phone so he could force me to come over and lay into me about what I'd done.

I looked around. Clubs were out, but a bar might be nice. Not something big where there would be a lot of people. No, I wanted something out of the way. The kind of place where I could sit at the bar, drown my problems and not have to talk to anyone but the bartender.

Finally, I spotted it. Tucked into a corner on a side street, I could just make out the sign. Frankie's. It looked like as good a place as any. I zipped up my coat and climbed out of the car. The walk wasn't very far, but by the time I got there, it felt like the temperature had dropped a couple degrees. It looked like the weatherman had been right and today was the last nice day we'd have for a while.

I stepped inside, rubbing my hands together and wishing I'd had enough sense to wear gloves. I looked around and no one really looked back. There were a couple glances, but then attention turned back to drinks or companions. Perfect.

I walked up to the bar and took a seat at the end. I had a couple bar stools between me and the next person, which was good too. No one trying to start drunken conversations either. The place seemed to have the perfect number of people. Enough so that I didn't stand out, but not so many that it was crowded. And then I saw the bartender and thought that maybe the night wouldn't be a complete waste after all.

She was smoking hot. Like model hot, but not so skinny that she looked like a skeleton. She was tall, easily close to six feet, and slender, but her fine features said it was her natural build. Her breasts were a little above average and I was pretty sure they were real. Most women who got boob jobs wore extremely tight and low-cut shirts to show off their purchase. This one was tastefully dressed in a fitted sweater that hugged her curves but didn't exploit them. Her dress pants did the same, giving me a view of a tight ass and long legs. She wore her hair in a ponytail, which I thought was strangely attractive and her make-up was light, barely noticeable. She had none of the overdone look that a lot of women tending bar had, nor was she the leather and tattooed type. The more that I looked at her, the more I thought she'd be better placed in a school or library than a bar.

“May I help you?”

Shit. She had the sexiest accent. European of some kind. I wasn't sure exactly what. Russian maybe? I could also see that her eyes were a deep, rich green. She was fucking gorgeous. Maybe I would end up taking someone home tonight after all.

“I'm sure you can.” I gave her my most charming smile.

The smile she returned was polite, but not flirtatious. Her response – or rather the lack of one – caught me off guard. I'd come in here to avoid having to do any sort of work to get laid, but the fact that the bartender hadn't even reacted to my smile piqued my curiosity.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked.

“Surprise me,” I said and leaned forward, my elbows resting on the bar. “Whatever you give me, I'll take.”

Not even a blush or the hint of a real smile. Maybe she didn't understand the innuendo.

“Do you want what is on tap or something stronger?” She half turned toward the back shelves, giving me another angle of that great body.

“Stronger,” I said. “It's been a rough day.”

She nodded in response and pulled up a shot glass. A moment later, she retrieved a bottle from the middle shelf. Smart, I thought. She didn't automatically assume I could afford the top shelf, but she didn't try to give me the cheap stuff either. I may not have ever tended bar, but I'd drank at enough of them to recognize the wisdom of what she'd done. Maybe the reason she hadn't responded to my comments wasn't because she didn't have a firm grasp on the language, but rather because she was too intelligent to find it charming. Definitely not a typical bartender, or typical of the women I usually hit on.

I kept my eyes on her as she poured my drink, willing her to make eye contact. She didn't, looking a little to my right.

“Do you wish to make a tab or pay now?” she asked.

“I'll start a tab,” I said.

“Right.” She frowned, but it was brief and then her polite smile was back again. “Start a tab.”

“Would it be insulting if I asked where you were from?” I kept my tone casual as I picked up the glass and took a sip. Vodka. Not bad. “Feel free to tell me to go to hell.”

That got a hint of a sparkle in her eyes. “The Czech Republic,” she answered. She gestured toward the drink. “That is acceptable?”

I nodded and opened my mouth to try another line, but she was already starting to walk away.

“Excuse me.” The words sounded automatic.

She crossed over to the other side of the bar where a pair of middle-aged men were drinking beer. I sipped at my drink and made no attempt to disguise that I was checking her out. My previous sentiment about wanting to drown my sorrows was slipping away. Maybe what I really needed was a challenge. Someone smart and sexy who'd make me work for it in a way that didn't consist of buying drinks and laughing at inane jokes.

I drained my glass. There was always one way to make a bartender come to me. “Miss!” I called out. “Another please.”

She came back over, picking up the bottle on her way.

“Can I get your name with that drink?” I asked. “So I don't have to keep yelling 'Miss' at you every time I want a refill.”

“You are planning on drinking more?” She filled the glass. “Perhaps I should take your car keys.”

“Are you concerned with my safety?” I reached out toward her hand.

She pulled back before I could touch her. “As I am with all of my customers.”

“So I'm nothing special?” I tried giving her my best sad face. I'd used it for everything from getting out of parking tickets to convincing teachers to give me extensions for homework or retakes for tests. And that didn't even include all the times I'd gotten laid because girls thought it was cute.

She sighed. “Let me keep you from wasting your time. You cannot charm me into giving you free drinks or my phone number. Another drink, that I will give you. A listening ear as well, but that is as far as it will go.”

I stared at her. Had she just shut me down? I'd never had a woman so blatantly tell me no. Sure, there had been the ones who'd played hard to get, but they'd always been coy about it, still sending out signals that they were interested. With her, I wasn't so sure that was the case. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

“Are you gay?” The question popped out before I could stop it. I flushed, probably for the first time ever. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that.” I looked down at the glass. “Must've been stronger than I thought.”

For the first time, she actually looked amused. “I am not a lesbian, Mister...”

“Blayne,” I said. “Blayne Westmore.” I waited for recognition, but it didn't come. “And you are?”

She topped off my glass again. “Still not interested.”

My eyes narrowed as she walked away and I took another drink. She might not be interested, but I definitely was. I would win her over if it was the last thing I did.