Free Esher: Winter Valley Wolves #7 by V. Vaughn, Mating Season Page B

allow myself to glance in the mirror to check out the patrons seated at the bar. I don’t recognize anyone, and while my first reaction is relief, it’s followed by disappointment. You didn’t expect it to be easy, did you?
    A plastic-coated menu slaps down before me, and my beer thumps beside it. I say, “Can I have a cheeseburger, medium-rare, please?”
    The bartender glares at me as she snatches the menu back, and the guy beside me chuckles under his breath. I ask him, “Think she’ll spit on it?”
    “Naw, but you better leave her a good tip, or you’ll be blacklisted for life.”
    I already am.
    “Andi Thompson. You crawled out from under your rock!”
    I turn to the voice of my childhood friend, Julie. Her hair is a little too blond, and her makeup is overdone, but she is one of the kindest people I know. I say, “It happens. You look fantastic. How are you?”
    “Pretty good.” She nods toward the pool tables beyond the bar. “Still married to Greg, but no kids yet.”
    I glance over at her husband, who’s standing with his hand on a pool cue as he waits his turn to play. He’s looking better than I remember, and I say, “You guys are still the cutest couple ever.”
    The bartender appears, and Julie orders two beers. She asks me, “You still work over at the university?”
    “Yes. I work in the research lab.”
    “Married? Kids?”
    “No,” I say, “just a cat.”
    “Still so serious, aren’t you?” asks Julie.
    “I guess. But I’m out for a little fun tonight.”
    “Well, I’m your girl.” She turns to the guy next to me. “Would you mind sliding down a seat so I can sit next to my friend?”
    “Sure,” he says. “No problem.”
    Two brown bottles thump on the bar, and Julie says to the bartender, “Start me a tab, please. I’ll be right back.”
    While Julie takes a beer to Greg, I sip my draft. The slight metallic aftertaste reminds me of coming here with Esher, and now that Julie has given me a valid reason for my presence, I peruse the restaurant to look for him. I discover a group of men that I think might be his friends, and when I study them I recognize one or two. Maybe he’ll show up later.
    Julie returns and says, “I’m all yours. So what kind of fun are you looking for? A guy?”
    I frown. How does she know? “What makes you say that?”
    She chuckles. “Because what else does a single girl do in a bar on Saturday night?”
    “Oh.” I grin back at her. Julie was the sort of girl that loved to play matchmaker. I think because she and Greg have been together forever, she lives vicariously through her girlfriends. I say, “There is one guy I was hoping to see. Remember Esher Wakefield?”
    “Of course.” She places a hand on her chest. “He was so dreamy. Still is.”
    “Yeah? Does he still come here regularly?”
    “Yup.” She points a red manicured fingernail over to the group of guys I’d seen earlier. “He may be a fancy schmancy doctor now, but he still hangs out with the same crew.” I glance over as she says, “Funny how guys are like that. They seem to make friends for life.”
    I think about how I don’t have many friends. But talking to Julie is easy, as if we just picked up where we left off, so I say, “Girls don’t need to see each other every week to be close though, do they?”
    “No.” She lifts her beer, and I meet the bottle with my glass as it clinks, and she says, “To friendship.”
    I say, “To friends forever. Now tell me how work is going for you.”
    When my dinner arrives, Julie talks on about her job as a dispatcher for the police department, and her recent book club. She invites me to join them, and I say yes because I should spend more time reconnecting with friends instead of watching my subscription TV reruns with my cat.
    I’m on my second beer when the band starts to play, and it doesn’t take much convincing for Julie to get me to pay up and join her on the dance floor. While I continue to steal an occasional