“Hey, sugar. Are you Art’s friend?” The redhead put her glass on the table between them and ran her red fingernail around the rim of the glass. “I’m Tracie. That’s with an I E, not a Y.”
I’m going to kill Art. Tracie looked like a dime-store hooker with overprocessed hair and a tight red dress that was three sizes too small across her rounded hips and breasts. Hugh pressed his lips together and forced himself to lift his cheeks into a smile. “Hugh. Nice to meet you.”
“Art said you were handsome, but I never expected you to look like that guy on television. McDreamy? McSteamy?”
She laughed, and Hugh sighed. At least Art had promised not to tell her what he did for a living. No more fan girls. Based on the other patrons’ eyes locked on the pre-playoff show on the large-screen televisions, and the lack of attention from any of the guys in the now-packed bar, Hugh assumed he was safe from being identified. Might as well make the best of it.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that. Patrick Dempsey,” he answered. He was already bored. He glanced at the group of guys coming into the bar, each one louder than the next as they approached the bar. The blond waitress, Kat, picked up a tip from a table, then headed back in his direction, seating two more people on her way across the floor.
Kat appeared by his side and scowled at Tracie, then flashed a smile at Hugh. “What can I get you, darlin’? Another sidecar?”
If looks could kill. One more drink. Then I’m out of here.
“Get us both another one. On me,” Tracie said, fluttering her false eyelashes.
On you? Right. Women like Tracie were made of hollow offers and a boatload of needs. Not that Hugh needed anyone to buy his drinks. He eyed his untouched beverage. Not very observant, are you? “No. I’m good.” He nodded at his full drink, wishing he could escape the booth and sit by himself—or maybe at a table where the cute brunette would take another order he wouldn’t drink.
“My pleasure,” Tracie said.
There’s that sex-hungry stare again. No way in hell.
“Thank you,” Hugh said, showing the manners his father, Hal Braden, an affluent thoroughbred horse breeder from Weston, Colorado, had instilled in him. With a bigger trust fund than he could ever spend, Hugh didn’t need women buying him drinks, but dealing with the wrath of a woman who felt put off would be worse. He could spare another half hour, have a drink, then politely excuse himself.
He watched Kat return to the bar and whisper to Bree. Even her name was appealing. She wiped the counter with a serious look in her eyes, served up drink after drink, and dodged a guy putting his hand on hers—“Behave, Chip,” she said with a shake of her head—all in a matter of seconds. She didn’t look at any of the men at the bar. In fact, she seemed to be purposely shifting her eyes to the counter every time a guy spoke to her. She was the only person in the bar not smiling—besides him—and Hugh wondered why.
He turned his attention back to Tracie, who was rattling on about Grey’s Anatomy. Hugh didn’t watch television, and after Tracie finished her next drink, he looked at his watch with a loud and purposeful groan.
“Well, Tracie, this has been nice, but I’m afraid I have to run. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.” He stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for coming out to meet me. I appreciate it.”
She climbed from the booth. “I don’t have my car here. A friend dropped me off. Can you drive me home?”
Are you freaking kidding me?
Kat appeared by his side again. “Leaving already?” She glanced at the fifty-dollar bill he’d left on the table.
“I’m afraid so. It’s getting late,” he said. “Thanks for everything.”
Red wrapped her arm around his, and Hugh noticed Kat’s eyes narrow.
“Right,” Kat said. She snagged the money from the table and stalked back to the bar.
As Hugh pushed the door open for Tracie to pass through, he noticed Kat and Bree watching them leave. He smiled—and this time it wasn’t forced. Kat waved. Bree turned away.
Chapter Two
“THERE IS NO way that beautiful man just left with that whore,” Kat snapped. “I swear, there is something cosmically wrong with this world when that happens.”
“Oh, please. He’s a guy. She’s easy.” Brianna shrugged. “What’s not to get?”
“You’re so cynical. That could have been you walking out with him, Bree.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been off the dating train for quite some time.” When it came to men, Brianna was a master at turning off her emotions. She’d been doing it for six years, and she planned on doing it for another twelve.
“All I’m saying is that you don’t have to be a bitch about it. You could have smiled, waved. I don’t even get why you’re on an eighteen-year celibacy plan anyway. That makes no sense to me.”
“Excuse me. Can I get a drink?” a tall guy hollered from the bar.
“Sure, darlin’. Just a sec.” Kat brushed Brianna’s hair from her shoulder. “You take him. Patrick Dempsey left a great tip. I’ll share it with you.”
“You don’t need to do that.” She smiled at Kat. When Brianna came back home after graduating from the Rhode Island School of Design, where she’d focused on photography, she hadn’t known she was pregnant. She’d put the pieces together two months later, after failing to find a job and writing off her nausea and missed periods to stress. Her mother was not exactly thrilled that she’d gotten knocked up at a graduation party by Todd, a guy she’d dated only a few times, and Brianna had to admit that she wasn’t thrilled either. But the minute her doctor had told her she was pregnant, her hand instinctively went to her belly, and there was no question in her mind about what she was going to do. Layla had become a part of her at that moment, and even though she and her mother had a falling out shortly thereafter and she’d stopped looking for a job in the arts and took the bartending job so she could make the rent payments on her new apartment, she’d never regretted her decision. Not when Layla was a colicky infant and stayed up for hours on end and not when she was two years old and colored with crayon all over the walls.
She looked at Kat and sighed. During those early months of Brianna’s pregnancy, when Brianna’s mother had been less than supportive, Kat had always been there. She’d supported Brianna’s desire to keep her baby, held her hair back while Brianna had bouts of nausea, and she’d never once judged her for getting pregnant. Kat had been the sister Brianna always wished she’d had.
“I’m not dating because Layla needs a stable mother, not a mom who’s caught up in the drama of worrying about a man. I brought her into this life, and she’s the best kid in the world. I don’t want to mess her up. It’s the least I can do.”
Kat hugged her. “I wish you’d have been my mom. Now go help the hunky dunk over there. Yummy.”
Brianna didn’t mind Thursday nights. With the noise of the game and the cheering of the drunken fans, the hours moved fast. Another twenty minutes and I’m out of here. Brianna bent over a barstool as she wiped it down.
“This seems to be the only free seat. Do you mind if I take it?”
She froze at the sound of that rich, delicious voice. Get a grip. She lifted her gaze to see that the handsome man who had left with Red was back and she was staring at his broad, muscular chest. She swallowed hard. At five foot five, Brianna was not a short woman, but next to this guy, who was almost a foot taller than her, she felt petite and feminine…and like her heart was on speed.
“Sure. Sorry,” she managed.
“Thank you.” He took off his jacket and folded it over his arm, his gaze never wavering from hers.
His eyes weren’t just brown; they were a warm shade of cocoa. She also noticed that his five-o’clock shadow wasn’t all black after all; it had a little lighter shade of brown sprinkled in. Oh, how she’d love to photograph him in black-and-white. Profile shot, maybe. He smiled, revealing the cutest dimples she’d ever seen. Patrick Dempsey. Definitely Patrick Dempsey. Only hotter. Sexier. Stronger. Oh God, shut up! Brianna realized she was staring, and a flush heated her cheeks. She spun on her heel and returned to the safety of the opposite side of the bar, racing heart and all.
She eyed Kat fixing drinks and flirting with a group of guys at the other end of the bar, wishing she were beside her. Kat could tease her out of her momentary lustfulness—or she’d give her crap for not acting on it. Brianna took a deep breath and focused on wiping down the counter.
“What’ll it be?” Don’t look at him. She felt like she was standing in front of the real Patrick Dempsey and if she looked again she’d be awestruck, she’d go mute, and embarrassed beyond recovery. That was the stupidest thing in the world, and she knew it. She forced herself to lift her eyes and clenched her jaw to keep from making an idiot of herself.
He smiled again and—Oh God—when it reached his eyes, he didn’t look like an asshole at all. Maybe she was misjudging him. But he just left with Red and he’s back for more already! She clenched her jaw tighter.