“YOU OWE ME fifty bucks.”
Manny waltzed into the bar, late for his shift as usual.
“I don’t owe you anything,” Barry insisted. He slapped down cocktail napkins for two suits at the bar, filled their glasses with the house draft and snatched up their twenty.
“Oh, yes, you do, buddy boy.”
“For what? I already told you I wasn’t taking that bet on the Superbowl.”
Manny gestured around the bar, pointing to the pink and red streamers and flicking a finger at a dangling lace heart. “Don’t you know what day it is?”
“Uh, let me guess. Valentine’s Day?”
“Yet the bar is missing three beautiful women we’d come to count on over the years.”
Only when Manny pointed to the empty table in the corner did Barry remember the three ladies who came in every year for the Greeting Card Association’s Winter Trade Show.
Barry frowned. Crap. Okay, so he had forgotten. And, yes, he had made the bet with Manny last year that the women would be back. And, yes, the table was empty. But—“It’s early still. They’ll be here. You aren’t winning any bets until closing time.”
“Actually,” Manny said, “I’ll take my money now. This was left for us at the front desk.” He plopped down a flowery card decorated with hearts and a half-naked baby on the front holding a bow and arrow.
“What’s with the kid?”
“It’s cupid, you moron.” Manny picked up the card and handed it to him. “Just read the card.”
Inside was a perky “Happy Valentine’s Day” followed by the handwritten inscription:
Dear Barry,
Sorry to break the news to you, hon, but this year you’ll have to pay up. We’ve all got dates this Valentine’s Day so we won’t be by for drinks.
Better luck next time.
XOXOXO
Tori, Samantha and Kitty
“Son of a—” Barry slapped the card down on the counter.
“I’ll take it in cash.” Manny held out his hand and grinned like the cat that ate the canary.
Barry hated when Manny won a bet. As if losing money wasn’t bad enough, the man had a habit of rubbing it in that Barry could do without.
“Not so fast,” he said, not willing to part with his hard-earned cash without putting up a fight. “See the three blondes at the end of the bar?”
Manny followed Barry’s gaze. “Yeah.”
“They’re here every Saturday night. Double or nothing they’re still here come Memorial Day.”
Manny eyed the women for a long time. “Memorial Day, huh?”
“Double or nothing.”
With a reluctant huff, Manny held out his hand. “All right, buddy boy. You’ve got yourself a deal.”