her face from where he sat, but he could tell it was heart-shaped with full glossy lips and big dark eyes.
She had a figure that screamed old Hollywood, with full breasts, a softly rounded tummy, and drool-worthy hips that had his body sitting up and taking notice. She stood just inside the entrance as she searched for a table, and Luke saw he wasn't the only man who noticed her. A quick scan of the room showed him all the tables in the lounge were full, so she was going to have to sit at the bar. He figured he could find a smooth excuse to approach her there, when she surprised him by turning on her heel after a moment and heading back out the way she had come.
Luke jumped to his feet and caught up to her in two steps. "Excuse me, Miss," he said and smiled his best “I'm really a nice guy” smile. "I couldn't help but notice you look like you're about to leave. If it's because all the tables are taken, you're welcome to join me at mine." He gestured with one hand and reached his other out to her, palm up, offering to escort her like a gentleman, while the feelings she was evoking in him were anything but gentlemanly.
She hesitated, and Luke could tell she wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea. "Look. The place is packed, and there's no sense in taking up a whole table all by myself, when I could be sharing it with a beautiful woman instead. Just share the table. You don't even have to talk to me if you don't want to."
She smiled a little at him and tentatively placed her cool fingers on his. He smiled back and closed his hand around hers then led her to the table and held a chair out for her.
"This is really nice of you. Thank you." She smiled and tucked a dangling curl behind one ear as she settled herself in her seat.
"Ah, it’s nothing," he said as he sat across from her. "You're doing me the favor. I was alone and starting to feel a little like the Unabomber. You've saved me." He smiled and gave her a small toast with his water glass. "I'm Luke. Luke Baxter."
"Hi, Luke. Luke Baxter. I'm Andrea Cooper. Andie for short. And you've got it backward. I'm the Unabomber type. You caught me just as I was chickening out. I was going to go back to my room and order room service once I saw I'd have to sit at the bar." She wrinkled her nose at him with a shake of her head, and he found himself charmed by the expression. "I'm not a 'sit at the bar' kind of girl. It took all the courage I had to come down to the lounge in the first place, so a bar stool would have exceeded my capabilities."
"Really?" Luke asked, intrigued. "Why is that?"
"Well, I have a theory." Andie leaned toward him, and her smile was so enchanting he only found it a little difficult to keep his eyes above her chin. "I've come to the conclusion that as a whole, women under the age of thirty are pack animals."
That surprised a full-blown laugh out of him that had a couple heads turning his way.
"I'm serious. I've been studying the phenomenon for quite some time now. I've got a pie chart and everything."
Still chuckling, Luke motioned the waitress over as she was passing their table. "I'll have a beer, whatever you've got on tap, and you…?"
"Umm, oh. Can I get a Cosmo please? Thank you."
"You were saying you're a pack animal?" he prompted as the waitress left to get their drinks.
She gave him a dazzling smile, leaned toward him—making it a little harder to keep his eyes up than it was a moment ago—and continued, "I see older women alone all the time. Confident and poised. They don't need their friends along to go to a movie or dinner; they even brave the bathroom alone."
"No!" He gasped in mock wonder. "And you say you've got proof of this?"
She widened her eyes and nodded her head solemnly. "I do. I've managed to capture this phenomenon on surveillance video. Unfortunately, it's grainy and distorted, so it looks like every Bigfoot or UFO video ever made, but you can take my word—it's real."
The waitress brought their drinks, and they both sat back in their seats so she could place them on the table. "Are you