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Nikki rubbed her forehead, anxiety slicking her palm. Ah, she hated these conversations. “What do you want me to do? Join Tinder?” God, no. Not Tinder. The guys she’d dated in the past either left her for another woman or a man. Why waste her time?
“No. You’d probably lie to us.”
Lara cocked her head in the direction of the bar counter. “Him.”
Nikki followed her cue, her gaze traveling over to the bar area, and no one needed to point out the dangerously good-looking man sitting at the corner. A punch of awareness heated her bloodstream, and her throat dried. She couldn’t see his face completely, but the profile was impressive, masculine, with a trimmed beard covering what she imagined was a strong chin. A dark grey jacket outlined impossibly broad shoulders, and the matching pants hinted at thick, muscular legs. Even from several feet, he oozed power and virility.
“Daaaaamn.” Brit slurped her drink.
Lara lifted her eyebrow. “I want you to go over there and say hi.”
“Can’t I just wave from here?” So much better. With any luck, the handsome beefcake would not even see her and she’d get along with her evening.
Lara lifted her chin, her beautiful bone structure on display, along with a glint of challenge in her eyes. Crap, she wouldn’t let this go. “No. I want you to take a seat next to his and chat. Have him buy you a drink.”
God, this got complicated by the minute. She drank more of her own wine, then drummed her fingers on the table. The wine rolled down her throat, thicker than the first sip, probably because now the idea of walking up to a fucking stranger suffocated her airways. “Can I buy him a drink instead?”
Brit waved her off. “Sure. As long as you give it a try.”
“What if he tells me off?” A guy like that wouldn’t look at her twice. He could have any woman he wanted, which meant he had an obnoxious personality most likely. Either way, he most likely wanted to date one of the Hadid sisters, and not Anna Kendrick’s off-brand look-alike.
“You splash the drink on his face,” Lara said.
“What if he doesn’t tell me off?” Nikki asked. This possibility sank her stomach to the floor and scared her a bit more than a straight-up “no.” She peered at Violet, who sat back quietly and mouthed an “I’m sorry,” like she wouldn’t save her from that mess.
“Exchange numbers. I’ll babysit for you if he asks you on a date,” Lara said.
“Babysit hmmm?”
“I’ll throw in free babysitting for you for a month so you get to know him better,” Lara said.
Most people wouldn’t want to babysit her twins even if paid, unless they were blood relatives. But with her grandma in a retirement community and estranged parents living in Florida, she really didn’t have many options. Hmmmm. “Fine.”
“Great.”
Without her consent, Brit removed the rubber band from Nikki’s hair and fluffed her hair, finger combing through her tresses until waves framed her face like she’d just tumbled out of bed. Focused, Brit reached into her bag and produced a tube of gloss, which she lifted and opened to stain Nikki’s lips. The shimmery cherry red certainly was a bit brasher than her go-to nude colors.
“Show some skin.” Lara opened the top two buttons of her white blouse, and a cold breeze caressed her skin. “You have a graceful neck. Why do you hide it? You’re not Diane Keaton.”
Nikki lifted her hand in denial. Think fast, lady. She usually came up with decent plans when anxiety knocked at her door. What option did she have now? “I’m good. I’ll go over to talk to him.”
* * *
Cole glanced at his empty glass of scotch. He could be anywhere in the world, relaxing next to a gorgeous woman, preferably without clothes. But he committed to seeing the takeover of the company through, and work had taken him away from L.A. to this nauseatingly quaint town. He tapped on the glass. His father had asked him in person to do this—as a way to get more involved with the family business and possibly selling his stocks. His father had never asked him much. In fact, ever since Keith’s death a couple decades ago, his father hadn’t even spoken to him unless necessary. He reached for the tie at his collar, untying it, but it only made him feel his pulse racing in his veins. Because of him, his twin brother had died. No small favor would ever erase this truth. Besides, having an affair with his father’s assistant months prior hadn’t exactly helped change his father’s perception of him.
“Hey. What are you drinking?” asked a sensual female voice.
He shifted to face the woman sliding to the seat next to his. Within a few seconds, he registered the brunette’s pretty face and slim body. “Scotch.”
She waved at the bartender, mouthing, “Another one of what he’s having and I’ll take another glass of your house red.”
The bartender nodded and turned around to prepare the drinks.
“Trust me, you don’t want to pay for my scotch,” he said. “It’s one hundred dollar per dose.”
She withdrew, eyes widening. “Is it steeped in gold? Did Mick Jagger personally sign the bottle or something?”
He chuckled. “Aged to perfection.”
