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“Fine.” Stephen said, motioning to Mike. “So tell us about your ‘stoplight theory.’”
Garrett laughed, his blue eyes sparkling. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one.”
Mike thought about it. If Garrett had followed his rule, Kiersten would be alone. “Get lost. You’re the only man this doesn’t apply to.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “So glad to hear I get a pass.”
“You’re welcome. Now go get us some more drinks. This speech isn’t for you.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Mike stared him down, and Garrett finally sighed and got up. Mike pulled some money out of his pocket and handed it to Garrett. “But here. Tonight’s on me.”
“Fuck you, Mike.” But he took the money.
Once Garrett headed off for the bar, Mike leaned in and lowered his voice. “The rest of you need to listen up. Especially you, Al. You got way too close to the red light last week.” He set his bottle down and bent closer. “You all know I love women. Every size, shape, and color. They’re all perfect, in my eyes.”
Alistair smirked. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say we all know that.”
“But as with anything in this world, if you have too much of a good thing, you get used to it. Start to wonder why in the hell you bought a whole case of hazelnut coffee, instead of just a few packs. And then you’re stuck drinking a piss poor choice for coffee—one you liked a week ago but now you never want to fucking see again.”
Mike chugged the rest of his beer and scanned his buddy’s faces as he did so. They looked at him with varying degrees of interest—but they were all hanging on the edge of their seats to hear the rest. He’d missed his calling. He could have been the next fucking Oprah.
But he’d have been an Oprah for single dudes.
“So I’ve come up with the perfect solution to this problem that afflicts men everywhere.”
“You make it sound like a medical condition,” Alistair said.
“It is, in some ways. Marriage should be a healable condition.” Mike grinned. “But anyway, my solution to avoiding this issue altogether? You can compare your time with a woman to a stoplight.”
Alistair laughed. “A stoplight? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Riley shook his head. “No. Unfortunately, you don’t.”
“Well, it’s as simple as this.” Mike leaned in again and all three of his companions did the same. “Green means go. It’s the first or second date and she’s looking at you with those bright eyes and big pouty lips. Picturing you as her soul mate or some shit like that. I have no idea what goes on in girls’ heads.”
“Obviously,” Alistair said dryly.
Mike ignored him. “This is the time to enjoy what’s freely offered with no worries of tomorrow. Talk, laugh, and have some fucking fun. But when you see her again—and if you sleep with her again—then you’re in the yellow zone.” He held up a finger. “And you better think very carefully before stepping into the yellow zone, my friends. If you go back for second helpings, that’s fine. Encouraged, even, if you know what you’re getting yourself into. But the second you’re finished, she’s going to be wanting to see you again. And she’s going to want confirmation that you want to see her again.”
“So what do you do then?” Riley asked, his cheeks flushed.
“I give my very detailed, very sweet—yet stern—speech about how I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I tell her I can’t see myself ever settling down enough to think of the big ‘M’ word. If she cries, then that’s the end of the yellow zone.” He swiped a hand through the air. “You’re in the red, and you get the fuck out of there with your ass hanging outta your pants if need be.”
“And if she’s okay with you not wanting more?”
Mike shrugged. “I haven’t met many women like this. Maybe one or two. Most of the time they cry and I book it out of there.”
Stephen shook his head. “You’re in the red zone way too much, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know anything about red zones,” a feminine voice said, “but he’s definitely in my seat.”
Mike looked up and caught his breath at the vision in front of him. Her fiery red hair almost reached her waist, she had the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen, and he could see the hint of dimples on either side of her mouth. Dimples that would surely pop if she smiled.
But instead of smiling, she glowered down at him as if he’d killed her favorite cat and cooked it into a soup. “Excuse me?” Mike splayed his arm across the top of the booth. “No one stole anything. This booth was empty and we sat in it. It’s kind of the way seats in public places work. When you leave, it’s up for grabs.”
