I tried not to laugh at such a ridiculous story. On the other hand, Grandpa’s first marriage lasted until the death of his wife in a sailing accident. And by all accounts, they adored each other.
Suddenly Vanessa taps my elbow. “Earth to Elizabeth. Come on.” She tilts her shiny red head toward the bar. “We’re sitting at the counter.”
Apparently the decision has been made. “Okay.” I park my butt across from the bartender, Grandpa’s words about soul mates circling in my head.
Because if this bartender’s mine, he’s popped up at the most inconvenient time and the most inconvenient location.
Chapter Two
Dominic
I get a little jolt of satisfaction when the trio settles at the counter rather than one of the booths. It gives me a chance to get to know the blonde. I give them what I hope is a friendly and easy smile, even though my mouth is so dry that I need a drink myself.
“Evening. How are you ladies doing?”
The brunette giggles. “Great. Thanks.”
The redhead returns a friendly smile, her eyes going from fully sharp to eighty percent sharp.
The blonde doesn’t smile. Chin in hand, she just studies me, her head tilted slightly.
Pulling my shoulders back, I stand straighter. I know I’m good-looking enough, and I work out four times a week. Women like what they see when they look at me, and quite a few give me their numbers to show it. But right at the moment, I don’t care what women think. I only care about what she thinks.
After giving me a once-over, her gaze is slightly unfocused and faraway when it returns to mine. Then suddenly it clears, her eyebrows pulling together. Disappointment and annoyance war within me. That’s not the face of an appreciative female.
The rejection cuts deep, surprisingly so—she’s virtually a stranger.
If the falling for someone in a fifth of a second business is a one-way deal, it sucks. I can’t remember what my professor said about reciprocation—if she said anything.
“It’s so hard to decide what to drink.” The brunette laughs, the sound reminding me a little of a documentary I watched about hyenas. But it isn’t just the laugh. It’s also her mannerisms.
When she thinks they aren’t looking, she stares at her companions with a hint of resentment…something canine and feral. I used to see that same expression on Aunt Dorothy’s face when she looked at my parents…and at me and my younger sister.
I’m not sure what the brunette’s jealous about, though. The redhead and blonde aren’t wearing anything particularly expensive, although they’re a thousand times better looking than her. But that’s what plastic surgery is for, and L.A. has its share of surgeons who’ll make anybody beautiful for a price.
On the other hand, the brunette isn’t going to lift a finger to help herself because she has the lazy, entitled attitude of a girl who’s had everything handed to her. It’s in the way she looks at the people around her, like they’re beneath her, and the way she talks to me—as though I should be honored she’s addressing me at all.
“How about three martinis?” the brunette says finally.
“Your IDs?” I don’t like it that my voice is curt. I didn’t mean to let my irritation show. I’m a pro. And definitely not petty.
The brunette gives me a “you gotta be kidding” look.
“Sorry. No ID, no alcohol.”
The redhead and blonde hand over their driver’s licenses. The brunette reluctantly follows suit.
I check them, making sure they aren’t fake. The brunette’s Marcella West, the redhead Vanessa Glazier.
The blonde is…
I look at her smiling face in the photo. Elizabeth Anne Reed, just turned twenty-one last month.
“Well?” Vanessa cocks an eyebrow. I realize I’m taking too long.
I give the IDs back, but not before checking Elizabeth’s address to see if she’s local. She lives in Orange County. Although I’m still stinging from the earlier rejection, I feel slightly more optimistic as I mix their martinis. For some ridiculous reason, it seems like I still have a chance with her if she’s local. So what if SoCal is huge? We could still run into each other, especially if she’s attending UCLA or something. Hell, I bump into my cousin Andy from time to time, and he lives with his parents in a nice upper-middle-class suburb ninety minutes from campus.
Apparently still peeved I wanted to see her ID, Marcella grabs the martini sullenly. Vanessa’s thanks buzz by like a fly.