surfing?”
The second man’s eyes went wide. “Hot damn, you’re right.” He leaned in closer, whispering as if he had a secret to tell. “Never tell my mom I said this, but you beat out anything she ever baked for me.”
Layla laughed, then lowered her voice, too. “I’ll keep that between the two of us.”
“Wait just a minute,” his friend protested, tapping his own chest with his half-full bottle of beer. “ I saw her first. I realized she was Cupcake Cutie. No sharing sweet nothings with my woman.”
Layla laughed again as they started squabbling about the rules of first flirtation rights and who’d ignored those very same rules just last Saturday night with the “awesome red-haired babe” at “that bar on Second Street.” Clearly, the pair spent a lot of time together cruising for female companionship.
As the not-quite sober, almost entirely serious discussion continued, the blue-shirted man paused the conversation to address Layla. “Excuse us for just a minute,” he said. “We’ll get back to you as soon as we sort this out.”
Layla could only smile at them. They were clearly harmless and actually quite good-looking if you weren’t blinded by the ultraloud shirts. “I’ll be right here waiting.”
“Oh, God,” Vance muttered. “Don’t encourage them.”
She turned to him. “What’s the matter, Danny Downer?”
His eyes narrowed at the nickname. “They’re idiots,” he told her. “Boozed up and bored. They’re the kind of men you should give a wide berth.”
Oh, yeah, he was going all big brother, wasn’t he? Doling out unsolicited advice and treating her as if she’d never been to a bar or handled a couple of flirtatious men.
Maybe he didn’t think she was appealing enough to actually have been approached by the male species before, she thought in annoyance, taking another swallow of her margarita to cool her snap of temper. “I’ve dated before, Vance. Kissed men. Even—don’t faint—had sex. I know what I’m doing.”
His mouth tightened. “Not with guys like that you don’t.”
Layla glanced over her shoulder at them. They were still engrossed in arguing the finer points of bro etiquette. In her judgment, their XY was of the nontoxic variety. They’d had a few beers, but so what? Yet her escort continued scowling in their direction.
She shook her head at him. “Listen, every person isn’t a Boy Scout, Vance.”
He turned his frown on her. “What?”
“I’m talking about you,” she said, gesturing toward him with her glass. “Just because you’re a squeaky-clean, always-in-control ice man—”
“Actually, I was the rowdiest party animal you’d ever have the misfortune to meet.”
“What?” Layla blinked in surprise.
“You heard me.” He set his beer onto the bar. “I excelled at wild and stupid from the day I bought my first fake ID until I was well into my twenties.”
Her mouth dropped, then she swallowed. “What happened then?”
Vance shrugged. “Cleaned up my act.”
There had to be more to the story. “Because...?”
“Because I grew out of stupid. Then I met a woman who made me...made me think. Eventually I asked her to marry me.”
Layla thought her eyes might pop out of her head. “You’re engaged?”
He retrieved his beer and took a swallow. “ Was engaged, until about six months ago. But the point is, I recognize your friends Tweedledum and Tweedledee. That was me. Going nowhere good fast.”
She still considered him too harsh on the other two, but that didn’t concern her now. Vance had been engaged . And not that long ago, either. For some reason she couldn’t pinpoint, the idea irritated her as much as or more than his big brother act.
Shouldn’t he have told her he’d wanted to marry someone? Shouldn’t she have sensed it? He’d presumably been in love with the woman. Was he still in love with her?
The question was on the tip of Layla’s tongue when the clack of a shot glass against the polished
The second man’s eyes went wide. “Hot damn, you’re right.” He leaned in closer, whispering as if he had a secret to tell. “Never tell my mom I said this, but you beat out anything she ever baked for me.”
Layla laughed, then lowered her voice, too. “I’ll keep that between the two of us.”
“Wait just a minute,” his friend protested, tapping his own chest with his half-full bottle of beer. “ I saw her first. I realized she was Cupcake Cutie. No sharing sweet nothings with my woman.”
Layla laughed again as they started squabbling about the rules of first flirtation rights and who’d ignored those very same rules just last Saturday night with the “awesome red-haired babe” at “that bar on Second Street.” Clearly, the pair spent a lot of time together cruising for female companionship.
As the not-quite sober, almost entirely serious discussion continued, the blue-shirted man paused the conversation to address Layla. “Excuse us for just a minute,” he said. “We’ll get back to you as soon as we sort this out.”
Layla could only smile at them. They were clearly harmless and actually quite good-looking if you weren’t blinded by the ultraloud shirts. “I’ll be right here waiting.”
“Oh, God,” Vance muttered. “Don’t encourage them.”
She turned to him. “What’s the matter, Danny Downer?”
His eyes narrowed at the nickname. “They’re idiots,” he told her. “Boozed up and bored. They’re the kind of men you should give a wide berth.”
Oh, yeah, he was going all big brother, wasn’t he? Doling out unsolicited advice and treating her as if she’d never been to a bar or handled a couple of flirtatious men.
Maybe he didn’t think she was appealing enough to actually have been approached by the male species before, she thought in annoyance, taking another swallow of her margarita to cool her snap of temper. “I’ve dated before, Vance. Kissed men. Even—don’t faint—had sex. I know what I’m doing.”
His mouth tightened. “Not with guys like that you don’t.”
Layla glanced over her shoulder at them. They were still engrossed in arguing the finer points of bro etiquette. In her judgment, their XY was of the nontoxic variety. They’d had a few beers, but so what? Yet her escort continued scowling in their direction.
She shook her head at him. “Listen, every person isn’t a Boy Scout, Vance.”
He turned his frown on her. “What?”
“I’m talking about you,” she said, gesturing toward him with her glass. “Just because you’re a squeaky-clean, always-in-control ice man—”
“Actually, I was the rowdiest party animal you’d ever have the misfortune to meet.”
“What?” Layla blinked in surprise.
“You heard me.” He set his beer onto the bar. “I excelled at wild and stupid from the day I bought my first fake ID until I was well into my twenties.”
Her mouth dropped, then she swallowed. “What happened then?”
Vance shrugged. “Cleaned up my act.”
There had to be more to the story. “Because...?”
“Because I grew out of stupid. Then I met a woman who made me...made me think. Eventually I asked her to marry me.”
Layla thought her eyes might pop out of her head. “You’re engaged?”
He retrieved his beer and took a swallow. “ Was engaged, until about six months ago. But the point is, I recognize your friends Tweedledum and Tweedledee. That was me. Going nowhere good fast.”
She still considered him too harsh on the other two, but that didn’t concern her now. Vance had been engaged . And not that long ago, either. For some reason she couldn’t pinpoint, the idea irritated her as much as or more than his big brother act.
Shouldn’t he have told her he’d wanted to marry someone? Shouldn’t she have sensed it? He’d presumably been in love with the woman. Was he still in love with her?
The question was on the tip of Layla’s tongue when the clack of a shot glass against the polished
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