Saving the Best for Last by Jayne Kingston Page A

college and was already doing very well for himself as a programmer for an internet conglomerate in California. He and his wife had divorced as amicably as was possible a few years earlier, and he’d come full circle to living in the apartment upstairs.
    And while he didn’t revel quite as wildly as he once had, he did enjoy the perks of owning a respectable bar in a still-thriving middle-class neighborhood—a free drink when he wanted one, staying up all night and sleeping late guilt free, and the attentions of an attractive female patron when the opportunity arose.
    “Yeah, then that son of a bitch Selleck came along and did it better,” he sighed. “How was I supposed to compete with that guy?”
    Smiling, Melissa rolled her eyes and parked her bottom on a stool. George all but groaned. She and her husband had been friends of his since high school, but her penchant for pulling up a seat and rehashing the past could be exhausting.
    “Where’re you ladies off to after this?” he asked, cutting her off at the pass. He poured the four martinis he’d just mixed for her and her friends—evenly, on the first try—set the shaker aside and reached for a clean pint glass.
    “We might not go anywhere, Georgie. You know we always have the most fun hanging around here with you.” She hunched one shoulder and got a funny look in her eyes. “Plus,” she said, tipping her head in the direction of her table, “Andrea’s divorce was final last week.”
    He put on his blandest face.
    “Don’t,” he warned, pouring Red’s beer in anticipation of her arrival.
    Four months she’d been coming into his bar and had never struck out. Not once. He wondered if her streak was ever going to end. It was going to be interesting to see if she ever did.
    Melissa leaned forward conspiratorially, pulling him back into the conversation.
    “Her ex-husband was a total troll.”
    “‘Liss,” he said, sterner this time.
    “I’m just sayin’ you might be interested in helping her get over the post-divorce hump.” She grinned, arching a suggestive eyebrow on the word hump .
    He just stared her down as he put Red’s beer on the back bar without looking.
    She tilted her head again, curiously this time. “How long has it been?”
    “Not long enough.” It hadn’t been that long, but the way she’d asked had his hackles up.
    Annoyance at her matchmaking melted into something that felt a little like guilt when her expression turned sympathetic. He knew her intentions, misguided as they were, came from the heart. The last thing he needed was her help getting a date, especially a date with someone as freshly divorced as a week ago.
    “All right, I’ll drop it,” she caved, took up her drink when he slid it across the bar to her, picked up a second and headed back to her table while he followed her with the others.
    He delivered the drinks, thinking himself wise for not giving Melissa a definite no when Andrea gave him a long look and a rather naughty smile. Still, he was relieved for the distraction and the boost of testosterone to the estrogen-heavy room, when Terry and a couple of the partners in his law firm came through the door.
    He poured three Scotches, all neat, and let himself get caught up in a debate about college versus pro basketball they must have been having before they arrived. Between the discussion, the table of women and the group of servers from the week before—whose number seemed to have doubled—he didn’t realize anything was amiss until the end of the night when the forgotten Guinness on the back bar caught his eye.
    Red hadn’t shown.
    * * * * *
    He’d just finished washing the last of the night’s glasses when the door he hadn’t yet locked opened.
    “You’re late,” he said, turning off the motor on the glass washer.
    “I was hoping to catch you alone,” Red answered, standing just inside the door.
    The look on her face made him straighten and take notice. He’d seen it before, although never