I stuck out my hand. “You should introduce yourself to my assistant manager, Tucker. He’s right downstairs. Something tells me you two would hit it off.”
Mr. Switch-hitter shook my hand and shrugged. “Whatever.”
“All right, gentlemen,” Nan called, clapping her hands. “Let’s move to your next potential Ms. Right!”
I flipped the Hello Kitty notepad to a fresh pink page.
Next at bat: a muscular guy in his mid-twenties with a strong chin, short black hair, and a trimmed black goatee. He wore trendy, black-framed glasses, black jeans, and a distressed leather jacket. His nametag read “Mars.”
He sat opposite me and stared.
“Mars is an interesting name,” I said, trying to break the black ice.
“It’s a nickname,” he said without changing his expression. Or blinking.
He didn’t.
“We don’t have to talk,” I said. “I mean, if you’ve already made your connections for the night.”
“Connec
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself anyway,” I suggested, trying to remain calm.
“Whatever,” he said, shrugging again.
I waited. Nothing. He just kept staring across the room.
“Are you on any drugs?” I asked pointedly.
That got his attention. He swung his dark, intense gaze back toward me. “Are
“Yes. Caffeine,” I said flatly.
His eyebrows rose, and there was the slightest lifting at the corner of his lips. The minimalist’s version of a smile, I presumed.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll play. I’m not on any drugs. At present.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“Yes, actually.”
Why was I not surprised? “What did you do?”
The smile was slightly more pronounced. He interlaced his fingers across his chest. “Nothing you want to hear about, believe me.”
“Try me anyway,” I suggested.
But there was no answer. He just looked away, across the room again — toward my Joy.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked.
“Paint. I’m a painter. And a genius.”
“TIME!” called Nan.
Mars stood up, put his hands in his leather jacket pockets, and stared down at me intensely. “Charmed,” he said, then walked away.
I shivered. Crossing my legs, I propped the notepad on my thigh, scratched out
There was just no way I could let Joy near that guy. No way. If there was any prospective “connection” more potentially dangerous than Mars, I had yet to meet him.
“Well, well, well,” said a familiar voice. “Together again.”
I looked up to find the refined features and curly black hair of Brooks Newman. He wore a cream-colored crewneck sweater over tailored charcoal-colored slacks. Brooks seemed to be on the prowl because his hazel eyes appeared much sharper tonight as he looked me over.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought SinglesNYC.com was your stomping ground?”
Brooks shrugged. He moved to the armchair opposite me, sat down, and crossed his legs. “I told you I liked your cappuccinos.”
“Decaf.”
“Not tonight.” A small smile lifted his thin lips. “Tonight I feel like I might enjoy some…stimulation. How about you?”
“I’ve had mine,” I said flatly, holding up my empty French café cup.
“Yes,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “but on a cold, cold night like this…wouldn’t you like
“No.”
“You look very nice tonight,” he said, leaning back and surveying my green velvet dress. I instantly regretted the low cut of the sweetheart neckline, which is where his gaze remained fixed. “That color brings out your eyes.”
“I can’t imagine you’re enjoying yourself,” I told him. “This sort of thing really doesn’t seem your cup of java.”
“Yours, either, Clare. I thought you weren’t interested in hooking up with men. Just screening them for your daughter.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” I took the pencil and scribbled on the notepad.
His eyebrows rose. “I’ve met your daughter already — around the little circle here. Joy Allegro. I didn’t consider your having different last names, but then, you’re divorced, so I assume Cosi’s your maiden name? Anyway, she’s quite attractive. Very bubbly. Energetic. I can see the resemblance.”
I frowned and changed the subject. “And how are you coming with the lingerie model fundraiser for vegans?”
My caustic tone didn’t seem to phase him. His smile just broadened. “Younger women threaten you, do they?”
Not for the first time, I pictured pointing the espresso machine’s steam nozzle at his face — with the valve opened full throttle.
“Listen, buddy, I’m not the one visiting Renu Spa every weekend to ward off the wrinkles.”
“Clare, I know what women like you need,” he said lowly. “And it’s not a shot of caffeine.”
“No?”
“No. It’s a good, potent shot of sex.” He leaned forward, toward my crossed legs, and with the tip of his finger, drew a little circle on my stocking-covered knee. “How about it? You and me…let’s hook up tonight.”
A shudder of revulsion ran through me, and I pushed his hand away.
“I’m not your type, Brooks.”
He laughed. “To tell you the truth, the young ones aren’t always as energetic as your daughter. Out of bed, and a lot of times in, too. And I’m betting a mature woman like you makes things interesting…between the sheets.”
The man was dancing around his intentions, but I’d swear he was actually contemplating getting me and my daughter into bed with him at the same time.
If looks could kill, I gave him one that would at least send him to St. Vincent’s ER. “Brooks, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m being less than receptive.”
“Where there’s sparks, there’s fire.” He moved farther forward, and before I could stop him, his fingers were on my knee again and moving up my thigh.
