telling a woman he loved her?
Granted, John wasn’t an expert on love or marriage. Twice he’d thought he’d been in love, once in college and then again five years ago. Both ended up being false alarms. Greta and Tricia each had been fun, sexy, amazing women in their own way, just not right for him. But while they’d been together, he’d never cheated on either of them, never considered it for a minute.
He sped past the exit for his condo. He hadn’t planned on going to the Gold Strike, so it wasn’t the reason he’d bailed. But he didn’t want to go home, either. It was early, only nine. And he wouldn’t mind seeing Cassie again.
Thinking about the cute bartender made him smile. He’d be disappointed as hell if she wasn’t working tonight, but he doubted she took much time off. The bar was her domain and the customers her family. Everyone seemed to get a real kick out of trying to stump her with trivia. They put some thought into the questions he’d heard, but no matter how busy she’d been, Cassie had known the answer. He’d never seen anything like it. Like her.
Traffic thinned the farther he got away from the Strip and downtown, and it didn’t take long to get to the Gold Strike. The parking lot was less crowded than last night but he looked for a spot on the street anyway. Maybe he was wrong in thinking the Corvette was safer at the curb, but the stalls were narrow and he’d watched more than a few guys putting away too many pitchers of beer.
At one point early last night Cassie had cut off a burly man with bikers’ tats. John had moved to the edge of his stool ready to intervene, then saw she hadn’t needed help. The guy hadn’t given her any grief. Another man with arms the size of oak trees and wearing lots of biker leather had emerged from the back room. No doubt he would’ve bounced the drunk all the way to the California state line if he’d uttered one wrong word to Cassie.
John parked the Corvette and pocketed his keys on the way to the door. If he’d thought about it earlier, he would’ve changed into jeans. Though he wouldn’t stand out too much in dark slacks and a white oxford shirt, not in that eclectic crowd. In deference to the heat, he rolled his sleeves back another turn and, all right, he hoped he didn’t look too preppy.
As soon as he stepped inside he saw her behind the bar, sitting with her head bowed. Over a book. A couple sat a few stools down from her, both with full cocktails in front of them. His seat from last night was free, and he pulled it away from the bar. Lisa, the waitress, came from the back room and smiled at him. She set her tray near Cassie and said something, probably alerting her that she had a customer, because Cassie’s chin came up and she looked right at him.
Quick as a wink, she shoved her book under a pile of towels, then took out a frosted mug and filled it with beer. Once again, she’d worn tight faded jeans and a T-shirt, black this time, and not so snug, which was a shame. When she carried the drink over to him, he saw an outline of a cat on the front of her shirt.
His gaze switched to the beer she put in front of him. “How do you know this is what I want?”
“I’d be happy to pour you a scotch.”
He smiled and picked up the mug. “I guess this makes me a regular.”
“Nope. Come in five days a week for six months and then maybe....”
“That’s some serious drinking. I don’t know...I could embarrass myself.”
She finally smiled. “A tab, or do you want to pay up in case you have another emergency?”
It took him a moment. “Ah, last night, right.” He took a sip. “I forgot I had to be somewhere.”
“That reminds me...” She reached into her back pocket, pulling the stretchy T-shirt across her breasts.
He stared at the cat, saw that it wasn’t just a cat. There was an equation written out within the outline.
“Are you trying to figure out what the cat represents or my cup size?”
John huffed out a short laugh. He’d have to remember she didn’t pull punches. “I was just admiring Mr. Schrödinger’s cat. I’ve never seen it expressed quite so well.”
She tried not