‘Do you have meaningful relationships, though? That mean something toyouas well; not just to the poor woman.’
He swilled his bourbon around in the glass, his brow knitted as he watched the liquid moving. ‘You’re sounding awfully sexist, Noelle. Why do you assume the women I date aren’t capable of wanting the same arrangement as me? Most of the people I see have busy careers of their own and aren’t interested in settling down either. I never lead women on. They always know what they can expect from me.’
It was the first time he’d as good as admitted that he never engaged in anything more than casual flings and, even though I’d been aware of it, the bare-faced facts made me disappointed in a way I didn’t care to examine. And annoyed. He’d made a good point about thinking of it only from my perspective. Not thatIwanted to date him. But I had assumed the women who did were looking for the same long-term deal as me, and that wasn’t necessarily the case.
‘OK, I admit, women are more than capable of wanting nothing other than a physical relationship and I shouldn’t have assumed you were leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you.’ Although Beth had mentioned at least one devastated woman. ‘But you’ve only backed up my argument about the checklist. Even the commitment-phobic such as yourself have criteria. 1) Woman must not expect or desire any long-term prospects. 2) No meeting family. 3) No obligations. 4) Toothbrushes will be taken home again after use. Am I right?’
He lifted his glass to me with a half-smile. ‘You’ve got me completely sussed, haven’t you? Go on then, what are your questions?’
‘None of your business. You shouldn’t eavesdrop.’
‘I could hardly avoid it but fine.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘How long are we prepared to wait for this lead to arrive?’
I exhaled slowly and decided to take action. Anything rather than sit and think about the humiliation of my brother inadvertently announcing I was desperate to Stephen. I flagged the bartender down. ‘Do you have a guy called Eric come in here regularly?’
‘Who wants to know?’
I bit back my smart retort that it was obviouslymewho wanted to know. This guy was about six feet five and wider than most doorways. ‘He asked us to meet him here.’
‘Then I guess he’ll meet you here.’ He ambled off with a disinterested shrug but after he collected a drink, he went straight over to the table in the corner, crowded with men who looked like him. Enormous, bushy bearded and hostile.
‘I think he’s over there,’ I murmured to Stephen.
‘Why?’ He started to look over and I caught his arm.
‘No, don’t look.’
‘Why not? What’s going on in that head of yours?’
‘They look like bikers; this is most likely their bar because the bartender only grows a personality when he goes over to give them table service. He’s there now, as if he needs to collect their glasses but he’s most likely telling Eric about us asking after him. Giving him a heads up that we’re getting impatient or something.’
He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Your imagination is very vivid. Do you spend all your time trying to figure people out?’
‘These are my skills. Some people are good at tennis or crochet, I’m good at—’
‘Jumping to conclusions?’
‘Hey, I thought you wanted my help with this.’
‘I do. But if he’s over there, what say we use your method from last weekend and simply ask? I don’t feel inclined to stay in this bar any longer than I have to.’
I tried not to feel insulted about the fact he couldn’t wait to get away. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
He got up from his bar stool, forcing me to let go of his arm so he could fold his jacket over it. ‘You’d prefer to sit here and wait while he decides what to do with us?’
‘This is their domain.’
‘All the more reason to go on the offensive. It’ll show them we’re not intimidated,’ he said, stepping closer to lower his voice, his breath sweet with bourbon and cool from mint. ‘If you’re nervous, you can wait for me outside.’ And for just a moment I fancied I could see softness in his dark eyes, concern that made me feel a little safer.
I shook my head. ‘I’m not abandoning you to them.’
‘I can handle myself.’
‘This is New York, Stephen, and it looks like we’ve been lured to a biker bar. They’ll eat you alive. They’ve probably figured out you’re loaded by the cut of your fine Italian suit.’
‘It’s a Thom Sweeney,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘I’m going over.’
‘Dammit. OK.’
