"Sounds great. Let's grab a cab and go down to River Street. I've heard there's great food and blues and jazz music."
Lucy latched onto his arm and they headed toward baggage claim, her body thrumming with excitement. Maybe while she was here, she'd shake up Sophie and make her realize singlehood was much better than getting married.
* * *
"Check out that knockout strawberry blonde with the tight ass," Reid said. "Wow, does she have some moves."
Lance grabbed the beer mug and glanced up, his eyes widening at the sight of the voluptuous woman writhing and gyrating to the music. Her spandex top and tight jeans would have to be peeled off of her. "Not my type, but go for it, brother."
"I would, but she came with that blond guy." Reid leaned back against the bar and scouted out the rest of the room. "Man, think what Chase is missing. I can't imagine giving up all this."
Lance nodded, although his head was pounding from the loud music, and the smoke was clogging his nose.
He must be getting old. The dating scene felt odd, too, as if he'd gotten trapped in a wind tunnel that kept hurling him around and around in a circle. He was getting nowhere, still at the same place in his personal life as he had been at twenty.
"I'm going to check out that brunette in the red dress." Reid gestured toward a corner table, where two women sat sipping Cosmopolitans. "You interested in the one beside her?"
Lance shook his head. He'd heard her nasally voice when she'd passed him coming in. She must have a permanent sinus infection.
In fact, they'd been here for two hours, and he hadn't spotted one female yet in the entire room who appealed to him.
The strawberry blonde with the wild curly hair flitted past with her Norwegian-looking partner and Lance frowned, thinking she reminded him of someone, though he couldn't place who. He studied her as she and the man claimed a back booth. The man said something; then her peal of laughter floated over the sound of the music. She was Reid's type—flirty, fun-loving, and fancy-free.
He sipped the rest of the beer, hoping the alcohol would help him sleep tonight. He'd get an early start tomorrow, and install Sophie's new back door before she arrived home. Deciding to call it a night, he flicked a hand at Reid to wish him good luck, then headed out the door, but a commotion in the back drew his attention, and he hesitated. The security guard was standing over that strawberry blonde's table. She stood with her hands splayed on her hips, giving him hell. Some kind of silver case lay on the table.
He chuckled, grateful again that Maddie was safe and out of trouble. If that girl had an older brother or sister, they had their hands full.
Three hours later he lay on the sofa in Sophie's den again, counting the cracks in the ceiling in the dark, once again straining for sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he imagined Sophie in that string bikini with Rory Dalton's hand taking it off. He had already heated warm milk and tried that remedy, but he'd nearly gagged on the stuff. Then he'd tried some herbal tea he'd found in Sophie's too-orderly pantry—she really was an organizer, he realized when he'd noticed she shelved the items alphabetically—but he scalded his tongue and now it was numb.
A screeching sound erupted into the silence and he jerked up, scanning the interior. The cat? No, Jazzy was upstairs, staked out on Sophie's bed again as if to dare him to enter her private territory.
Another sound, more like something sliding across wood, echoed from outside. The rocking chair being moved on the porch? Footsteps clattered next. He tiptoed to the sitting room and noticed the window sliding up. Shit. Sophie had a burglar.
He glanced around for the phone and something to use for protection. The phone was in the other room, but a two-by-four lay in the corner. He grabbed it, poised to fight, when suddenly the person pitched a silver suitcase through the window. It hit the floor with a thud, the
Lucy latched onto his arm and they headed toward baggage claim, her body thrumming with excitement. Maybe while she was here, she'd shake up Sophie and make her realize singlehood was much better than getting married.
* * *
"Check out that knockout strawberry blonde with the tight ass," Reid said. "Wow, does she have some moves."
Lance grabbed the beer mug and glanced up, his eyes widening at the sight of the voluptuous woman writhing and gyrating to the music. Her spandex top and tight jeans would have to be peeled off of her. "Not my type, but go for it, brother."
"I would, but she came with that blond guy." Reid leaned back against the bar and scouted out the rest of the room. "Man, think what Chase is missing. I can't imagine giving up all this."
Lance nodded, although his head was pounding from the loud music, and the smoke was clogging his nose.
He must be getting old. The dating scene felt odd, too, as if he'd gotten trapped in a wind tunnel that kept hurling him around and around in a circle. He was getting nowhere, still at the same place in his personal life as he had been at twenty.
"I'm going to check out that brunette in the red dress." Reid gestured toward a corner table, where two women sat sipping Cosmopolitans. "You interested in the one beside her?"
Lance shook his head. He'd heard her nasally voice when she'd passed him coming in. She must have a permanent sinus infection.
In fact, they'd been here for two hours, and he hadn't spotted one female yet in the entire room who appealed to him.
The strawberry blonde with the wild curly hair flitted past with her Norwegian-looking partner and Lance frowned, thinking she reminded him of someone, though he couldn't place who. He studied her as she and the man claimed a back booth. The man said something; then her peal of laughter floated over the sound of the music. She was Reid's type—flirty, fun-loving, and fancy-free.
He sipped the rest of the beer, hoping the alcohol would help him sleep tonight. He'd get an early start tomorrow, and install Sophie's new back door before she arrived home. Deciding to call it a night, he flicked a hand at Reid to wish him good luck, then headed out the door, but a commotion in the back drew his attention, and he hesitated. The security guard was standing over that strawberry blonde's table. She stood with her hands splayed on her hips, giving him hell. Some kind of silver case lay on the table.
He chuckled, grateful again that Maddie was safe and out of trouble. If that girl had an older brother or sister, they had their hands full.
Three hours later he lay on the sofa in Sophie's den again, counting the cracks in the ceiling in the dark, once again straining for sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he imagined Sophie in that string bikini with Rory Dalton's hand taking it off. He had already heated warm milk and tried that remedy, but he'd nearly gagged on the stuff. Then he'd tried some herbal tea he'd found in Sophie's too-orderly pantry—she really was an organizer, he realized when he'd noticed she shelved the items alphabetically—but he scalded his tongue and now it was numb.
A screeching sound erupted into the silence and he jerked up, scanning the interior. The cat? No, Jazzy was upstairs, staked out on Sophie's bed again as if to dare him to enter her private territory.
Another sound, more like something sliding across wood, echoed from outside. The rocking chair being moved on the porch? Footsteps clattered next. He tiptoed to the sitting room and noticed the window sliding up. Shit. Sophie had a burglar.
He glanced around for the phone and something to use for protection. The phone was in the other room, but a two-by-four lay in the corner. He grabbed it, poised to fight, when suddenly the person pitched a silver suitcase through the window. It hit the floor with a thud, the
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