show that she was excited about seeing Brad, and that had to mean she must be over Gabe.
Not that she’d been hooked on him or anything like that. But at least she wouldn’t be thinking about him all evening. Out of sight, out of mind. Instead, she’d be thinking about the cute lifeguard.
“Do you want to dance?” the skinny man with greasy hair to her right asked. His arms and neck were covered with tattoos and one of his front teeth was missing.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I don’t really care for country western music.”
He leaned closer and blew smoke and beer tainted breath in her face. “So?”
Oh, brother. “So,” she said slowly, “I don’t want to dance to it.” Or with you.
“Okay. You wanna go to my place and get it on? My name is Bardolf. Barf for short.”
Barf? Well, the name certainly suited him. “Thanks for the . . . tempting offer, Barf, but if you don’t mind I’m waiting for someone.”
“Well, hell, I don’t mind sharin’. But the dude’ll have to wait his turn cuz I saw you first. Unless you wanna do one of them menageries. That’s French for three-some.”
Janie stared at the man, opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again. Gathering her purse and drink, she slid off the stool and found a table for two in the corner.
She kept one eye on the front door for Brad and the other on Barf the Barbarian. Hopefully, the man could take a hint and he wouldn’t push himself where he wasn’t wanted. She’d never had much patience with men like him. Didn’t they understand the word ‘no’? Then again, since he didn’t know the difference between menagerie and ménage a trois, maybe he didn’t know what ‘no’ meant.
Gabe hadn’t had any problem with the word last night. In fact, he hadn’t even seemed angry with her, and look how far they’d gone before she’d put a stop to things.
Stop it, Janie. Stop thinking about Gabe. You’re here to meet Brad, and you’re going to have a wonderful time. And then after a few dances and a few kisses, you’ll know if he’s the one. Especially if his kisses make you shiver the way Gabe’s do.
Janie shook her head. It was impossible to wash Gabe Montero from her mind. But maybe it wasn’t her fault. What was the old saying? Be careful what you wish for or you just may end up with it? Well, apparently, that’s what had happened. Gabe was like a bad habit, and no matter how badly she wanted to kick it, she couldn’t.
Staring at the front door, she noticed a man walk into the bar who looked a lot like Gabe. She lowered her head into her hands and laughed. Now I’m hallucinating, thinking every man I see is him.
Raising her head, she took a sip of her wine cooler and nearly choked. The man who’d entered the bar two seconds ago not only looked like Gabe, it was Gabe. What the devil was he doing here?
He pocketed his sunglasses and swaggered over to her table like he owned the place. His beautifully proportioned body was covered in jeans and a black T-shirt. Ninety-five percent of Rudy’s clientele had blue jeans on, including her, but no one looked as good in them as Gabe. The man wore denim like it was made for him. “Hello, Janie.” His gaze shifted around the room at the singles milling about, dancing, laughing and drinking. “This place sure is hopping. Any luck yet?”
“What are you doing here, Montero?”
“I was thirsty. Mind if I sit down?” Before she could protest, he pulled out the chair across from her and dropped into it. His knee bumped hers under the table and a current of electricity shot up her leg. As nonchalantly as possible, she slid her chair back a few inches.
“I’m meeting someone. A date,” she clarified, “so don’t go getting too comfortable because you’re going to have to leave.”
“At least let me buy you a drink first.”
“Thanks, but I already have one,” she said, lifting the bottle and taking a sip.
Ignoring her, he signaled for a waitress. A woman with blond frizzy hair hurried over to greet him. “Welcome to Rudy’s,” she said, batting her thick, navy blue, mascara-coated lashes. “What can I get you?” Candy--at least that was the name on the little blue tag she wore--leaned forward and swiped the table top with a wet rag, treating Gabe to a view of