His Forever Girl

Tess had wanted some girl time with her bestie, but she understood. Gigi worked with a law firm on Canal Street, climbing the ladder toward partnership, which meant her friend often got trapped after hours preparing cases. No biggie. They’d catch up later. Tess would have one drink then maybe head to spinning class...or home to watch The Bachelor.

The door opened and Tess caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She cocked her head and looked—like everyone else in Two-Legged Pete’s—at the man in a raincoat shouldering his way in. A navy suit and a conservative tie showed beneath the black trench. He sported a fresh haircut and had a jaw of granite.

Nice.

But very out of place for a casual joint like Pete’s.

Tess snuck a peek at her middle-of-the-week jeans and long-sleeved sweater. Although the sweater had a pinprick dot of bleach on the hem, the bright green made her eyes look deeper. And she’d worn her UGG boots so she didn’t look totally sloppy.

Jeez. Why was she taking stock of herself? Because a good-looking dude walked in? Or maybe it was because Granny B had pointed out she needed to do something with her hair and wear more flattering shoes.

She glanced at the table of women who looked like bank tellers. Every woman stared at the guy, too. One woman tucked a curl behind her ear, and another wiped the mascara shadow from under her eyes.

Even Ron sucked in his gut.

The stranger nodded at the bartender, who in turn gave him a quite charming smile. The man slid onto a stool three down from Tess as Ron flew toward him like a magnet toward a metal pole.

“Hello, there,” Ron said, showing his dimples.

Good Lord.

“Hey,” the man said, reaching into the open coat for what she presumed was a wallet. “I’ll take a J.B. and Coke, easy on the ice.”

Ron lifted an eyebrow. “J.B., huh? My kind of man.”

Tess snorted. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t seen that kind of bad flirting since Gigi got drunk and tried a top-ten list of bad pickup lines on every man at the Columns on Valentine’s Day. Okay, that was only a month ago, but still Ron not only took the cake...he’d already licked the spoon.

Typical Ron.

“Hush,” her friend said, slinging an arm her way, but not daring to take his eyes off tall, dark and hewn-from-granite.

Tess giggled. Yes, she actually giggled.

Damn it.

The man looked over at her and smiled.

Oh, hell, no. She’d pull out dimples, too...if she had any to use. She smiled as if they all shared one big joke.

“Ron’s a consummate flirt,” she said, jabbing a finger at her bartender bud. “You’ll fall prey if you stand too close.”

“Oh, please. You stand closer than anyone, mon amie. You love my flirting.” Ron grabbed a bottle of the amber liquid from the back shelf and held a glass to the light.

The stranger laughed and the sound tickled Tess’s stomach.

Whoa, girl. Down.

“True,” she said, pulling her own drink toward her. Ron made her gin gimlet just as she liked it—simple syrup, muddled cucumber, tarragon and Hendrick’s. Delish. “When it comes to flirting, you’re the don.”

“Ron the Don? Sounds like a wrestler.” The stranger quirked an eyebrow. He turned toward her allowing his gaze to travel lightly over her. A shiver ran through her. Dear Bessie, he had the prettiest blue eyes that would exactly match the bathroom rug her Granny B had spent eons searching for. Good humor twinkled in the periwinkle depths, and Tess felt more than the warmth of the gin in her girl parts.

Dang, he looked good enough to sop up a biscuit with, and Tess didn’t even eat biscuits. Carbs were the enemy, after all, but this man made her want to change her mind.

“What brings you to Pete’s? We don’t get much tourist traffic,” Ron asked, pouring a generous amount of whiskey into the tumbler then topping it with soda.

“Job interview. Someone at the company mentioned this place when I said I wanted a local pub.” The man pulled the drink to him, sipped and nodded in satisfaction.

“Really?” Ron said, swiping at the bar with a towel and sliding a surprised look at Tess, keeping her in the conversation. “Good to know we’re getting recommendations around here.”

The stranger made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like an agreement, and Tess sipped her drink, trying not to out-and-out stare at the hotness mere feet from her. She had to be ovulating because her hormones had shifted into overdrive and clamored for her to put on some lipstick and sidle closer.

She ignored her hormones because they made bad decisions. In fact, last time they’d led her to a strange bed, overly polite note and a cold cup of coffee the morning after. Tess had stopped letting her girl parts dictate her love life.

The man glanced at the TV that was broadcasting something with racing dirt bikes. “Any way I can talk you into turning to the Rangers game? Wanna check the score.”

Ron looked like someone had farted. “Hockey?”

“Nah, baseball. Preseason.”

Despite her declaration to keep her distance, Tess slid onto the next stool. “Feliz is pitching. They’re checking out his arm after rehab.”

The man smiled at her.

God, his smile was good.

No, not good. Sexy. And not just sexy but up-against-a-wall-naked sexy. Tess was certain she’d seen such a smile only twice...and the aftereffects had resulted in its moniker. Though up-against-the-wall-naked sex wasn’t as hot as it sounded. Required a lot of balance.

“Ugh, baseball?” Ron groaned but lifted the remote. “The only thing good about baseball is the way the players look in those tight pants.”

“I’ll concede that point,” Tess said, dragging her purse over, telling herself she moved closer to the man only because it gave her a better view of the TV.

“That’s what all the ladies say,” the stranger said. So was that a message to Ron? Or to her? “And, uh, I guess some guys.”

Ron found the right station. Texas was up 5–2 in the third inning. The Rangers’ designated hitter was at the plate, swinging and missing at low and inside.

“Shamburg’s gonna throw that pitch at him all night,” Tess said.

“A lady who knows baseball.” The man looked pleased at the revelation. But, really, there were lots of girls who liked baseball. Okay, maybe not lots. But others.

“I’m not obsessed but I watch.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, she keeps stats.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I like the Astros best,” she said, tugging a notebook out of her purse. “I’ve gotten into a habit of studying batting averages and making predictions. My brother was a bookie during his college years and paid me to help him. Old habits die hard...and now I like the whole challenge of dissecting the game.”

“Bookie? Does he still—”