stopped at the bar, thinking she could kill a little more time by ordering a drink.
“I’ll have a glass of the Silver Oak cabernet,” she told the bartender. She’d already had a drink at dinner and anything stronger might make her tipsy. While she waited—feeling more than a tad conspicuous standing there, by herself, a lone woman at the bar—she accidentally caught the eye of a man wearing a silk shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel.
Oh, shit—she immediately looked away, but her split-second glance apparently was all the encouragement Mr. Sizzle Chest needed. He made a beeline straight for her.
Payton had no choice. With a feigned reluctant look, she shook her head. “Sorry,” she told him. “Lesbian.”
Sizzle Chest raised an interested eyebrow, liking the sound of that.
Again, Payton shook her head. “Not that kind.”
Disappointed, Sizzle Chest moved on to more promising conquests. Payton took a sip of the wine the bartender set down before her. She heard a familiar voice behind her, amused.
“Lesbian?”
Payton turned around and saw J.D. standing there.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe she was basking in the glow of their successful pitch to Gibson’s. Maybe it was her promise to Laney to be the “New Payton,” or maybe it was a combination of all those things. But Payton actually found herself smiling at J.D.
“It’s just an excuse, the lesbian thing,” she said.
J.D. joined her at the bar. He gestured for a drink as Payton shrugged mock-innocently. “Unless you count that one time in college.”
J.D. knocked over a nearby stack of shot glasses.
Payton giggled at his reaction. “Sorry—Laney would kill me if she knew I just said that.”
J.D. did an about-face. “It was with Laney?”
Payton laughed out loud at the very thought. “No, no,” she explained, “I was joking. I just meant that Laney is always lecturing me about saying things like that.”
“Oh. Right.” J.D. nodded as he threw some bills down for his drink. Watching him, Payton cocked her head, curious. “What are you doing here?”
J.D. eased back against the bar, having recovered from his momentary fluster.
“Well, see, Payton, you and I are here to pitch to Gibson’s, remember?” he said as if speaking to a child or deranged person. “We just finished dinner and—”
“That’s not what I meant, smart-ass.” Payton gave him a look. “I meant why are you inside with me, instead of outside smoking cigars with Jasper and the other boys?” She put mocking emphasis on the last word.
“Well, I figured Jasper and the other boys”—he emphasized the word, too—“could get along without me for a few minutes. I didn’t want you to have to be in here by yourself.”
Seeing her look of surprise, he shrugged nonchalantly. “But I can go.” He pointed across the bar to Sizzle Chest. “Maybe you’d like another minute to see if he’ll come back and ask for your number?” He and Payton watched as the Sizzle worked his near-naked navel toward another poor unsuspecting woman.
J.D. shook his head sadly. “Uh-oh, look at that . . . What a shame. You two would’ve looked so cute together.”
Payton rolled her eyes. “You know, J.D.—” She was about to say something sarcastic, probably something that included a profane word or two, when the woman on the other side of Payton leaned over.
“Excuse me—could you slide down?” The woman gestured at the open space between Payton and J.D. Payton glanced around and noticed that the traffic around the bar had picked up in the last few minutes. Having no choice, she moved closer to J.D.
“You were about to say something?” J.D. prompted her. He crossed his arms over his chest, readying himself for the expected insult.
But instead of taking the bait, Payton remembered her promise, the whole “New Payton” thing. Darn Laney and her “let’s be nice to people” scam. Did J.D. really even count as a person, anyway?
Payton decided—what the hell—to give it a shot. This way, when J.D. was a jackass to her, she could shrug, say she tried, and carry on with business as usual. Hating him.
The problem was actually coming up with something non-insulting to say to J.D. Payton felt like an idiot, just standing there, so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“So, um, what I was about to say was . . . how was your golf game? Did you have a nice time?”
WELL.
J.D. certainly hadn’t been expecting her to say that. Something so . . . innocuous. Pleasant, even.
He peered down at Payton, caught off guard by her tone. Or rather, the