All the Right Moves(37)

Cassie sighed. “That is so sweet.”

John hadn’t heard the story before, but he knew Scott was crazy about his wife. He talked to her twice a day even when they’d been in the thick of things in Kabul. Watching them look at each other he felt that weird pull in his chest again.

“I’m from Vegas,” Gwen said, her high-pitched voice even more annoying now. “Born and raised. Everyone is always surprised. For some reason they think the Strip is all there is, that real people don’t actually live here.” She fanned her face and cleavage. “God, it’s hot. Cassie, what do you do?”

“I’m a bartender.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Where? On the Strip?”

“No, a small dive bar my brother owns.”

“So you must be from here,” Gwen said, taking in Cassie’s jeans and black flip-flops.

“Nope. But I’ve lived here longer than anyplace else, so it kind of feels like home.” Cassie stirred what remained of her drink.

John thought about offering to get her another, but he preferred they leave. Figuring it was a safe bet she’d agree, he waited for his chance at a graceful exit. He didn’t need Mike to think they were running off because John felt guilty about what had happened. That was on Gwen, and it was between her and Mike.

“Are you a military brat?” Gwen asked. “Is that why you moved around?”

“No, my parents were...well, they still are...bikers.”

“Did you say bikers?” Gwen’s gaze narrowed with curiosity first at Cassie, and then at John. “As in Hell’s Angels?”

John tried not to show his hand but he was surprised. He wasn’t sure why.... What her parents did had nothing to do with Cassie, except, what a life for a child.

Cassie smiled. “No. We rode with different groups over the years, but mostly for social and safety reasons.”

“So you traveled with them even as a kid?”

“Yep. Me and my brother each had our own sidecar.”

* * *

Gwen had moved closer, her pitch climbing higher and drawing attention. “What about school? You poor thing...did you even get an education?”

John saw Mike tense at the condescension in his wife’s voice.

Cassie didn’t appear bothered, but then she had a good poker face. “My mom homeschooled us. She was a teacher before she met my father and took up the lifestyle, and she was strict about study time. So we had a better education than most public school kids.”

“But how do you know—?”

“Honey, mind getting me another drink?” Mike put his empty glass in Gwen’s hand. With a pointed look, he sent her a message to back off, which she ignored.

“Were you able to make friends?” Gwen asked, sidling up to Cassie and touching her arm as if she were her new best friend.

“Too many, I’m afraid. In forty-two states. I’m terrible at answering emails.” Cassie smiled. “I’ll go with you to get drinks. Any takers? I’m a damn good bartender.”

Scott accepted the offer, but only for a beer. John declined, and so did Ashley, who seemed torn between volunteering to go and staying put, out of Gwen’s reach. The woman had managed to make everyone uncomfortable. Though not Cassie. Not that she was about to put Gwen on speed dial, but Cassie had taken control, diffused the awkward situation without anyone the wiser. Except for him, but he was starting to understand her. And she was really something.

“They don’t need another pair of hands,” he said quietly to Ashley, who looked as if she might cave in to guilt.

She winced. “You sure?”

Staring after Cassie, he smiled. “I’m sure.”

* * *

“HONEY, I’M SO GLAD you came tonight.” Gwen tilted her head toward Cassie and lowered her voice as they passed a foursome sitting at a table. “You’re going to need my help. Look, I get where you’re coming from, I do.” Letting out a weary sigh, Gwen’s gaze swept the front of Cassie’s jeans and blouse. “Believe it or not, I used to dress like you. But, honey, you aren’t going to bag a fighter pilot, let alone a man like John Devlin—” she gestured with her hand, glossy red nails slicing through the air “—looking like this.”

Cassie almost missed her cue. She glanced down at her disreputable jeans and inexpensive blouse, then looked up into her self-appointed fairy godmother’s face. “Could you define bag?”