Kiss & Makeup

“Well, stop it. You have no reason to.”

“Did I tell you he’s from Texas?”

“The dishy guy?”

“Yeah, he’s from Austin.” She straightened, then slid down the wall and sat on her heels.

“Wouldn’t that be a plus in his favor? Having that similar-regional-outlook thing going on?”

“No, it’s not a plus, you goon. I live here and he doesn’t.” What kind of plus was that? “And who said we shared any regional outlook anyhow?”

“Hmm,” April hummed before saying, “So? Have fun with him here.”

“Right. The kind of fun that involves not wearing anything.”

April sighed, and this time with more force. “Hey, it’s only a thought. It’s one of many that prove you think about sex too much.”

“That coming from someone who doesn’t think about it at all,” Shandi said, immediately wishing she could bite off her tongue. Especially when she couldn’t even hear breathing on the other end of the line.

She waited one heartbeat, two. “April? Are you still there?”

“I’m here. And now I’m pissed as hell. You said Evan hadn’t been talking.”

“He hasn’t. Not really.” How much more trouble was she going to get into with her mouth? “I was talking to him about Dishy Guy, and we got into a discussion about the girls guys sleep with versus the ones they take home.”

When April stayed silent, Shandi stood and went back to pounding her head on the wall. “Listen, April, my break’s up. I’ve got to get back. Can we talk about this later?”

“I love him, Shandi. More than I knew I could love anyone.” April’s voice broke. “He’s everything to me, and I’m scared to death I’m going to do something major to screw it up.”

The noises from the bar faded into the background until Shandi heard only the hum of the back room’s cooler. Guilt swelled in her chest that she’d even inadvertently betrayed a confidence.

She had a hard time swallowing around the lump of emotion clogging her throat. “You’re not. Oh, April, you’re not. He feels the same about you. You know that.”

“Does he? I mean, I know he does, but with all this family stuff…”

Eyes closed, Shandi drew in a deep breath. “We’ll talk when you get back from Connecticut, okay? After class on Wednesday. We’ll come grab something fabulous at Amuse Bouche. I’m broke, and this way it’s all free.”

April laughed. “Sounds good. Besides, I’m sure I’ll be stressed from the Daddy-Trevor-Stefan triangle and need to unload.”

April rang off then, and Shandi hung up the phone, glancing briefly at the bulletin board and the huge pink pushpin tacking up a scrawled note that said:

Mrs. Mulholland told Mrs. Delancey her doctor says her BP is up, up, up!

Go light salting her margaritas!

Hopefully Shandi would be better at watching Mrs. M’s salt than she’d been thus far at watching the words that came out of her own mouth. Honesty being the best policy had never before seemed like such a bad idea.

And when she stepped out of the back room and into the bar, into the conversations and the laughter and the music with the low throbbing beat, she really had to remind herself how much trouble she’d generated already today simply by speaking her mind.

Especially because right now her mind wanted to rip the arms off the painted Bambi draped all over Quentin.

“Scotch neat to the gentleman at the far end,” Armand said, lightly salting the margarita glasses for the aforementioned duo of Mulholland and Delancey. He glanced at Shandi, then back at the salted rims. “Too much?”

She reached for an old-fashioned glass and the scotch. “Any less and she’ll know we’re onto her.”

Armand screwed the top from the silver shaker and finished off the drinks while Shandi poured hers and served the customer per her coworker’s instructions. She listened to Armand flirting with the two older women, grinning to herself as the teasing between the three grew boldly risqué.

She tried to remember why they were here sans husbands and wedding bands, certain she’d stored the gossip in a tiny part of her mind not overloaded with school, work, friends, family and the resulting guilt trips she took.

But right now she couldn’t access any slot in her memory banks because she’d looked up and caught Quentin’s eye.

Gone was the man she’d chatted up and flirted with two nights in a row. The man who’d managed to get her to talk about herself when she never talked about herself.

The man who had been about as mellow as anyone in the entertainment industry with whom she’d crossed paths.

He wasn’t mellow now.

He was holding on to his temper with a politely woven thread that was unraveling in direct proportion to Bambi’s aggressive thrust of her exposed cleavage. And even Shandi, standing where she was, felt the heat of his simmering irritation.

She ignored a smugly satisfied thrill. Or at least she tried. Round one to the long-legged filly. Bambi was on her way down.

Time for an intervention. A fire alarm. A police action in the lobby. Janice, Hush’s general manager, wouldn’t be supportive should Shandi instigate either.

That left a phone call.

She stepped into the back room, reached for the phone’s portable handset and punched in all but the last in the sequence of numbers for her cell. Then she took a deep breath and headed for the end of the bar where Quentin sat.

“Mr. Marks?”

His gaze snagged hers sharply. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt—” she gave Bambi a soft smile “—but you have a phone call.”

“Thanks,” he said, and when he reached for the handset, she surreptitiously hit the last number and whispered, “Excuse me,” to the Bambi as Quentin stepped from the bar chair to take the call.

On her way to the back room, she walked by Armand and begged him to cover her for five more minutes. In her pants pocket, her cell was already vibrating; Armand simply rolled his eyes and mouthed, “You owe me.”

She answered what felt like seconds before the call rolled to voice mail. “Shandi Fossey. Bartender extraordinaire and interventionist.”

In her ear Quentin laughed, a sexy throaty sound. “Where are you?”

“In the back room,” she said, leaning against the same wall she’d rested on while talking to April, enjoying his voice a whole lot more than her girlfriend’s.

“How do I get back there?”

“You don’t. Employees only.”

“You want me to just keep your phone?”