Fast & Loose by Elizabeth Bevarly (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📕

packed when he entered. But the majority of patrons had been men in business suits, clearly here enjoying an after-work libation before heading home—or out to dinner, or wherever men who had normal nine-to-five jobs went after work. Cole’s job was one that had irregular hours that generally ran from sunup to sundown, including weekends. But it had other perks, not the least of which was working only the hours one wanted to work—provided one wanted to work from sunup to sundown, including weekends.

Anyway, he’d spied one of those solitary places at the bar between two men, so he had made his way there and wedged himself in, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, and succeeding for all of three minutes.

That was how long it had taken for a pair of attractive young women in business suits to move behind him and pretend they were trying to get the bartender’s attention, when really, what they were doing was leaning into Cole and saying, “Oh, excuse me,” a lot. He might have given them the benefit of the doubt if it hadn’t been for the fact that every “Oh, excuse me” had been followed by a sultry giggle and even sultrier look, coupled with the fact that the first woman ordered a Sex on the Beach to drink, and the second ordered a Screaming Orgasm. Cole had been tempted to order a Could You at Least Try to Be Subtle in retaliation, but he was pretty sure a drink with that name hadn’t been invented yet.

He was mentally reviewing Susannah’s list of recommendations, trying to recall if there was an establishment on it called No Dames Allowed when a movement at the other end of the crowded bar caught his eye. It was the same movement that had caught his eye two nights before, at a different downtown bar. A movement of russet-colored curls that drew his eye faster than a yearling with champion bloodlines.

Damn. It was Craggedy Ann again. Either she was a real barfly, or Cole Early was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. And considering the way his life had been going the last several years—Sex on the Beaches and Screaming Orgasms notwithstanding—he was going to have to go for the latter.

He stood and turned to the two giggling women behind him. “Ladies,” he said, “take my seat, please.” Then, without awaiting a response, he started to make his way toward the other side of the bar.

Craggedy didn’t see him right off. She was too busy talking to the bartender working that stretch of the bar, a woman with long black hair who had her back to Cole. She was dressed in jeans again, coupled with yet another T-shirt, this one a beige V-neck. Since there were no empty seats at this end of the bar, either, she had to lean forward to be heard, between two men who chatted with each other, oblivious to her presence. Probably because her “Excuse me” had been genuine, and she hadn’t ordered any drinks with the words sex or orgasm in them. As Cole drew nearer, he realized Craggedy must know the bartender, because they were talking way longer than it took to simply order a drink, and Craggedy was nodding and smiling at something the woman said in a way that indicated the two were friendly.

And then, suddenly, she laughed at something the woman said, a full-bodied, genuinely delighted laugh that carried all the way across the bar and ended with her smiling in a way that momentarily stopped Cole in his tracks. Because it was the most uninhibited smile—and the most joyful laugh—he’d ever seen or heard from a woman. He remembered a song lyric from a while back about drinking whatever the waitress brought and always feeling full. That was what Craggedy’s laughter reminded him of. Of someone who, no matter what life served up, would have a voracious appetite for it and relish the flavor regardless of what it was, because who knew when the feast would come to an end?

He wondered if she was that uninhibited in all her pursuits.

Doubtful, he told himself as he began to inch his way toward her again, remembering the way she’d stiffened up when he touched her at the realty office. He’d named her Craggedy Ann for a reason, he reminded himself. Because she’d been so damned, well, craggedy. Evidently, it was only with her friends she felt so liberated. With him—hell, probably with most men, considering the appalling lack of feminine wiles the woman seemed to have—she’d been as buttoned up, figuratively, anyway, as a Victorian.

Damn. Where was a Sex on the Beach or Screaming Orgasm when you needed one?

As if he’d murmured the question aloud, her head snapped to the right and her gaze met Cole’s, her blue eyes flashing when she recognized him, with the same derision she’d shown Friday. Oh, yeah. She was definitely not the fun-loving, spontaneous, outgoing type, at least when it came to him. Nevertheless, when her gaze locked with his, for one strange, almost surreal moment, he felt as if everyone and everything else in the room evaporated, shifting into a weird, fuzzy haze that encircled the two of them and arced between them, connecting them in a way that was way too New Agey and chick flicky for his comfort. Then the moment was gone, and the voices of the other bar patrons were filling his ears again, and someone he’d never met before was laying a hand on his forearm and calling him by name and asking him what Silk Purse’s current odds were. And Craggedy Ann, he couldn’t help noting, was looking at him like an ill-treated foal who wanted to run from its abusive handler.

Oh, hell. She was going to bolt, and then he would have missed another chance to talk to her. Though why he’d want to talk to a woman who had so far looked at him either with dread or fear,