Picture This by Jayne Denker

out of her face. Tiffany. And the other . . . the brunette lunged, but another man in the crowd grabbed her just like Niall had grabbed Tiffany and backed her away. Although Tiffany was taking a breather, the brunette kept flailing. Her captor was laughing, thoroughly enjoying himself, even though he got whapped in the nose by one of her flying limbs.
    â€œNeener! Cut it out!” Niall ordered.
    Naomi obeyed, stumbled, righted herself, and then started crying immediately. Very few people paid much attention, although some of her friends circled around her to comfort her.
    That helped Naomi regroup, and she rallied enough to fling at Tiffany, “You suck! I hate you!”
    â€œGo home to your mommy!” Tiffany retorted. “If she’s done walking the streets tonight.”
    A stream of expletives worthy of a much older mouth issued from Naomi, and the crowd surged, whooping. Celia took that as her cue to finally get out of there. The path was clear to the front door—the actual front door—and she took advantage of the easy exit.
    Once out in the hallway, she stood still and took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure what she’d just experienced, but she was pretty darn sure she didn’t like any of it. Well, except for that moment in the closet with Niall . . .
    No. No. Not even that. Especially not that.
    She hit the button for the elevator, straining to hear the rumble as it made its way up to the third floor to fetch her. She glanced over her shoulder; the door to the loft stayed closed, the crazy securely trapped inside, but she wasn’t far enough away yet—not by a long shot. She needed to put some serious distance between herself and Niall. She needed to forget what his body had felt like. She needed to stop remembering the feel of his fingers tracing her lips, caressing her cheek. He shouldn’t have kissed her, but dear God, she’d wanted him to. And she’d let him. Of course, if that ever got out, it could land her in a hair-pulling girl fight with Tiffany. Or Naomi. Or both of them. And that was so not worth it.

Chapter 5
    â€œO h yeah, you wouldn’t believe how many people think they can just walk into their local branch and walk out with a wad of money. Legally, I mean. It’s incredible. Of course, I’m not at liberty to provide any details . . .”
    Celia bit the inside of her bottom lip to stifle a yawn and reached for her glass of wine while the man across from her talked. They’d been at the restaurant for an hour and she was ready for bed. By herself. To sleep. Because her eyes were already at half-mast.
    She’d known this was a bad idea. The very minute she’d walked back into her apartment last night, demanding one of Danny’s comforting hugs, right after she’d told her friend all the gory details about what had happened at Niall’s loft and how she didn’t want to experience anything like it ever again, he’d declared, simply, “Buck.”
    Buck, some guy who’d asked about her after they’d met at a Fourth of July rooftop cookout they’d attended a couple of weeks back. Buck, as in a perfectly normal individual with a penchant for wearing sweater vests, and not in an ironic way. Buck, whom she couldn’t picture for the life of her, no matter how hard she tried—he’d made that little of an impression on her. Buck, whom Danny swore was the perfect antidote to the crazy intensity of Niall Crenshaw.
    So after an exchange that had made the two of them sound like panicked squirrels—“Buck?” “Buck.” “Buck?” “Buck, I said !”—she’d reluctantly agreed to let the guy get in touch with her. And now here they were, the very next evening, on a nice, normal date. No catfights, no mounds of blow, no monkeys.
    Buck wasn’t a bad guy, and he wasn’t frightening to look at. He was just . . . average. Normally she wouldn’t have