Vanilla On Top
Chapter One
Heather
The bartender approaches us, carrying our drinks, a lopsided grin on his aging face. “Gin and tonic?”
“That’s me,” I reply, reaching for the squat glass.
He sets a wineglass in front of Carla. She accepts it with a nod and turns her perky blondness my way. “Who orders a mixed drink at a wine bistro?”
My best friend forgets, I’m not nearly as bold as she is and often require stronger fortification for my nerves. “Sometimes wine doesn’t cut it.”
The elegant room fills with bodies, and my temperature rises. So many handsome guys, I’m afraid to open my mouth and trip on my tongue. What in the hell possessed me to try this type of outing again?
Carla eyes the variety of men pouring through the double doors. “Linda outdid herself with tonight’s event. There weren’t this many hotties at the last one. But then again, it wasn’t run by Linda.”
I shudder at the memory of the first speed dating attempt she dragged me to.
God, I’d felt like such an idiot.
I clearly blocked the humiliation of how no one wanted a date with me afterward. Then again, the prospect of being alone the rest of my life doesn’t sit well either.
“Yup, our lovely organizer did a great job with the men showing up tonight.” I force a laugh to hide my awkwardness. “Maybe one will even call me later.”
“Hey, cut that long hair into some semblance of a style and you might have the same luck Julie did.”
I self-consciously tuck a strand of fine black hair behind one ear. I have no intention of getting a cute pixie haircut like Carla’s. The long locks are one of the few things I like about myself. “Your sister lucked out with her hotshot property developer, but let’s be real. Most of the good ones in this city are gay or married.”
“Not true! I refuse to think there are no good ones left.” She nudges me with her shoulder while pointing her glass at some of the men around the room. “Take a good look. I bet there are at least six here who aren’t married, or gay and looking for a beard.”
I gaze at my friend and appraise her good-naturedly. With curvy good looks and a low cut blouse, she has a much better chance of snagging a guy than I do.
Linda, the busty brunette in her forties who organized the event, waves at us from across the bar, gesturing we should head over to the tables like she explained earlier. Carla and I select small, two-seater tables next to each other, sliding into the cushioned chairs at almost the same time.
“Smile, Heather,” Carla says with a cheeky grin. “You’ll do fine.”
“Oh, yeah.” I hold back my grimace, reminding myself of the free booze. Maybe, if I drink enough, I’ll say something charming and one of these men will choose me for a date. “I’m sure I will.”
Carla leans over and swats my arm playfully. “Step out of your comfort zone, girl. Slip on a new skin while you’re here.”
Putting on a brave face, I nod. “I’ll try.”
I swirl the thin red straw in my gin and tonic while looking over the prospective men. There’s a tall, dark, and gorgeous one in the corner. He’s sporting a blinding white smile, offset nicely by his cocoa-colored skin, deep brown hair, and sharp casual jacket. Yum. My lips tilt up at the corners. He looks in my direction and I drop my glance to the clipboard on the table in front of me. I’d die if he caught me staring at him.
Carla once labeled me a “doormat” while we were commiserating over my past relationships. She might have been right. I’m always bending over backward, sometimes literally, to make a guy happy. And what has it earned me? An empty bed, lonely nights, and lots of meals for one in my freezer. I take a long sip of my drink.
Maybe I should slip on a new skin. Honestly, this current one isn’t working too well. I stiffen my spine as I glance once more around the wood-paneled space. I know there’s a guy out there for me. I just have to find him.
Two men arrive together, one looking slightly more harried than the other. The first one is sandy-haired and built like a runner, slim hipped and lean. His tailored, pinstriped suit still looks fresh at eight o’clock. He’s got a dimple in his chin and an infectious grin as he looks around the room at the available ladies.
Quite a few women look older than me, so even if I’m not stunning, I’m still sitting near the top of prospects for the evening. This may turn out to be my lucky night, yet. The man behind the runner makes me pause. He’s easily the best looking guy in the bistro. And sure enough, by the way heads are turning, I’m not the only one who notices him.
Though slightly shorter than his lanky friend, he must outweigh him by thirty pounds or so. His lean middle implies that extra bulk is all muscle. He’s…arresting. Sable-brown hair, cut short and styled in a lazy fashion that somehow looks professional on him. His charcoal suit drapes across his broad shoulders and defines his narrow waist like it was custom-made. His white shirt contrasts with his Mediterranean complexion, and when he looks up at his friend’s teasing tone, I get a glance at his light brown eyes and chiseled cheekbones. What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through his hair and kiss him senseless.