Free Vixen by Jillian Larkin Page B

already.”
    “Since when did you become such a lightweight?” His tone was biting, cutting right to her heart.
    She forced a laugh and playfully slapped his arm, but the damage was done. How could she have been so stupid? So rash? Marcus would never look at her the same way again, now that he knew she carried a torch for him.
    Could the situation get any worse? Lorraine turned and grimaced. Of course it could: Clara reappeared. “What did I miss?” she asked, sliding between them. “You two look as if you’ve just been to a funeral.”
    “All the more reason for another round of drinks.” Marcus beckoned the bartender.
    Clara raised a hand in protest. “Marcus, I made myself perfectly clear—”
    Marcus made a shushing gesture, putting his finger on her lips. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to turn down a drink from a gentleman?”
    “Don’t you know it’s impolite to disregard a lady’s wishes?” Clara flagged down the bartender with a flick ofher hand. “I’ll have a seltzer water, please. With a wedge of lime.”
    Lorraine was appalled. She had just made a complete fool of herself, and here Marcus was already turning up the charm with this apple-knocker as if nothing had happened!
    Just as she was about to give up and go find Gloria, a tall man in a white tuxedo approached Marcus. Despite the fancy getup and slicked-back dark hair, he looked no older than eighteen. “Eastman!”
    Marcus smiled broadly. “Freddy Barnes! Great to see you, old boy!” He pumped the man’s hand.
    “Haven’t seen you outside of school since I trounced you in that doubles game last summer,” Freddy said. “Where have you been? People aren’t supposed to forget their high school buddies until the first year of college.” To Lorraine and Clara, he said, “Eastman used to be the ultimate guy’s guy, but nowadays …”
    “Never mind Freddy,” Marcus said. “He’s as ugly as he is rude.”
    “I’m not rude!” Freddy insisted. He extended his hand to Lorraine. “I beg your pardon if I was offensive. I’m Frederick Barnes.”
    Marcus said, “This is Lorraine Dyer.”
    Lorraine loved the feel of this stranger’s hand touching her own.
    Freddy’s eyebrows rose. “Dyer? As in your father is Patrick Dyer? As in the Dyer Building downtown?”
    Lorraine coughed daintily. “Daddy does love tall things.”
    “And this is Clara Knowles,” Marcus said. “She’s from the country.”
    “She works with cows,” Lorraine added quickly.
    Freddy took Clara’s hand and said, “You are like a country flower, a fresh sight in this tired gin joint.”
    Clara laughed, and Lorraine wanted to throw the rest of her martini on that country boob.
    Marcus waved his friend off. “Don’t listen to Freddy. He’s so full of hot air that it’s carrying him to Princeton next fall.”
    “You talk big for a Columbia man,” Freddy said. “Care to join me and the guys for a little poker?”
    Marcus said, “You’re in for a fleecing.”
    Lorraine turned to Clara. “Oh, something you know about!” Clara shot her a blank stare. “You know, Mary had a little lamb and all that.”
    With a suave bow, Marcus said, “Clara, I expect your drink to be gone by the time I’m back.” Then he and Freddy strolled away.
    Lorraine held back tears. Not only had she been rejected by Marcus, but she’d also gotten stuck with the hick cousin.
    “So, Gloria tells me you’ve been here before?” Clara asked politely. “Aren’t you worried about”—she cut her eyes first left, then right, and whispered—“all the criminals?”
    Lorraine sipped her drink and laughed as if it were No Big Deal. “Just know your onions,” Lorraine said, all breezy confidence. “If you stay away from the dope peddlers,the bootleggers, the quiffs, and the police, then everything’s jake.”
    “Who’s Jake?” Clara asked, confused.
    Lorraine ignored her, unwilling to explain flapper slang in the midst of actual flappers. Nothing could be more un-jake