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Logan wasn’t into clutter.
And he’d thought Helene wasn’t, either. He’d been wrong about that, too. That antique desk of hers had been plenty cluttered with a clown’s bare ass.
“Mind if I join you?” Miss Turtle-Shirt said. “I’m having sort of a private going-away party.”
She waited until Logan mumbled “suit yourself,” and she slid onto the purple bar stool next to him.
She smelled like limes.
Her hair was varying shades of pink and looked as if it’d been cut with a weed whacker. It was already messy, but apparently it wasn’t messy enough for her because she dragged her hand through it, pushing it away from her face.
“Tequila, top-shelf. Four shots and a bowl of lime slices,” she told the bartender.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only person in San Antonio with plans to get drunk tonight. And it explained the lime scent. These clearly weren’t her first shots of the night.
“Do me a favor, though,” she said to Logan after he downed his next drink. “Don’t ask my name, or anything personal about me, and I’ll do the same for you.”
Logan had probably never agreed to anything so fast in all his life. For one thing, he really didn’t want to spend time talking with this woman, and he especially didn’t want to talk about what’d happened.
“If you feel the need to call me something, go with Julia,” she added.
The name definitely wasn’t a fit. He was expecting something more like Apple or Sunshine. Still, he didn’t care what she called herself. Didn’t care what her real name was, either, and he cared even less after his next shot of Glenlivet.
“So, you’re a cowboy, huh?” she asked.
The mind-numbing hadn’t kicked in yet, but the orneriness had. “That’s personal.”
She shrugged. “Not really. You’re wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots and jeans. It was more of an observation than a question.”
“The clothes could be fashion statements,” he pointed out.
Julia shook her head, downed the first shot of tequila, sucked on a lime slice. Made a face and shuddered. “You’re not the kind of man to make fashion statements.”
If he hadn’t had a little buzz going on, he might have been insulted by that. “Unlike you?”
She glanced down at her clothes as if seeing them for the first time. Or maybe she was just trying to focus because the tequila had already gone to her head. “This was the first thing I grabbed off my floor.”
Bingo. If that was her first grab, there was no telling how bad things were beneath it.
Julia tossed back her second shot. “Have you ever found out something that changed your whole life?” she asked.
“Yeah.” About four hours ago.
“Me, too. Without giving specifics, because that would be personal, did it make you feel as if fate were taking a leak on your head?”
“Five leaks,” he grumbled. Logan finished off his next shot.
Julia made a sound of agreement. “I would compare yours with mine, and I’d win, but I don’t want to go there. Instead, let’s play a drinking game.”
“Let’s not,” he argued. “And in a fate-pissing comparison, I don’t think you’d win.”
Julia made a sound of disagreement. Had another shot. Grimaced and shuddered again. “So, the game is a word association,” she continued as if he’d agreed. “I say a word, you say the first thing that comes to mind. We take turns until we’re too drunk to understand what the other one is saying.”
Until she’d added that last part, Logan had been about to get up and move to a different spot. But hell, he was getting drunk anyway, and at least this way he’d have some company. Company he’d never see again. Company he might not even be able to speak to if the slurring went up a notch.
“Dream?” she threw out there.
“Family.” That earned him a sound of approval from her, and she motioned for him to take his turn. “Surprise?”
“Crappy,” Julia said without hesitation.
Now it was Logan who made a grunt of approval. Surprises could indeed be crap-related. The one he’d gotten tonight certainly had been.
