Over the din of clinking ice and lively conversation, the entire bar heard waitress Brandee Hanson wail, “Dumped in a text message? Really?”
Suddenly the place quieted. Heat crept up her neck, and she dropped her BlackBerry into her apron pocket. She was about to slink off to the ladies’ room when Sadie Maven, the owner’s eccentric aunt, waved her over to the booth she regularly occupied.
“Have a seat, dear. Let me do a quick reading for you—on the house.” Sadie was already shuffling her tarot cards.
Brandee slumped onto the opposite bench and set down her tray.
“I had a premonition about you just now.” Sadie winked. “It might make you feel better.”
Brandee sighed. “I’m all for feeling better. Just don’t talk about my love life. I’ve sworn off men.”
“Since when?”
“Since just now.”
Sadie spread the cards across the table. “Pick one.”
Brandee pulled one card from the middle and turned it over. On it was a picture of a couple entwined in a passionate embrace, and the text beneath proclaimed: The Lovers.
“Ah. I was right. You’ll meet your true love soon. In fact, he could be the next man to walk through that door.” Psychic Sadie nodded toward Boston Uncommon’s Charles Street entrance.
Brandee gazed at the door expectantly. It swung open and a tall, blond, broad-shouldered hunk of a man breezed in.
Oh no. It couldn’t be. “One-Night Nick? Are you kidding me?” She burst out laughing.
Sadie shrugged one shoulder. “You never know…”
Brandee picked up her tray and returned to work, still chuckling and shaking her head.
“What put that smile on your face, beautiful? Besides seeing me, of course.” Nick Wolfensen grabbed a stool and sat on it backward. Even with the stool’s height, his big feet hit the floor. His powerful thighs bulged under his blue jeans. That wasn’t the only bulge she thought she saw.
Brandee knew her regulars and Nick was a good tipper. She’d play nice, even though Sadie’s omen sat uncomfortably in the back of her mind. “Just something Sadie said. I think I’ve served her one too many White Russians.”
“Well, you haven’t served me at all, girl. I’m parched.”
“What can I get you?”
“Whatever Sam Adams you have on tap.”
“Coming right up.”
Usually Angie would get Nick’s beer, but the bartender looked engrossed in a conversation. Brandee lifted the part of the bar that flipped up and strode in. “It must be your evening off. You’re not in uniform, and you’re ordering a brew.”
Nick frowned. “Yeah, kind of.”
His set jaw and the twitch in his cheek told her she shouldn’t pursue the subject. She simply grabbed a frosted mug and held it at an angle under the tap like Angie had shown her. It created less froth and made room for more beer.
When she set it in front of him, his cocky smile returned. “Ah, you’re a good girl. I’d sing ‘Brandy’ but you’ve probably heard it a few thousand times.”
“Yeah, thanks for not doing that.” Brandee played the song in her head, and when the words pointed out what a good wife she would be, she scurried away, mumbling, “Well, I gotta get back to work.”
She grabbed a clean rag and wiped down a table that didn’t need it. Over her shoulder she caught Nick unabashedly admiring her rear end. She quickly moved on to another empty table and made sure she was facing him. As soon as she bent over to reach the surface, her V-neck dipped. Now he was gazing at her cleavage like he might drool. She bolted upright.
Oh, my Fruity Pebbles. Why can’t he turn around?
Nick rose, left his beer on the bar, and strolled over to her. He leaned down so he could whisper in her ear. “When, Brandee?”
She tried to look casual. “When what?”
“When are you going to let me show you the time of your life?”
She smiled, thinking what that might entail, but quickly schooled her expression. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
He tried to look innocent, but she knew it was an act. Players like Nick scared her. Not that it stopped her from fantasizing about him. Handsome, charming, intelligent, and dangerous. Whether she had just been dumped or not, he wasn’t the kind of guy she needed right now—or maybe ever.
Nick backed up a step. “What are you talking about?”
Brandee rested a hand on her hip and tried to look uncompromising. “I know your reputation. They don’t call you ‘One-Night Nick’ for nothing.”
“At least I’m honest about it. I never lead girls on by saying, ‘I’ll call you,’ then leave them