"By this time, Brady was pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "You are so wrong."
"And you must be drunk. I thought bartenders weren't allowed to drink on the job." I stood up and leaned over the bar, pretending to search for a contraband beverage.
A giggling brunette wearing too much dark eye shadow sidled up next to me and waved to get Brady's attention. "Excuse me, my friend over there was wondering if you're single?" She pointed to a girl covering her face with both hands; but there was no question whether or not the short, chubby girl with frizzy red hair was a looker. Being a non-goddess myself, I was allowed"
"to make such judgment calls.
The brunette giggled a bit more. "She thinks you're hot. If you want, she'll give you her bra for your collection." She pointed to the lingerie and slapped her hand over her mouth, totally overwhelmed with how audacious she was being.
I tried to suppress my grin, watching how Brady would handle this one.
He tilted his head and shrugged. "Man, sometimes it really sucks having a girlfriend." He reached for a wine glass, and poured some Chardonnay. "But give her this and tell her thanks for the compliment; and that she should keep her bra for some other lucky fellow."
"The girl pouted, but she took the wine and dashed over to her friend.
"Very nicely done," I said.
He smiled and bowed, when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around "Yes?"
"Ah, 'allo love. I was wondering if you knew that lovely blond girl tearing about on the dance floor?" He had an accent that sounded British, but wasn't exactly. Could it be the elusive Australian?
Now this is an interesting development. "I do know her. Say, you aren't Australian, are you?" Maybe I'd be getting out of here earlier than I expected.
He frowned at me. "No. If I were Australian I'd sound like an ass." He shuddered a bit as he said it. "I'm South African."
"Oh." I scrunched my eyebrows, trying to remember Miranda's status with the African nations. "Let me get back to you"
"You don't have a yacht, do you?"
He shook his head.
"A dinghy?"
He just looked at me and walked away.
"What the hell?" I mumbled. "I was going to ask her if she was interested. She's got a tour-of-the-nations thing going on."
Brady refilled my Coke and dropped in a handful of cherries. "Back to your totally plausible theory on men and our shallow evolutionary desires. If that's all we Neanderthals want is a beautiful woman-never mind smarts, or humor, or loyalty, or any of that business-what about you women? What do you want?"
"Simple." I shrugged. "Power and money to help raise all your children."
He laughed. "Then I'm in big trouble because I've got neither."
"Well, not all women want that. I suppose those of us who aren't evolutionary goddesses know we have to settle." I wasn't about to tell him that he was a Ryan Reynolds' look-alike and could get any woman in the bar. "As we just saw, you don't have a hard time with the ladies. How do you fend them off?"
"I tell them all I've got a girlfriend."
I tucked my hair behind my ears and prayed it wasn't frizzing. "Is that the truth or an excuse?"
He folded his arms and his expression turned serious. "I'll be honest with you to balance out your lying. It's an excuse, because I typically don't like to swim in the dating pool that shows up here."
