Three guys walked into a bar . . . It had all the makings of a lame joke.
From her perch on her stool, Jaclyn used the art deco mirror hidden behind the mountain range of booze to inconspicuously spy. People-watching, she loved. Having them watch her back, not so much.
A recovering insomniac, she’d made her way down to the basement tavern at the Joule Hotel desperately needing to unwind enough to get a few hours of sleep. A nightcap wrapped in the soothing ambience of peace and quiet gave her room to breathe. Sneaking in at 1:00 a.m., not long before closing time, usually gave her all the privacy in the world, but not tonight. The inebriated band of makeshift brothers who’d just walked in promised to interrupt her laid-back plans.
She studied the trio as they found a nearby table to ogle her from. By their middle-school glances and huddled and hushed chatting, something was brewing, and it smelled all too familiar. She’d suddenly become the grand prize at the end of a pickup line.
Her thick, wavy jet-black hair that trailed clear to her ass always had a knack for catching wandering gazes. Never accused of being rail thin, Jaclyn had ample assets and voluptuous curves with a magnetic pull all their own. Add to that her bulging bank account and seductive spontaneity, only three types of men ever seemed to plow into her life.
First, there were the money-hungry, status-chasing Ivy Leaguers who pursued her like an Olympic gold medal—as if their years of hard work pinnacled in such a worthy award. These trophy hunters loved the chase, not only to capture and keep such an exotic specimen of woman, but to cage her as well. Like with all confident, capable women, captivity clashed with her charisma.
Taking second place were the uninteresting, unintelligible, garden-variety Neanderthals who traveled in packs and swarmed her in droves. They were less interested in her money and more drawn to her milkshake. Brainlessly so. Despite her best efforts to bind those babies down, her double Ds always brought the wrong sorts of boys to the yard. And this band of bar boozers plopped squarely into this bucket.
But option number three was her weakness. The consummate looks-so-good, feels-even-better bad boy. The edgy kind of guy who wasn’t the right fit, but it never deterred her from forcing that puzzle piece in. Deep, deep in.
Ideal for the occasional tawdry and tantalizing tryst, they were perfect in the heat of the moment. It was those disappointing minutes afterward that always burst her bubble. For these good-time guys, both their heads had the attention span of an egg timer.
Even if she could grab their focus, she could never keep it. Sure, the sex was smoking hot. But after spending ten or twenty minutes satisfying his, um, ego, what more was there to do? Even if the owner of the down-and-dirty hot body could carry on a conversation, they rarely did. She’d succumb to the eventual boredom, and they’d be on to their next Betty. The blazing-hot boy-toy trail had become one buzzkill after another.
She watched in the mirror as the men across the room metaphorically drew straws for who would belly up to the bar beside her first.
Feeling frisky, she set her sights on a good time. Her way. And not in an annoying, pissed-off sort of spirit where her bitch face preceded her words. She had way more creativity than to waste her energy on irritation. After a long couple of days at work, a round of lighthearted entertainment seemed just the ticket to blow off a little steam.
These guys were overpreparing to the nth degree, and her mind and mood were ready to roll out the welcome mat. Between their clustered discussion and round of locker-room fist bumps, these chumps promised a few rounds of priceless stress relief.
The first of the three, who’d be the alpha if he could spell it, strolled over with his slicked-back hair, chiseled good looks, and smug grin. “Hi, sexy. Can I buy you a drink?”
God, if there was one thing Jaclyn loved, it was when d-bags didn’t disappoint. She smiled adoringly, fully sizing up every arrogant inch of him.
“Well, I was just drinking water.” She walked her fingers across the lacquered wood before smoothing her hand over the back of his. Her thick, come-hither lashes batted as she peered through them. “Can I ask you a question?”
He tucked his index finger under her chin, using the opportunity to flex his bicep in a shirt that was clearly two sizes too small. “Anything, sexy.”
She was sure the octave of his voice just lowered. I guess his balls just dropped.
With a coy smile, she wrapped her hands around his taut arm. “You’re so strong. I’ll bet you play sports, right?”
He nodded, daring to brush her hair off her shoulder, caressing her arm with his rather rough hand.
Dammit, this gorilla is snagging my blouse. She wriggled out of his grasp but leaned forward, knowing the length of his stay, like his manhood, wouldn’t be long.
“Well, I was thinking you’d be the perfect man. I mean, for my kids. I have five.”
His face fell as he leaned back. But he wasn’t getting away just yet.
She grabbed one of his grubby paws, yanking it to palm her stomach. “And one on the way!”
It was like watching a tug-of-war as he tried to get his hand back from her two-fisted grip.
“Hey, what are you doing now?” she asked innocently. “Would you like to meet them? And maybe stay till breakfast? My babysitter is about to bail, and you look like you’d be great with them. Especially the twins. Their sleep pattern is all kinds of off, and I really need some z’s.”
It was just the reverse pickup line to shrivel his tail. He bailed without a word.
What, no good-bye? She turned back toward the bar and watched through the mirror as he encouraged contender number two, who was now looking her way.
Contestant number two, come on down!
Strolling up, what this guy lacked in a buff bod he more than made up for in a suffocating cloud of Axe body spray.
Curse that company for making an aerosol.
He plopped on the seat next to her. “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room. I mean, that outfit really looks hot on you.” He leaned in. “How about I buy you a drink? What can I get you?”
What do you know? He’s a closer.
Well, two could play at that game.
Jaclyn settled on a more direct approach. Despite his best attempt at bravado, his bouncing leg and inability to hold eye contact revealed his nervousness. She swiveled her bar stool toward him, crossing her legs and giving him a front-row view. Her shapely calves and lower thighs poured from beneath the hem of her skirt.
“Well, maybe.” Leaning in and letting her breasts test the buttons of her blouse, she pitched her voice in a breathy and demanding tone. “The last guy I dated could hold an erection for two and a half hours, cock ring and Cialis free. God, what I wouldn’t give for a long, steady pony ride.”
She put her hand on his tapping leg, stopping the bouncing dead in its tracks. “I’m game if you are, stud, but you will be judged. And bound.”
He stumbled off his stool and scurried back to the pack.
What about my drink? Oh well.
Next!
As bachelor number three casually strolled her way, he did something unexpected. He connected with her in the mirror, his bright blue gaze locked and loaded on hers.
Men were usually too busy gawking at her assets to make real eye contact. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with him, a rare breed of classic guy-next-door that she thought didn’t exist outside of sitcom reruns and Hallmark movies.
There was something about him. Magnetic despite his demeanor. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.
The way he looked at her. Carried himself. Brimming with casual comfort. Like she could drop by and ask him to mow her lawn, and he’d do it. And whether “mow her lawn” was code for taking her in a hot hour of ecstasy or actually trimming the grass outside her house, she could oddly see him diving into either scenario.
Please don’t reek of cheap cologne.
At the bar, he barely tapped the seat next to her, asking politely, “May I?”
Jaclyn took the opportunity to get a better look. The glasses were a poor disguise for an obviously gorgeous man. He reminded her of a blond Clark Kent. How the hell Lois Lane never saw the sizzling hottie behind the thick-framed spectacles was beyond her. She also noticed his suit was nice, but hardly a Tom Ford fit or expense. It hung on the body of a well-built but not overly made-up man.
“Why not? Everyone else has.”
Playing this one a little cooler wasn’t exactly planned. More like a desperate measure to cover for how hot she was getting. Like gazing into the sun. She tore open a straw to sip her water, hoping to quell the blush rising up her face.
He sat on the stool and leaned closer, keeping his back to the two men watching. “Listen, I’m sorry about this, but those guys and I sort of made a bet on who could buy you a drink.”
“Oh. I was wondering about all the action I was getting tonight. I figured the billboard I took out in the men’s room was finally paying off.” She trained her eyes forward, pretending interest in the bar’s bourbon selection.
“I’ll go. Again, I’m really sorry.”
He swiveled to leave, but stopped as she softly said, “Hang on.” Perusing the shelf of enticing glass bottles, she asked, “What’s the wager?”
He loosened his collar a bit before answering and slowly blew out a breath. “Five hundred dollars.”
“Each?” Jaclyn’s lip curled up in amusement. “So, I assume if you buy me a drink, I get half, right?”
A glimmer of hope rose in his tone. “Um, yes. Of course.”
She tapped her fingernails against the cool wall of the water glass, drawing a fingertip through a few drops of condensation. “I have an idea. Why not go back to them, say you thought about it, and I seemed ready to accept, but you got cold feet. Nervous.”
“Nervous? To buy a woman a drink?”
“I don’t know. Worried I might expect more. And you’re misleading me. Wing it.” She bit her bottom lip. “See if they’ll take the bait.”
“Bait for what?” he asked softly, questioning her reflection.
She spoke to the mirror, keeping her voice low. “The bait to up the ante.” She slipped the straw to her lips, sucking another sip through her confident smile.
He leaned in, shoulder to shoulder, speaking in dramatically hushed tones. “So, you want me to hustle them?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her coy look caught his.
“Before I dive headfirst into the short con of a mastermind, can I at least know your name?”
Can you at least tear off your tie? “Jaclyn.”
“Richard,” he said, then headed back to the huddled men who’d just become his marks.
Jaclyn watched, impressed as he really seemed to be milking it. She was nearly giddy, inwardly cheering him on as his animated chatter continued. Between their insistent nods and his “oh no, I couldn’t possibly” posture, her anticipation flipped to elation at the sight of them shoving cash into his hands.
She faintly heard, “Yeah, if you get this, you’ve earned it.”
He quickly tucked the cash in his wallet and walked back to Jaclyn in a decidedly cocky, almost pimp-walk manner.
“Well, Mr. DiCaprio, what are you up to?” she asked as he reclaimed his seat.
He again leaned in, a bit closer than the last time. The man smelled wonderful. A blend of subtle cologne, a freshness that must be his laundry, and an undertone of something that could only be described as him.
“Feel free to call me Leo, and we’re up to two grand. I’m really hoping I can buy you a drink now, because I’m on a double-or-nothing deal with these guys. I’d really hate to be out four grand for the short pleasure of your company.”
The blue of his softly pleading eyes sent her thoughts straight south, making her wonder if he tasted as good as he smelled. She looked over to see the bartender watching, wide-eyed and curious for her answer.
“I guess you can buy a girl a drink.”
The bartender breathed a loud sigh of relief, causing both her and Richard to laugh.
“I’ll take my usual, Jim.”
The bartender nodded. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
The bartender handed them two tumblers of Kentucky’s best bourbon, and they clinked a toast.
Jaclyn sipped hers, thoroughly enjoying the aroma before letting a “mmm” escape on the exhale. Her coconspirator, on the other hand, took a sip, then desperately tried to muffle the choking that jerked to a cough.
“You okay?” she asked as she patted his back. Her patting turned to petting before she yanked her hand back. Damn, he’s built.
“Yeah, fine,” he said in a gruff voice, clearing his throat.
The bartender handed him a water, and he took a grateful sip.
“So, you’re Richard. Richard what?” she asked.
The question seemed to catch him off guard. He straightened his tie. “Would you believe Smith?”
His question of an answer tipped her to annoyed. “Smith. You don’t say. What a coincidence, that’s my name too.”
“Really?”
She glared at him. “No.” Idiot.
“Too bad.” He sipped his remorse away. “Jaclyn Smith will forever be my favorite angel.”
Mine too. “What’s with the mystery, Mr. Smith?”
“I, um . . .”
Her silence spoke volumes while she waited for his response.
He shrugged, finally babbling out, “Well, I mean, you’re here late. Really late. And you must frequent this bar regularly enough, because the bartender knows what you drink. And by how this all went down, I guess . . .” He ran a finger along the smooth edge of the bar and sucked in a breath. “I’m just not sure if you’re, uh, a . . .”
She whipped her head toward him, her eyes blazing while he fumbled his explanation. “Oh my God. You think I’m a prostitute?”
More shrugging of his broad shoulders as he struggled to smile.
“Just to be clear, unlike me, I’m pretty sure a hooker would let anyone buy her a drink. In fact, the three of you would qualify under the call-girl definition of ‘the more the merrier.’”
Richard actually seemed to blush. “No, of course not. I never imagined you were, um, a working girl. It’s just that I’m, um—”
“Married?” she asked, disappointed. Though by the looks of his left hand, a ring had never graced his finger, as it was smooth. No signs of a tan line or indentation.
“No,” he said with a slight huff of indignation. “I’m definitely not married. Look, I’m just digging the hole deeper, and as cool as our little scam has been, I’ve got to work in a few hours. I need to get going. How can I discreetly hand you half of this wad of cash before I head out?”
Oh, I’m not done playing with you, Mr. Smith.
He’d barely tugged the smooth leather wallet from his back pocket before she slid her hand around his forearm. Hopping off her bar stool, she energetically yanked him off of his.
“Oh, I know a way. And bring your drink.”
With his newfound fortune, he left a C-note on the bar.
Leading him along, Jaclyn glued her body to his. It was nothing to fake a conversation punctuated with over-the-top giggles as they passed the two other men. Overtly flirting, she pressed her breasts against him as they strolled out to the lobby and toward the elevators. When the doors opened, she shoved herself against him, backing him inside.
The doors shut.