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“Let me guess. It’s not working out with Prince Charming over here?” he said, the corner of his lips quirking.
“What do you think?” Marti hissed. “He’s wearing more hair product than I am. And I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure he may have perfected the art on concealer coverage. Even I can’t hide my under-eye circles that well. . .” She bit her lip and glanced back at the bathroom. “I wonder what brand he uses?”
Cameron cleared his throat.
“Anyway, I need help. Bad.”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “You should put me on payroll. Or better yet, maybe I should just start a tab for you.” He tapped a finger over his lips, his face a mask of serious contemplation. “I need to figure out my rates. Also, I need a name for this service. The Switch and Ditch? No, no. Although it does have a nice ring to it.”
She glared at him. “Har-har. You’re Hilarious.”
“Hmm . . . pirate-speak looks sexy on you.”
“Gah! He’s coming back any minute. Will you do it or not?”
“For The Queen of Single? Anything. I’ve got this. You just relax. Go hide, and I’ll break the poor schmuck’s heart.”
She jumped up and reached across the bar, squeezing his arm. “Thanks, Cam!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered to her back, as she scurried off to the bathroom. “I better see a big tip.”
“You will.” Marti opened the door to the ladies’ room and she sighed with relief.
She locked the door behind her and pressed her ear against the smooth, hard surface. A minute later, she could just barely make out Tim’s voice as he spoke to Cameron.
Her heels clicked over the ugly tile as the minutes passed. There she was, pacing a bathroom stall while Cameron dumped yet another one of her dates, all in the name of journalism. My, how the mighty have fallen!
A moment later, she unlocked the bathroom door and peeked out. Cameron noticed and waved her over. “Coast is clear, chicken. I told him your pregnant friend was having labor pains and needed you.”
She sauntered past her table, snagging Tim’s full cocktail and headed to the bar. “Pregnant friend? I don’t even have a pregnant friend.”
Cameron shot her a look of disapproval as he served another patron a beer, then turned back to shamelessly flirting with the blonde.
Marti grunted, then muttered, “Hey, don’t judge,” to his half-turned back.
It’s not like she wanted to go on terrible dates and ditch them in the bathroom, but she needed fodder for her column. And crappy or not, dating losers gave her some pretty good material.
Only now, her boss wanted her to find something more permanent. She grimaced at the thought.
Sighing, she glanced at the time on her phone.
Ugh. At only 9 p.m. on a Saturday, she was already bored, and her two best friends were busy. Caroline was on a date herself, and Mel was doing what she always did on a Friday night—wrangling her triplets.
No, she did not stutter. She didn’t have a brain fart, either. Mel actually had triplets—as in three babies born in succession from the same vajeen.
Talk about a deathblow to your social life.
Resolving herself to people watching, she swirled Tim’s drink, then took a sip. Not bad.
To her right, someone clapped loud enough to get her attention.
Turning, she found the source of the sound. A man sitting a few feet down from her applauded. Laughter danced in his bright green eyes. Long legs stretched to standing before Mr. Green Eyes closed the distance between them. Towering over her, he said, “That was smooth.”
Marti swallowed and shook off a chill from the icy liquid. Or maybe it was the deep baritone of the man’s voice. Either way, his slow-spreading smirk was killer.
She nodded to the empty barstool on her right. “Have a seat.”
Something told her this guy would provide some much needed entertainment.
