Even three sheets to the wind, Terry was indeed, a lady-killer. Tall and lanky, with the dark hair, eyes and patois-on-demand of his Cajun ancestors, Terry cut a damn dashing figure. Quentin gave him a better than fifty-fifty chance.
His friend sauntered over to the woman and began swaying with her to the music, moving in close. She turned her back to him, not missing a beat of the music.
Terry glanced over. Quentin grinned and mimicked a plane going down with his right hand. Percy and Spencer chuckled.
Terry didn’t give up. He tried again. Again she made it clear she wasn’t interested, this time more pointedly.
The third time, she didn’t waste time on subtlety. She stopped dancing, looked him squarely in the eyes and told him to get lost. As she spun away, she shook her spandex-encased hips, as if taunting Terry with what he couldn’t have.
Far from deterred, Terry swaggered back to his friends. “She wants me. No doubt about it.”
The three men howled. Spencer leaned toward Terry. “First round—woman one, The Terror zip.”
Quentin shook his head. “Give it up, partner. The lady’s not interested.”
Terry laughed. “She’s playing hard to get. You just watch, she’ll come around.”
“Yeah, she’ll come around, all right. To slapping your face.” Percy looked at Quentin. “Why don’t you give her a try, bro. Turn that legendary smile of yours on her.”
“No thanks.” Quentin took a swallow of his beer. “I like my ego intact, thank you.”
“Yeah, right.” Spencer looked at Terry. “You ever hear the story about cute little Miss Davis? She was Quentin’s English teacher his senior year of high school.”
“Oh, please,” Quentin muttered. “Not this story again.”
Terry sank onto a bar stool, signaling Shannon for another drink. “I don’t believe I have. Fill me in.”
“Well,” Spencer continued, “seems big bro here didn’t spend enough time in class cracking the books and had earned himself a big fat F.”
“Things looked grim,” Percy embellished. “Not graduating with his class. Summer school. Dad kicking his ass. The whole bit.”
Terry yawned. “Is this story actually going somewhere? “
The two younger brothers grinned. “Rumor has it,” Spencer said, “that after a couple of private meetings with pretty Miss Davis, that F jumped to a C. Just like magic.”
“Some magic. He used that devil smile on her, the one that—”
“Devil smile? Give me a break.” Quentin rolled his eyes.
Ignoring Quentin, Spencer picked up where Percy had left off. “Even though he won’t talk, he used more than the smile, my men. Trust me.”
“That true, partner?” Terry lifted his eyebrows. “You sweet-talk yourself into a diploma?”
Quentin scowled at the three, annoyed at his brothers for bringing up that story and with himself for being such a screwup. It was damn embarrassing to be a grown man best known for his high school conquests with the opposite sex. “Grow up, boys. Get a life.”
The men hooted in amusement; the night progressed. And as it did, Terry’s determination to score with the redhead grew. As did her determination that he not.
To Quentin it seemed as if the woman was making a game out of teasing Terry. Out of taunting him. She danced with every guy who asked her, sometimes two at a time—everyone but his partner. It was as if she wanted to see how far she could push him.
Not much farther, Quentin realized as his friend’s mood shifted from cocky to angry and belligerent.
Quentin saw trouble ahead.
It came sooner than later.
“Excuse me?” the redhead said loudly, swinging to face Terry. “Do you have a problem?”
“Yeah, baby,” he slurred, “I have a problem. The guy you’re dancing with is a stiff. Come on over here and get a taste of a real man.”
Quentin tensed as the other man flushed and curled his hands into fists. The woman laid a hand on her dance partner’s arm and raked her gaze scathingly over Terry. “In your dreams, loser. Got that? Not now, not ever. Get lost.”
Terry’s mouth curled into a sneer and Quentin muttered an oath. He nudged his brother Spencer, who was in a conversation with Shannon. “We may have trouble. Get Percy.” He started for the dance floor.
“You heard the lady,” the woman’s dance partner said, stepping forward. “She’s not interested. Beat it.”
Terry ignored the man, his full attention—and fury—focused on the woman. “What did you call me?” he asked, loud enough to be heard across the bar. A ripple moved through the crowd.
“You heard me, cop.” She held up her right hand, shaping thumb and forefinger into an L. “Loser. With a capital L.”
Terry went berserk, lunging for the woman’s dance partner. Quentin saw it coming and sprang forward, throwing himself between the two men.
Blinded by rage, Terry threw a punch; it clipped Quentin’s shoulder. Percy and Spencer grabbed Terry. He fought them, cursing them for holding him back, taking a swing at Percy when he half freed himself.
In the end, it took all three Malones to drag Terry out to the alley behind the bar.
The frigid night air seemed to shock some sense into him and the fight drained out him. He slumped against the alley wall. Quentin motioned his brothers back inside.
Alone, Quentin faced his partner. “Get ahold of yourself, Terry. This is Shannon’s place, for God’s sake. You’re a cop. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t.” Terry dragged a hand across his face. “It was that chick. She really got under my skin.”
“That’s no excuse, man. Forget her. She’s not worth it.”
Terry’s eyes became glassy and he quickly averted them. “In there, when she… I kept thinking about Penny. About her kicking me out. She called me…she called me a lose—”
He choked the word back, then muttered an oath.
“It’s tough, Terry. I know.” He laid a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “What do you say we get out of here? Who needs it?”
“So I can do what?” he asked. “Go home? I don’t have a home anymore. Remember? Penny took my home away from me. She took my kids.”
“Penny’s not the enemy, Terry. And you’re not going to get her back by treating her like she is. You do want her back, right?”
His partner looked at him. “What do you think? Of course I want her back. I love her.”
“Then show her. Try a little romance. Candy and flowers. Take her to dinner. Or some sappy chick flick. Pretend you like it. For her.”
“That’s right,” Terry muttered, lips screwing into a sneer, “the mighty Malone knows everything about women. And now, it seems he knows everything about my woman.”