Free It's in His Kiss by Caitie Quinn Page B

that look you’d give a child who said something stupid but was still adorable.
    “No sweetie. I’ll leave that up to you.” She grinned and I knew, even dressed like that, she’d be surrounded by men all night. Most of them drooling.
    She’d probably even start a new fashion trend.
    The doorman took my money and waved me along, but stopped Lisbeth. “ID, miss?”
    “Are you kidding me?” I craned my neck to look past the bald, oversized bouncer’s head. “Do you really think she could possibly be under twenty-one? She’s four years older than I am.”
    The giant peered over his shoulder. “Do we have a problem, ma’am?”
    Cringing at the word ma’am, I snapped, “No. I’m used to it. Go on, Lisbeth. Giggle for the nice man.”
    Lisbeth shot a look of pure venom my way, making her appear every minute the four years she had on me. I hovered between the door and bar area, waiting for her to finish her flirt-for-entry routine. Eventually, several men turned and stared, the drool almost visible from across the room. Obviously, she’d finally been allowed in.
    “I chose this place very carefully.” Lisbeth took my arm and steered me toward the bar in the center of the room. “The men are older, no frat boys. All nice, successful businessmen, rolling up their sleeves at the end of a hard day’s work. Even you should be able to handle this.”
    I placed my handy-dandy notebook on the bar as I climbed atop my stool, making sure not to topple myself onto the already beer-dampened floor.
    “Thanks,” I mumbled.
    Lisbeth beamed, oblivious to the sarcasm. “No problem.”
    The bartenders were obviously hired for appearance, not ability. The upside was that Bran could have graced the seven-foot tall poster outside Abercrombie and Fitch.
    “What can I get you ladies?” I liked him immediately. He may have looked only at Lisbeth, but he included me in the question. Very impressive skills at noticing shadows.
    “Green Apple Martinis.”
    “And a Diet Coke,” I added.
    “I don’t think so.” Lisbeth turned her smile on the bartender. “Two Green Apple Martinis.”
    I slid my pen and notebook out of my bag and jotted that down. “Green. Apple. Martini.”
    “What are you doing?”
    “Noting our drinks.”
    “You write YA. You can’t even get your heroine her first kiss. What do you need to know about adult beverages for?”
    “Some day I may want to write about this. You know, going out on the town with my friend dressed as Raggedy Anne. Having a couple of drinks. Scoping out guys to hit on in a not-hitting-on-them type of way.”
    “Who would read that?” Lisbeth squinted at my notebook, the consultant in her running through possible business strategies.
    “How would I know? I write YA.”
    The bartender returned with the order: two Green Apple Martinis… and a killer smile for Lisbeth.
    “You might try slouching a little.” I honestly was trying to help. If she didn’t want attention, I was the girl to show her how to not get it. “Looks lazy and hides those boobs.”
    Not only did she not slouch, I swear her shoulders went back. “Sweetheart, nothing can hide these girls.”
    She was right. Or perhaps comparison made hers look so big. Next to my not-quite-B cups, anything needing support was impressive.
    Studying the room over her martini, Lisbeth jumped right in. “Scoping the guys is a big part of any night out. Start with looks. There are three categories of guys.”
    Finally. Something I could answer. “Blond, brunet, redhead.”
    Her look questioned my almost perfect SAT scores.
    “No. Jeep, Civic, Yugo. Obviously you want to avoid Yugos at all cost.”
    “Obviously.” Note: more sarcasm.
    “The Jeep is the hot guy. The one that always looks good. And just like his namesake, looks even better with his top off.”
    “Are you serious?” If this is what I was going to learn out in ‘the real world,’ no wonder I stayed home so often.
    “The Honda,” Lisbeth steamrolled my