Free The Rebuilding Year by Kaje Harper Page A

a seat and find out?” she said. “I’m Rhonda.”
    “Ryan.” He slid the chair out and sat carefully. Nothing screwed up yet. The women turned to him, and he started the delicate game of flirt and response.
    Half an hour later he had all three phone numbers, although one of the brunettes was dancing with a salesman from Duluth. The other two women were giving a good impression of being fascinated with the exploits of Ryan the fireman and soon to be MD. He had no illusions. Two A-list professions for dating were the thing keeping their attention. Ryan had bought them all another round of drinks, although he’d stuck to beer. If the women were leaving soon, he hoped the bartender was planning to take their keys.
    Rhonda, the blonde, was actually the smartest of the three. She was clearly the leader of the group. The little brunette periodically glanced at her for approval. Ryan and Rhonda had verbally danced around the idea of going “somewhere else” for a while now. They both knew what was potentially on offer.
    Ryan glanced over at John’s table. The older man had been sitting alone, sipping his beer and listening to the acoustic guitarist play. But now, that blonde with the blue shirt had wandered over his way. She stood chatting, one hand on what had been Ryan’s chair. She was prettier than Ryan had realized from a distance. She wore silver-framed glasses, which she pushed up her small straight nose with one finger. She said something to John, and the man laughed.
    John had a great laugh. It was deep and resonant, and you just knew there was nothing fake about it. Not like the plastic laughter the women at Ryan’s table seemed to let loose with at the slightest hint of amusement. They were just trying too freaking hard. Suddenly Ryan was tired of the whole game of maneuvering and pretending.
    He stood abruptly. “Listen, ladies. It’s been great meeting you. But I think I’ve had one more beer than is really good for me. I’d better catch up with my ride before he leaves without me. You have a great evening, and maybe I’ll see you around.”
    “You have my number,” Rhonda reminded him, running a fingernail over the back of his hand. “You can always call me.” She slid the tip of her pink tongue over her pouty lower lip.
    Ryan watched that slick motion. She was pretty. She was also built. He wasn’t sure what he was doing walking away from that. But somehow, an early night in his own bed with a bottle of baby oil sounded more appealing than facing a real live woman across the sheets.
    He heard John chuckle again. The sound seemed to pull him across the room. “Maybe I’ll call when I’m a bit more sober.”
    His walk back to the other table wasn’t as smooth as before. Twice he put a hand out on a chair for support. When he glanced back, the two women were eyeing him speculatively. Wondering if he was a gimp, or just really drunk, he thought. But John looked up at him with clear, unchanging eyes. “Going? Staying? What?”
    “I could use a ride home,” Ryan told him. “Unless.” He suddenly realized he might be the one interrupting. “If you were staying for a while, I can catch a cab.”
    “No, that’s fine. I was just chatting with Mary here, while she waits for her husband to arrive.”
    Ryan blinked. Married. It was a relief. Neither of them was getting lucky tonight. It made things more fair, he thought. “Your husband is a lucky man,” he said gallantly to the blonde.
    She seemed startled, but said, “Thank you.”
    John fished under the table, and passed Ryan his cane as he stood up. “Here. You might want this. Beer not being good for walking in a straight line.”
    Ryan took it, feeling a sudden wash of sentimentality. “You’re a good friend, John. And I think I’m a little drunk.”
    John gave him an odd smile. “Just a little. Come on. We’ll go home.”
    The cool air outside sobered Ryan a bit. He took his cane more firmly in hand and trailed John toward the truck.