“Ouch.” He turned more fully to her. “So by something, you meant—”
“Disastrous. Migraine-inducing.”
Reed pressed his lips together, resisting another grin. Evidently, he’d been optimistic about the quality of the performance. Reed bowed his head, indicating concession and then held out his hand to her. “I’m—”
“Wait, let me guess,” she said. She tapped one finger on her full lips as her eyes perused his features. God, she really was so incredibly pretty. Reed wanted to stop time, to stare at her uninterrupted, the way one might stare at a beautiful work of art, letting the vision itself fill something previously empty deep inside. He gave his head a small shake. Shit, maybe he was more drunk than he thought.
As if on cue, the bartender appeared. “What can I get you?”
He looked at the woman, pointing at her glass with raised brows, but she shook her head. “A Sam Adams please.” The bartender turned away, and he looked back at the woman who had just finished typing something into her phone and was returning it to the purse in her lap. “You were going to guess my name.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together for a second. “Spencer. But everyone calls you Spence.”
Reed feigned surprise. “Are you a detective too? How come I’ve never run into you at the station?” She laughed just as the bartender slid the beer in front of Reed, and Reed handed him a ten, telling him to keep the change.
“No, not a detective. A psychic,” she said.
He leaned closer, cupping his hand over his ear. “I’m sorry, did you say a psycho?”
She’d just taken a sip of wine and she brought her hand to her mouth, swallowed, and then laughed. “No promises.”
“All right.” He took a sip of his beer. “Two can play at this game. Let me guess your name.” He allowed himself to peruse her slowly. His gaze moved from her black heels to the tight black jeans that hugged her slim legs up to the loose black top that went halfway up her neck. The top that was somehow wildly sexy even while being completely demure, old-fashioned even with the small pearl buttons on the side of the high neck. He met her gaze. In the midst of the black, her flaxen hair and creamy skin were that much more stunning. What did he really read about her? A rule follower with a secret, rebellious side, something edgy and darker that she didn’t talk about with her friends. A woman with enough confidence to sit in a crowded bar alone and strike up a conversation with a stranger, but with a certain . . . innocence in her eyes. Hmm. She was a conundrum. A puzzle he’d like to piece together, see where the parts of her joined and why. He’d always had a thing for puzzles though. It was one reason he liked his work so much. He didn’t say any of that however. They were playing a game and he liked the sound of her laughter. “Brittany. But your sorority sisters started calling you Bunny for reasons you only disclose to close, personal friends, or after you’ve had one too many cocktails, and it stuck.”
She cracked up, making a small snorting sound that made Reed laugh too. “Amazing. And on the first guess.”
He tipped his beer back, pausing his grin just long enough to take a sip. Behind him, the beginning notes of “Purple Rain” started playing. Oh dear God, Broyer, don’t do it. Don’t do it, man. He glanced over his shoulder to see an obviously drunk Broyer sitting in a chair on stage, head bowed, microphone to mouth, preparing to sing the first lines of the iconic song. And when he did, Reed shuddered. If Reed wasn’t so taken with his present company, he’d rush up there and lead his co-worker away, save his reputation, but he was, so Broyer was on his own. Given the phones held high ready to capture this catastrophe, the poor guy was never going to live the humiliation down. When he turned back to the woman, she was also turning her head from the stage. “Well. That will forever be known as a song I once liked.”
Reed laughed. “I think I’m with you there. All right, Bunny. It’s become very clear my friends and I can’t hold a tune. But you have to admit, our dance moves were stellar.”
She turned more fully to him as well, a lock of silken hair brushing her cheek and