“If you don’t talk to her, somebody else sure will.” Dex pointed. “In fact, I think you’ve got competition already. “Five o’clock.”
Kyle whipped around, peering down at the scene below, and saw a guy with a white button-down shirt on the opposite end of the bar sipping his drink and staring at Rylann with obvious appreciation. The sleeves of the guy’s shirt were rolled up, revealing a tattoo with some sort of Celtic design on his forearm. Ooh…because that made him so tough.
Try having a prison record, dickhead.
As Kyle stood there watching Rylann, he suddenly realized exactly why he’d been in a funk for the last three weeks.
Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something he couldn’t have.
But there was one other thing he knew. No man—dickhead or otherwise—was making moves on Rylann Pierce that night. She may have had her rules, but he’d be damned if any other guy was going to flirt with her while he was watching.
And he knew just the man who could help him with that.
“Dex, old buddy, I need to ask you for a favor.”
ONCE AGAIN, RYLANN tried to catch the eye of the female bartender working Firelight’s main bar.
“One of the few times I’ve ever wished for a penis,” she said to Rae when the bartender stepped up to take the order of yet another male customer. They’d been waiting to be served for over twenty minutes. She’d even worn the red magic boob dress tonight, but unfortunately its mojo offered no help in this particular situation.
“You haven’t had sex in six months,” Rae said. “If I were you, I’d be wishing for penises every night.”
Rylann laughed. “Good, I think she’s finally coming this way.” She watched as the bartender sailed right past her. “And…no.” She suddenly remembered something. “Hey, how did your date go on Tuesday?”
Rae rolled her eyes. “I think I’m giving up on Match,” she said, referring to a string of bad dates she’d arranged via Match.com. “These guys sound so promising online, but then you meet them and they’re entirely different people. This last guy started off the evening by being fifteen minutes late. Then he finally shows up at the restaurant carrying a bicycle helmet, and when he sits down at the table, I notice that he’s sweating profusely and he smells.”
Rylann made a face. “That’s one way to kill the ambience. So what did you do?”
“I stayed for one drink, paid the bill, and politely said that I didn’t think we had a connection,” Rae said matter-of-factly.
“Look at you,” Rylann said, impressed. “Very suave and direct. You’re a pro at this.”
“Great,” Rae said dryly. “That’s exactly what I want to be a pro at: bad first dates. I read somewhere that you can tell within five minutes whether you’re going to click with a person. Personally, I think I know even faster than that.” She nudged Rylann. “Speaking of which, somebody’s totally checking you out. The guy with the white shirt, across the bar. Tattoo on his forearm—mmm, nice.”
Rylann casually checked out the guy while pretending to look at the bartender. He was cute. More than cute, actually. But much to her annoyance, a certain pair of devilish blue eyes kept popping into her head, distracting her.
“He’s grabbing his drink,” Rae whispered. “I think he might be heading this way. Don’t worry—I’ll make myself scarce.”
Granted, it had been a long time since she’d done this, but if memory served, Rylann was supposed to be feeling jitters of excitement right about that very moment. Then again, she was thirty-two now—maybe the butterflies in her stomach were taking a more cerebral, mature approach to the dating game and waiting to see how things developed.
A male voice spoke from behind her and Rae.
“Ladies, it seems that I owe you an apology.”
Rylann turned and saw a man, wearing a suit, who was in his early- to midthirties and had wavy sandy-brown hair.
He smiled in introduction at both her and Rae. “Gavin Dexter—call me Dex. I own the place. It’s come to my attention that you’ve been waiting awhile for your drinks. To make up for that, I’d like to invite both of you to the VIP lounge. I even took the liberty of reserving a table for you.”
Rae looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and then turned back to Dex. “That sounds great. Thank you.”
He gestured toward a staircase. “Perfect. Follow me.”
When he turned his back, Rae leaned in toward Rylann and chuckled under her breath. “We must look even better than I thought tonight.”
They followed Dex up the stairs and past a bouncer who guarded the door of the VIP room. Once inside, Dex led them through the crowd to a private, sable suede booth in the back of the room that was enclosed by a red velvet curtain on three sides.
After Rylann and Rae settled into the booth, Dex held out his hands magnanimously. “How about some champagne to start? Anything you ladies want. Your tab for the evening has been taken care of.”
Rylann looked at him quizzically. She was flattered, but this was getting a little odd. “By who?”
A familiar teasing voice answered her.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions, counselor?”
Rylann looked to her right and saw Kyle walking over, looking unbelievably handsome in his gray suit and tieless black shirt with the top button undone. And just like the night she’d met him, she felt it—instant butterflies.
So much for taking the cerebral approach.
“It’s an occupational hazard,” she told him.
“So I’ve seen firsthand.” Without missing a beat, Kyle made the introductions. “Dex, this is Rylann Pierce and Rae…” he paused, prompting her for her last name.
“Mendoza,” she said.
Dex smiled at Rae, then turned to Rylann with a curious expression. “Oh, Ry-linn,” he said, pronouncing her name. “I’d been saying it wrong after I saw the picture of you and Kyle in the paper.” He cocked his head. “Not a very common name, is it?”
“It’s Irish. I was named after my grandfather,” she explained. As the story was told, her mother had been very insistent upon the name, and her father, who had no particular allegiance to his Welsh heritage, had gone along with it.
Still, Dex looked intrigued. “By any chance did you go to Illinois law school?”
Rylann pointed to Rae. “We both did. Why?”
Dex rocked back on his heels and laughed. “Holy shit, I should’ve caught that earlier. You’re the chicken wings girl.”
It took Rylann a second, then she remembered her conversation with Kyle the night they’d met.
I don’t mind hot and spicy. Actually find that appealing in a girl. And chicken wings.
With a laugh, she looked at Kyle. “You told him that story?”
Dex slapped Kyle’s back. “Sure he did. I was working at the Clybourne that night, and Kyle here was grinning like a fool when he got back after walking you home. Hell, I half-expected him to burst into a song and dance number.”
Kyle cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “I…think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” He grabbed Dex’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be, buddy? Full club, busy night—really, we’d hate to keep you.”
Rae waved a finger at them. “Hold on, someone better tell me the chicken wings story.”
Dex looked at Kyle, who looked at Rylann.
She said nothing for a moment. Then she slid over in the booth, making room next to her. “That was one of your gems—might as well be you,” she said to Kyle.