The Dating Game. Avril Tremayne
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but okay, “the down low” it is. A phrase I never thought I’d hear coming out of my own mouth.’ He reached out a finger, flicked it carelessly against her cheek. ‘Now, let’s go and get you hooked up.’
Sarah smiled, but as they walked out of the storeroom, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d dived headfirst into dangerous seas; the shore of her old life was already receding, the undertow dragging her out of her depth.
David Bennett: wingman.
If anyone had told David he’d end a night out trailing after a girl like an anxious duenna after she’d rejected his sexual advances out of hand, he would have laughed his head off.
And yet here he was.
He’d thought he’d swayed the outcome towards sex for a moment in the storeroom when Sarah had arched right into his savagely unapologetic boner. But nope. It was as though she’d made him, somehow. As though she’d twigged that he was testing her. It was a novel experience, being caught out, seen through. And what made the situation even more remarkable was that Sarah had resisted him so easily, right in the middle of telling him he was, in fact, irresistible.
No, he corrected, he himself wasn’t irresistible; it was his air of ennui that was irresistible. And damn if that didn’t make him want to laugh his head off too. Not that laughing deflated his erection; to his surprise, it had the opposite effect.
He wondered how many of the men buzzing around Sarah like bees around a honey pot were being similarly afflicted in the groin area. The thought made him uncomfortable in a way he didn’t understand. Unless it was that he wasn’t seeing anyone in the gallery worth their effort—as he’d been communicating to Sarah via a strange telepathy she seemed to understand innately. It was amazing what you could achieve with a series of finger twitches, glancing frowns, eyelid flickers and half-shrugs. He probably looked like a palsy sufferer to anyone watching closely, but the silent language seemed to do the job.
An engineer called Harry—flick. Edward the dentist—flick. Earnest China expert Felix who’d made a beeline for her and actually kissed her cheek—flick. Four others, gone within as many minutes. It was getting ridiculous. There had to be someone in the room who wasn’t a total loser.
Sarah had obviously reached the same conclusion, because she was converging on him in her tottering-on-high-heels, stopping-for-a-chat, strutting way, with a determined sparkle in her eye. ‘There has to be one who passes muster,’ she said through a too-large smile as she sidled close to him.
‘If you’d stop hitting on the conservative intellectual types, we might find him. Who are you trying to date? Your father?’
‘My father is not conservative.’
‘All right, then don’t deliberately not date your father. Okay, that sounds repellent, but you know what I mean. Either way, no more guys with glasses and pokers up their backsides.’
‘They didn’t all wear glasses.’
‘No, one out of ten didn’t wear glasses. And they all, bar none, had the poker shoved high enough to have them singing falsetto. No, don’t argue, just listen: no glasses, no plain blue ties, no supercilious smirks. Okay?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Okay.’
‘And don’t roll your eyes. You know I’m right.’
‘I said okay, didn’t I?’
‘It’s how you said it.’ He swept his eyes around the room—in one direction, then back … and stopped. Victim located. He cocked his head to the left. ‘Over there. The guy with the dark hair, on the long side.’ Slight pause. ‘Too long, if you ask me.’
‘Hello? You’re talking to me about dating my father but from where I’m standing, I could just date you if that’s going to be your attitude. Are you going to check them for tattoos as well as hair length? What if they ride motorbikes, Dad?’
‘Shut up, brat,’ he said, trying not to laugh. ‘Look at him, not me. Black suit, white shirt buttoned up to the neck but no tie. See? He’s raising his champagne glass to his lips. Good, he’s seen me. He’s coming over.’
‘You know him?’
‘His name’s Craig. He works at the bank.’
‘I thought you said no more conservatives.’
‘Not all bankers are conservative. I’m a case in point.’
‘But you’re only half a banker.’
‘And even a hundred per cent banker would be better than Lacklustre Liam. Who was what, by the way?’
‘A lawyer.’
‘Dear God!’
‘Now who’s being judgemental?’
‘If it makes you feel better, Craig is only half a banker, like me.’
‘What’s the other half?’
‘Jazz singer. And yes, I know pop’s your thing, but at least it’s not opera, so cope with it. Now come here, your lipstick’s smeared.’ He wiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb. ‘There. Better.’
‘What about my—’
‘Shhh, he’s almost here.’
‘Stop shushing me.’
‘Stop needing to be shushed. Now, shhh.’ He turned abruptly to welcome his long-haired colleague. ‘Craig! How are you?’
‘I’m fine, just fine,’ Craig said, but although he was ostensibly addressing David, his eyes were on Sarah. ‘I’m counting this evening a great success, so make sure you say nice things to the CEO, David.’
‘He’s very pleased; he told me earlier,’ David said, and drew Sarah closer. ‘Craig, this is Sarah Quinn, a friend of mine.’
‘Quinn,’ Craig repeated slowly. ‘Oh! Was it your brother I met tonight? With Lane? He said his sister was here.’
‘Yes, that was Adam,’ Sarah said, and if her face had gone a little uh-oh, because this wasn’t exactly a sign that keeping things on the down low was going to work, David suspected Craig wasn’t intuitive enough to notice it.
‘You look completely different,’ Craig said, looking her over.
‘That’s because she’s a girl,’ David said ironically, and thought, Idiot. Up close, he could see that not only was Craig’s hair definitely too long, it also needed a split end treatment.
‘Yes, I can see that,’ Craig said, taking the chance for another up and down examination of Sarah’s tiny frame.
Yep, hair too long and shaggy. Attitude a little sleazy. And it wouldn’t have killed the guy to wear a tie, would it? ‘Craig, mate, you’re giving Superman a run for his money with the X-ray vision.’
Sarah gave one of those little chokes of suppressed laughter, and followed it up with a pinch to David’s thigh—hard enough to make him wince.
‘Actually, I take after my mother,’ she said smoothly. ‘Adam overdosed on Quinn genes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Do you … um … have a lot to do with Lane at work, Craig?’
‘Not really,’ Craig said, and David could almost feel the relief ooze out of Sarah. ‘I’m in the public relations department, managing sponsorships and events like tonight’s. I wouldn’t know one of Lane’s economic indicators if it hogtied me and threw me in a truck.’
‘I work in PR too!’ Sarah said eagerly. Too eagerly. David was going to have to tell her to play it cooler. ‘I’m with Frisk & Frolic. We’re doing