I don’t want to ruin her fun, so I plaster the best fake smile I can manage and follow her inside.
The place is small, and thankfully the music isn’t playing very loudly. I’d say the ratio of men to women is about equal, and although most people are talking and having a good time in small groups, several heads turn in our direction when we step over the threshold.
This is another thing I’m used to. Parker turns heads with her tall, svelte frame, long blond hair, and pouty lips, and if she doesn’t catch someone’s attention with all of that, they’re a goner once they look into her stormy-gray eyes.
“I like this place already,” she says with a wide smile as we cross the room and head to the bar. “Do you want a beer?”
I tilt my head and roll me eyes.
“Two martinis,” she tells the bartender, ordering our preferred drinks before turning back to look at me. “I’m only having one, but feel free to cut loose.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
We wait patiently for our drink order, Parker turning around to scope out the people around us while I just focus on her. I don’t need to make eye contact with anyone because it could lead to an awkward conversation. I struggle with my brain-to-mouth filter when I’m in a situation I’m not enjoying, and I’m quick to say something to get myself out of it.
The last time we ended up at a place like this and a guy approached me while Parker was in the restroom, he introduced himself and my response was, “Umm, no.”
It came across as extremely rude, and although I wanted to be left alone, I wasn’t intentionally meaning to sound like a complete stuck-up bitch. From the four-letter words he tossed my way before moving on to the next woman sitting alone, that’s exactly how he saw me.
“They should have a ladies’ only night,” I tell her as the bartender slides us our drinks.
“They do at The Cherry Stem.” Parker lifts her drink to her mouth, winking at me over the rim.
“That’s a gay bar.”
“Exactly.”
“My point is these places would appeal to me more if I could come in and have a drink without being bothered.”
She gives me a rueful smile. “Keep that look on your face and you won’t have to worry about it. That snarl screams unapproachable.”
“Maybe I should hang out with ugly friends, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about the look on my face.”
She scoffs. “Are you trying to imply that you’re ugly, too? Because I don’t have ugly friends. Let’s find a table.”
I point to an empty one in the corner but leave it to Parker to lead us to one that’s more centered in the room.
“Besides,” Parker continues as we pull stools away from the pub-style table. “Being approached has more to do with type and attitude than looks.”
“Then that ruins your unapproachable remark. I’m always sending off don’t-approach-me vibes when we go out.”
“Exactly, and some men find that as a challenge. Add in the fact that you’re pint-sized, and it turns a lot of men on. They see you as feisty. Women sitting alone and minding their own business are looked at as shy, and it makes men wonder what they’re like in bed. Men have specific tastes when they’re dating.”
“People don’t go to bars to date, Parker. They’re looking for people to hook up with.”
She shrugs her shoulders as if the two mean the same thing.
“Enough about men.”
I snap my head back. Parker always wants to talk about men. My eyes narrow as she takes another sip from her drink.
“You need to lay everything out on the table. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m here to listen.”
“About what?” I ask, hating that there isn’t a napkin on the table for me to shred so I have something to do with my hands.
“You’ve been a little different since the break-in.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you came home to your door kicked in and all of your belongings rifled through?”
“I would,” she agrees.
“I had to buy brand-new underwear and bras because I couldn’t stomach the idea of putting something so close to my body that some strange criminal touched.”
Her look softens. “Oh, babe. I’m sorry. Are you still having trouble sleeping?”
“Yes,” I confess. “Every third night or so I’m exhausted enough from not sleeping well the two nights before that I sleep hard, but then the cycle continues.”
“I know you changed the locks.”
I nod, but honestly, I had locks before. The door was smashed—another thing I had to replace—not opened with a key, so the locks don’t provide as much of a sense of security as I thought they would when I purchased them.
“What else have you done?”
“I’ve called about getting a security system, but they have a waitlist. The last place I called said it would be weeks before they got to me, but then I also think about the horror stories of people getting broken into by the people who set up their systems, and it makes me wonder if that’s any safer or just making me more of a target.”
“Have you considered ordering online and doing it yourself?”
I huff a humorless laugh. “Do you remember I needed hands-on help when I managed to change the language on my phone to German? I could never do something like that myself. Would you happen to know anyone you’d trust to do it?”
She gives me a wry smile. “I don’t exactly stay in contact with the men I date when it’s over.”
“Well, keep me in mind next time you’re on the prowl. Maybe you can land someone with extreme technical skills that would be willing to help a friend.”
“Are you pimping me out for a home security system?”
I grin, knowing she’s not really offended. “Whatever it takes.”
I take another sip of my drink, thinking that tonight didn’t turn out so bad after all.
“Okay, enough about the sad stuff. Do you think the rumors about hand size are true where Quinten is concerned?”
Chapter 7
Quinten
“I’m telling you, she’s going to end up killing someone.”
Wren just grins from his stance near the coffee pot.
“Who?” Jude asks from his favorite spot on the sofa.
“This woman in the gun class,” I explain.
“No, I know that part. Who is she going to kill?”
“I don’t have a clue, but she’s a little too excited about shooting, and the questions about gun powder residue and getting questioned by the police, it’s like she’s looking for an alibi.”
“She sounds fierce,” Wren says with a wide smile. “Which woman is it?”
“Gayle. What did she flag for?”
Wren tilts his head as he shuffles through the gobs of information in his brain. “If my memory is serving me correctly, Gayle has had a series of abusive relationships. The last one is in prison and isn’t scheduled for release anytime soon. So, she should be okay.”
“Well, the woman is definitely ready to take her power back. I’m just afraid she’s going to enforce that power through the business end of a Glock.”