"I set my hand in my chin and leaned forward, intrigued. "Oh, and where do you go trolling for women?"
"I don't make it a point to look. I figure I'll find her when the time is right."
"And if Miranda came over and said she was interested in you? Would the time be right then?" I toyed with the zipper pull on my purse so I didn't have to see the truth in his eyes.
He shrugged. "I don't even know her."
With a wave of my hand, I dismissed that ridiculousness. "Stop it. Of course you'd go out with her."
"Not necessarily. I might decide she was self-absorbed after a few minutes. And I'm not the only one." He refilled a beer and slid it to the man next to me, waiting.
"I think my results so far here tonight would prove otherwise."
"You're polling the wrong crowd. If you and Miranda went somewhere besides a bar, I bet there'd be plenty of guys asking her about you. Here at a bar, a six-foot-tall blond woman is like a bug light. She totally stands out, attracting all the creatures buzzing about at night. And they have no idea they're about to be zapped by you." He pointed at me and I thought about biting his finger.
I rolled my eyes instead. "She stands out everywhere."
He tipped his head and stared at me for a moment. I wondered if I'd forgotten to pluck my right eyebrow again. I fluffed my bangs and did a quick swipe for eye stubble. Phew. All clear.
"Do you always go out with her?" he asked. "Everywhere?"
"Usually."
"Maybe Miranda's your excuse to keep guys away." He smiled, like he'd just come up with a great new As-Seen-On-TV invention.
I opened my mouth then snapped it shut. "I need a minute to think about that warped logic."
"You're not going to meet a nice guy at a bar. And certainly not with her in tow."
"Then good thing I have a cat at home who loves me, because most of the men I meet are at bars."
He planted both hands on the counter top. "Okay. You need to meet an entirely new population of men. You've been corrupted by losers. I've got a proposition. Come with me to my baseball game tomorrow-without Miranda-and we'll see how many guys are interested in you."
I tried to look incredibly offended. "Good Lord, you make me feel like chattel. Are you going to sell me to the highest bidder?"
"I'm just intent on proving your theory wrong. I'll bet you have a date in three weeks."
"Three weeks? You think it's going to take that long? Thanks."
He forced a great big smile for me. "No, I just imagine you're going to be very difficult about this."
"That's very true. But let's place the stakes on this bet." I narrowed my eyes, thinking, and then snapped my fingers. "A t-shirt that says, 'She's Taken.' I can flash it at guys when they come up to ask about Miranda."
He frowned. "Now, what good will that be for me when I win it? Because I will."
"I'll have it printed to say 'I'm Taken' so you can use it when girls itching to lose their bras come up to you."
He reached over the bar to shake my hand. "Deal. And I wear a Large. Meet me at this address tomorrow at one." He scrawled directions to his baseball game on the back of a bar napkin as Miranda wandered over.
I picked up the glass of scotch. "Want some?" I asked her. "You helped me get it."
She smoothed her hand along her swan-like neck, which looked like it belonged in a classy erotic photo display. "Can I have a glass of water?" She tucked her hair over one shoulder and smiled at Brady.
And he got her some water pretty damn fast.
"Who's your friend, Jane?" she asked, lowering her lashes.
No, not the coy voice! Not the lust lashes! "This is Brady. Brady, this is my friend Miranda."
