Free Knock Off by Rhonda Pollero Page B

I saw. He has one of those faces that’s impossible to read. I have a feeling he could be giddy with happiness and no one would be the wiser.
    These people had history, though, that was for sure.
    Beer Barbie’s forefinger was making tiny circles on the fabric just above Liam’s waistband. Personal history. Who am I kidding? History means past, and it didn’t look to me as if anyone had put a period on this relationship.
    Liam tapped his finger on the tip of Ashley’s nose. “I’m making this quick.”
    “You’d better,” she said. Her pretty smile morphed into an impressive pout. “This is our night, remember?”
    “I’m supposed to be having one of those, too,” I said, waving one hand in front of my fab new dress. I didn’t really care if she approved of my clothing, I just felt a childish need to prove that I, too, had a man in my life.
    Truth be told, I wasn’t bent on proving it to her, really.
    It would have been nice if Liam had given some hint that he’d noticed. I might not have surgically enhanced boobs spilling out of a flimsy top, but I looked pretty damned good in my own tailored, fitted way. Good enough to warrant a quick once-over by half the other guys in the bar.
    Self-confidence semi-restored, I finally decided that Liam liked them slutty. So be it. Just another reason to add to my growing list of reasons why he was the wrong kind of man for me. Not that he’d been offered to me, but I like to think ahead of the curve.
    Liam leaned closer to me, and I got a whiff of his cologne. The classic blend of bergamot, citrus, and honey, with just a hint of coriander, amber, and moss on a base of sandalwood, leather, and cedar was easily recognizable as Hugo. It suited him. As did the lock of hair that fell forward. The only thing completely wrong with this whole picture was my almost overwhelming urge to reach out and brush the midnight-colored strands back into place.
    Bad, bad idea.
    I didn’t want to make a scene and—oh, yeah—I had no doubt that Beer Barbie could take me. Time to cut this short.
    “I’ve got someone waiting,” I said as I tucked the bulky envelope beneath my arm. I glanced at the clock. Some-what pissed since it was already twenty-five of seven.
    “Read the report, and watch that tape,” Liam said. “I’ll come by your office in the morning.”
    Even though I knew there wasn’t anything on my calen-dar, my reply was, “Call first, okay?”
    “Sure.”
    “Wait,” Beer Barbie insisted as she dug through her Dooney and Bourke knockoff. She handed me a small stack of business cards. The graphics were nice, and the stock was heavy with a gloss finish.
    “Thanks,” I said, still scanning the cards in the less than perfect lighting.
    The soft purple print was hard to read until I got outside. Which, as it turned out, worked pretty well for me.
    “Eternal Beauty,” I read as I started back to my car. “Full Service Day Spa. Ashley McGarrity, Owner.”
    McGarrity? I remembered the touching and rubbing and decided there was no way in hell Beer Barbie was his sister. Not unless they were the biggest family of perverts in South Florida. Too much touchy-feely to be cousins, either. No matter how far removed. Someone—I couldn’t remember who at that second—had said Liam was divorced.
    “That’s one friendly freaking divorce,” I grumbled as I unlocked my BMW, tossed Liam’s sacred envelope on the passenger’s seat, and started the engine. He might be divorced, but from what I saw, he still had an ongoing relationship with her genitalia. I guess when you look like Liam, you get vaginal visitation rights.
    Okay, I’m totally in favor of sexual equality, but my support waivers with the whole “friends with benefits” thing.
    If I want no-strings-attached sex, I want it with a complete stranger. Not someone who called me in the middle of the night to arrange for a quickie, then calls a week later to invite me to his place for a cookout. How uncomfortable is that?