I inherited her blond hair and blue eyes, but my features aren’t flawless like hers. Mom had one of those classically beautiful faces that would make men, women and children stop and stare whenever she walked by.
Me, I’m more cute than beautiful.
But I’ve learned that the right makeup and the right clothes can transform any girl from cute to sex bomb.
I don’t know what my plan is. Dean and I aren’t dating, first off. And since I don’t want anyone to know we’re fooling around, I can’t storm into Malone’s and dump a pitcher of beer over his head.
What I can do is show him exactly what he’s giving up.
I won’t lie—it hurts that he didn’t give me advance warning like he’d promised. And it definitely stings that he’s with someone else tonight when I would’ve been happy to keep flinging with him. But I knew going into this who I was getting involved with. Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis sleeps around. The End.
My ego, however, refuses to stand for this, which is why thirty minutes later I find myself sliding out the backseat of a taxi and stepping onto the curb in front of Malone’s.
My peacoat keeps me toasty as I linger near the door debating my plan of action. A couple of college guys pop out of the bar, and I’m gratified when both of them stop to check me out. Ha. And their appreciative gazes are based solely on my makeup and fuck-me-silly updo. They’d probably be salivating if they saw what was underneath my coat.
I reach for my phone. Here, I tell Hannah. Where r u?
Her: Pool table.
Taking a breath, I walk inside and make my way through the crowd. The music vibrates in the floor beneath my heels as I pass the booths on the left and head toward the archway where the main room opens onto the game room.
There are half a dozen more booths and tall standing tables in this section of the bar. I instantly spot my best friend. She’s talking to Logan and Hollis, while Garrett circles one of the green-felt tables with a pool cue in his hand. Holding a beer bottle, Fitzy is watching Garrett line up a shot, his own cue resting on the wall beside him.
I finally catch a glimpse of Dean. He’s almost hidden from view in the corner, talking to a curvy brunette in skinny jeans and a low-cut sweater.
Nice sweater, sweetie, but I can beat that.
I unbutton my coat, slip it off, and tuck it under my arm. Then I square my shoulders and saunter up to the pool table.
A wolf whistle slices through the music, courtesy of Logan. “Je-sus,” he marvels at me. “You look bangin’。” His blue eyes twinkle. “What’s the occasion?”
I smile demurely. “Just felt like looking pretty.”
Hannah snorts. “Babe, you look more than pretty. I think every dude in this bar just sprung a boner.”
I shrug. I only care about one boner in particular. I wonder if Little Dean has noticed me yet.
“So you won the game, huh?” I say to Logan.
“Damn right we did.”
“Nice. You guys are back on track, then.” I know Big Dean was upset about their three-game losing streak.
“Yeah, don’t get ahead of yourself. We were up against a Division II team. And even then we barely squeaked out the W.”
“Yo, Logan!” Garrett shouts. “Think I can make this shot?”
“’Scuse me, ladies. My supreme billiards skills and best friend services are required.” He wanders off.
Hannah leans in closer. “So. Does this mean you’re ready to dip your toe in the dating pool again?” Grinning, she gestures to my outfit, which, if I’m being honest, doesn’t really say “I want to date.”
It says DTF.
My royal-blue bandage dress stops at about mid-thigh. I wore a push-up bra, so my cleavage is out to there. My smoky eye shadow makes my eyes look huge. My five-inch stilettos make my legs look impossibly long. Sure, they nearly froze off during the walk from the cab to the bar, but the quest for hotness sometimes requires a sacrifice. That’s Beauty 101.
“Naah, I’m just testing the waters.”
Her smile widens. “Well, consider this test aced. I’d do you.”
I tense abruptly, feeling Dean approach before he even sidles up to me. “Looking good, baby doll,” he says lightly.
But I hear the edge in his voice, and his displeasure is unmistakable. Which is preposterous because what does he have to be peeved about? I’m not the one who was making out with someone else.
“Thanks. Who’s your friend?” I ask in the sweetest voice I can muster.
His expression goes blank. “Huh?”