AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You do that,” Shane said. As Tad stalked away with that acid bath traveling from his stomach to his throat, he could have sworn his so-called friend was humming Kiss’s “Calling Dr. Love.”
Twenty
Dr. Darian gave her hand a squeeze before moving off to grab her another glass of wine. Her third.
Oh, dear.
They’d had a nice, innocuous chat about toddler antics and the latest Marvelmovie, and she hadn’t felt nearly as stupid as usual. Feeling a touch squiffy always helped. That he appreciated her in this dress, which revealed more than it covered, sent a thrill of pleasure through her that somehow managed to mitigate the smallness she felt in the presence of this clearly intelligent man.
Once she had figured out she was never going to win any awards in school, she had compensated by becoming popular with boys. Smile at her, flash a dimple, say her name in a low rumble, and she was a goner. Touch her gently, tell her she was pretty, murmur a kind word, and she was toast. All these things were fuel for her dangerously low self-esteem. Who needed to know she couldn’t read when conversations without words were eminently preferable? Who needed to know she wasn’t nearly as stupid as she appeared when she was safely cradled in the arms of a guy who didn’t care to ask the hard questions?
She suspected Dr. Darian had a decent set of forearms underneath that worsted wool. Probably not Tad DeLuca quality but she bet they would do just fine. She looked over to find the dishy doc chatting with Jack. Knowing her brother, he was giving him the third degree and angling for his social security number so he could run a background check.
A brush against her bare arm diverted her attention from the interrogation.
She turned to find Conor Garcia going in for the hug.
Jules had always liked him, and it was nice to see a friendly face, especially one so handsome. Half-Irish, half-Cuban, which was a pretty kick-ass genetic combination, he also had chocolate brown curls winging strong cheekbones. His cerulean blue eyes hinted at devilish depths.
He held onto her a couple of seconds longer than necessary, then gave an indolent dip of a gaze over her body. Promising, promising. If she’d had any doubts as to his interest, they were swept away with his words.
“Holy smokes, Jules, you are gorgeous!”
Unable to help herself, she loosed a giggle that smothered her nerves. She didn’t look half bad. The dress she wore was a touch tight around her doughy middle but it draped in all the (other) right places. Her Pour Le Victoire pumps fulfilled their function as sparkly foot props, lengthening her legs and making her feel sexy. All night, she’d had no shortage of appreciative looks.
She only wished someone else was paying her attention, but Tad had barely glanced at her. Busy schmoozing, he had made no effort to come her way. He cut circles around her, sometimes close to where she stood, but then he was off to talk to someone else.
And the wound got a nice salting with how fit and fine he looked in that suit, like Don Draper had time-traveled to the twenty-first century. The charcoal grey fabric stretched indecently across the tight arse and broad back she saw more and more of as the night wore on.
“So how’s tricks, Conor?” she asked, determined to enjoy this handsome man’s attention.
He grinned, cocksure as they come. “Not bad. I heard you’re on the market. You want to catch a drink some time?”
Blimey! Conor wasn’t one for small talk. “Well, I’m starting out low-key. Meeting for coffee, that kind of thing.”
“Mine’s black with two sugars. And I like my eggs over easy with two strips of bacon.” He winked, drawing her smile.
“Cheeky bugger.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. I’m serious about going out on a date, though.” He leaned in close, sending his aftershave wafting beneath her nostrils. Something expensive that summoned a flutter in her stomach.
Over at the bar, Tad stood in a cozy huddle with the Queen of the Night, aka the sloe-eyed critic who had been in his office a couple of weeks ago. Something she said made him laugh and his unsubtle eye lock on her hectare of boobage was the heifer’s reward. Sighing, Jules turned back to Conor, who had somehow managed to close the minuscule gap between them.
“I hear you have a complex points arrangement. How’m I doin’?”
She cocked her head. Ten points for looks, an extra five for that impish look in his eyes. Gainfully employed, owned his own business, hot damn, a firefighter. Ten, twenty, thirty points right there. Sense of humor and a quick wit added on another ten.
“You like kids?”
“They’re our future.”
“You nice to your mother?”
“Dinner every Sunday.” At her mouth twitch, he amended, “Every other Sunday.” Hmm, what was wrong with him? She touched two fingers to her lips, seeking out flaws.
“Longest relationship?”
“Two years.” He gave a slight shrug. “She cheated.”
