Just One of the Guys(42)

“Chas, I’ll see you around.” Trevor looks assessingly at Ryan. “Nice to see you.” He joins the rest of his platoon in the O’Neill booth.

I turn back to face Ryan. “Again, I’m so, so sorry.” Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “I guess instinct just took over.”

“It’s…well, it’s a good example of what I try to teach, I suppose.” He attempts a smile, and another wave a dismay washes over me. Why is he here? A lawsuit? Am I being arrested for assault and battery? The burning attraction I felt for him yesterday seems like a thing of the distant past.

“So…well, would you like to have a seat?” I ask, gesturing to the stool next to me.

“Sure.” He slides gingerly onto the stool.

“Oh, crap, I’m sorry. Would a booth be more comfortable?” I blurt. “Or some ice? Would you like some ice?”

He grins. “No, no, that’s fine. I’m here. May as well stay.”

My father is eying me suspiciously. He murmurs something to Jack, who looks over, gives me a reassuring chin jerk, then turns Dad back to the dartboard. I make a mental note to babysit Jack and Sarah’s kids soon.

“So, um, Ryan, right?” As if his name wasn’t burned into the shame section of my soul already. “What can I do for you?”

“You never did the interview. I was here with a colleague, saw you, thought I’d come over.”

“The inter—oh, right!” I exclaim. “Of course. Well, sure, I’d still love to do it.” Not that I thought we’d be speaking again, ever, but crap!

“Great. I was hoping that was the case. And it’s not often I get to talk with a woman after she beat me up.”

Dear God in heaven, he’s flirting. I suck in an audible breath of joy. I wave to Stu, elation bursting in my heart like a bleeping sunrise. “Well, how about a drink?” I ask Ryan. “I definitely owe you a drink. Possibly more.”

“A drink will do,” he answers, then smiles. “For now. I’ll have a single malt, if you’ve got it,” he tells Stu as my toes clench in my high-tops.

“Maclaren okay?” Stu asks, taking away my empty Scorpy.

“That would be great.”

“How about you, Chas?” Stu smiles. “Another Scorp—”

“Water! Water would be perfect, Stu. Thank you.”

A million thoughts are flying through my head. One, God pities me and is giving me another chance with Ryan. Two, must use inside voice. Three, Ryan is flirting with me! And four, the one I like the best, every guy I know—including Trevor—is watching me chat with a very attractive man. Very attractive.

Ryan accepts the drink from Stu and turning to give me the full power of the cheekbones. “So what kind of an angle were you looking for?” he asks.

“Well, you know…um…” My mind is blank. “Local people who, uh…” He’s staring at me with those green eyes. I’ve always been a sucker for green eyes. “Local people…you know…who um…”

“Make a difference?” he suggests, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes! That’s it. Yup. Give of themselves and all that.” I take a few glugs of water to buy some time and get it together. Though I humiliated him in front of his class yesterday, Ryan Darling is still the first man who really grabbed my interest in a long, long time. I want to make the best impression I possibly can. A little forethought (and sobriety) would definitely help.

“You know what, Ryan? I hate to do this, but I’m wondering if we can reschedule this. I don’t have a notepad or my questions or anything.” I pause. Scorpy tells me to go for it. “Since I still feel bad about the um, injury, how about I buy you dinner and we can do the interview then?”

“Sure. I’d love that,” he says instantly, and I nearly fall off the stool. He said yes! Yes to me, the O’Neill girl, one of the guys. Mr. New York Times and I are going out for dinner!

“Um, yikes, I have plans this weekend,” I say regretfully. “How about Tuesday or Wednesday?”

“That should be fine, barring any emergency surgery. Can I have your cell number?” Seeing him smiling at me, those cheekbones, those green eyes, a surreal cloud envelops me. I haven’t been this attracted to a guy in a long, long time. Maybe, just maybe, Trevor isn’t the only guy in town.

We exchange numbers, and I tell him I’ll call Tuesday morning with the details. Then I decide to get out of Dodge before my father or any of the other guys decides to join us. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” I say with absolute sincerity. “And thanks. I’m really looking forward to the interview.”

I slip a twenty under my water glass, say goodnight and flee before my menfolk realize that he-of-the-battered-scrotum is sitting in their midst.

By the time I get home, my head is clearer and my mood, needless to say, is much improved. “I have a date, Buttercup,” I tell my dog as she charges me. She leaps, slobbers, collapses and rolls over onto her back. “Exactly what I’m thinking, girl. Come on. Let’s go for a drag.”

The night air clears my head. It’s not just Scorpy, but Ryan Darling who is fogging it. I have a date—well, almost a date. An interview-date. I will pump Angela for recommendations on the very coolest, most intimate restaurant around here.