Bad Boys Do. Victoria Dahl
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Told you.” His eyes crinkled with pleasure, and Olivia told herself that the warmth pooling inside her was the beer. “Even our porter is pretty mild, though you’re going to want to steer clear of the Blackjack Stout.”
“Oh, no,” she protested when she saw him drawing a glass of chocolate-brown beer. “No way.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
That couldn’t be a serious question. Who the hell would trust this man and his sparkling green eyes? In fact, it was a little insulting that he’d flirt with her as if he meant it. Like she’d buy that this boy would be attracted to a thirty-five-year-old woman like her. Did he think she was so desperate she’d believe it?
Olivia raised her chin and took the glass from his hand, ignoring the slide of his skin over hers. “I wouldn’t trust you in a million years,” she answered, but she took a generous sip of the beer anyway, amazed that it didn’t make her eyes water. It was actually kind of … smooth. “All right. Not bad.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that as she took her two tiny glasses and walked away. Every look from this guy was a lie, but they were pleasant lies, at least. Still, she knew better than to enjoy them too much. She’d fallen for that before. It was probably the only thing that Jamie Donovan had in common with Olivia’s ex-husband, Victor. Charm.
So it was easy for her to walk back to the table and rejoin the women. Gwen, however, didn’t make it easy for Olivia.
“Soooo,” she drawled as soon as Olivia sat down. “You were awfully cozy with Jamie over there.”
“I was not. He just gave me a new beer to try, that’s all.”
Gwen tapped one of the glasses. “Two new beers.”
“Yes, two beers. Does that mean something? Is there a secret Donovan Brewery beer code, like the Victorian language of flowers?”
Gwen collapsed onto the table, laughing so hard she snorted.
“I hope you didn’t drive.”
“Nah, I only live four blocks away.”
“I can drive you home,” Olivia offered. She’d always liked Gwen, but they hadn’t really started talking until news of Olivia’s divorce had gone public. Over the past year, they’d gone out to lunch half a dozen times, and Gwen had confessed that it hadn’t always been easy for her to make female friends, either. A wave of one hand down her body had said it all. Gwen was a natural blonde with long legs and playmate-style assets. She was not the kind of friend that women brought home to meet the husband. But Olivia didn’t have a husband anymore. And she’d rather go to lunch with Gwen than think about dating again.
Gwen finally sat up, wiping tears from her eyes. “You should totally hit that,” she said, pointing toward the bar.
“Yeah, right. I’m sure I’m exactly his type.”
“I think his ‘type’ is female, and you’ve got that covered. He’d be a really nice dip back into the old sexing pool.”
“I thought it was the dating pool.”
Gwen shook her head. “It’s a new world out there, Olivia.”
“Oh, I know about the new world, and I am not interested in being a cougar, thank you very much.”
“You’ve already been a trophy wife. Why don’t you try the other side of the coin?”
Olivia finished off one of the sample glasses. “I was not a trophy wife. I didn’t have the necessary qualifications.” She eyed Gwen’s chest with an obvious quirk of her brow.
“Yeah, but Victor was twelve years older than you, right? So go younger this time.”
Even as she shook her head, she spared a glance for Jamie. “How old is he, anyway?”
“I’m not sure. Twenty-five? Twenty-six? He’s in his damn prime.”
“My God, he’s just a baby.”
But apparently Olivia was the only one who felt that way. Amidst a lot of smothered laughter, one of the women approached the pool table and made a big show of putting the quarters in for a game. Olivia looked on, confused by the merriment, until the woman—was it Marie?—stood up and aimed an exaggerated frown at the table. “Jamie?” she called. “The pool table’s jammed!”
Jamie came around the bar, wiping his hands on a towel.
“It took my money, but it didn’t give me any balls,” she pouted.
“Well, I’d better take a look.” He slung the towel over his shoulder and crouched down, and Olivia finally understood what was going on. His kilt hitched up, revealing a few inches of strong thigh, and even though Olivia thought this was a childish prank, she stared right along with everyone else. She wondered what those thighs felt like. Hard, she thought. Thick with muscle. Strong. They looked like they’d taste damn good, too.
He slammed a fist into the coin mechanism, then pulled several times. Ropes of muscle flexed and relaxed.
Good Lord.
“Ah, here’s the problem,” Jamie said. “You put a nickel in.”
“Oh, silly me!”
He handed the coin over and started to get up, but his eyes swept the room and caught on Olivia. His brows rose at the same time his gaze fell to his bare knees.
“Busted,” Gwen whispered, as they both whipped around to face the table.
“She shouldn’t have done that,” Olivia whispered back. “And we shouldn’t have looked.”
Gwen pressed her lips tight together to stifle her laughter.
“I’m serious!” Olivia insisted, but Jamie’s voice from just behind her chair cut her off.
“Really, ladies? You’re getting lazy. You pulled that trick four months ago. How about a little originality next time?”
“Aw, Jamie!” half the table cried in disappointment.
“And try not to break my pool table.”
He really was adorable. Like a puppy. But Olivia kept her eyes on the table. “Are you ready, Gwen?”
“To leave? It’s only eight.”
Eight? Those two hours had flown by. She’d actually had fun. But she still had to go to the grocery store, do laundry and get to bed by ten-thirty. She got up every morning at six to run, no exceptions. “I know I’m pitiful, but I’ve got to get going. Are you sure you don’t want a ride? I don’t like the idea of you walking.”
“I’ll catch a ride with someone. Don’t worry. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, all right?”
Olivia grabbed her purse and stood before she could get pulled back into the conversation. And for once, there was actually a possibility that she could be pulled back in. These women were all friendly and relaxed and funny. No one had brought up her divorce with a pointed look. No one had snidely asked where she was living now. They actually seemed to like her.
In fact, they all expressed disappointment that she was leaving. Several stood to hug her as she edged toward the door. “So what’s next month’s book?” Olivia asked, prompting the women into laughter.
“The Kama Sutra!” one of them called, and Olivia gave in to the temptation to give them all the finger. She giggled at their outraged laughter as she turned toward the door. And, of course, there stood Jamie Donovan, his fingers curled around the handle of the door.
“I highly recommend it,” he said as he pulled the door open, letting in a gust of cool night air. “The Kama Sutra.”
“She’s