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“I thinkweirdis the last way it would feel.”

Before I can even think about what he’s implying, Libby grabs my empty glass.

“Another drink?” she asks with a smile.

When my mouth opens, it’s Bo’s voice I hear. “Libby, Pam Beesly here wants our help to find a one-night stand in this crowd.”

Her eyes go saucer-sized as her smile morphs to a gaping O.

I square my shoulders and lift my chin—again—the only move I know that tells everyone to take me seriously. “I do. And I would like another drink. A beer…in a bottle…without rocks.” I toss my hair over my shoulders and rest my forearms on the bar.

I know I’m doing terribly; I can tell by the way everything I say feels backward in my mouth and all the staring. When she puts a bottle of beer in front of me, I simply take a sip and try not to react to the weird, bready taste.

Libby looks at my list, eyebrows pinched, as I will the beer down my throat. “What’s this?”

“Her list for finding the right man,” Bo tells her before I can respond, a smile curling half his mouth.

I stay silent as she leans over the bar and twists her neck so she can read it. When she’s done, she looks at me, nose scrunched. “Sounds like you’re looking for a dud.”

My chin jerks back in offense. “No!” My eyes flick to the list then back to her. “Not a dud, just someone…without risk. Easy.”

She snorts, resting her forearms on the bar and cocking her head to the side. “A.K.A. A dud.”

When I look at Bo, his eyebrows raise as he takes another sip from his bottle. Like he agrees with her. Which irritates me.

“Tha—”

“If this wasn’t a one-night stand,” Libby says, cutting me off, “what would you have on this list? Like if you were looking for something…not easy.”

I hesitate. I’ve never once in my adult life let myself think of this. A sort of dream man who would make me swoon. Those dreams died long ago when I was a ten-year-old standing at a gravesite.

Still, I hear myself clear my throat and say, “Patient.” As soon as the word is out, Libby stills mid-wipe of the rag and looks at me like she wasn’t expecting it. “And adores his family. And accepting of people. Has a career he loves,” I pause, thinking of my own parents. “He would make things people love maybe…” My voice trails off as I allow myself to get lost in a fictitious image that will never be real.

Libby’s “Wow,” makes me blink out of my fantasy land, reminding me I’m in a bar, not looking for a happily ever after. I’m here for an orgasm, not a wedding band. When I look at her, she has a look on her face. Like she knows something I don’t. “Hear that, Bo?” She pegs him with the same look she was just giving me. “Sounds an awful lot like someone I know.”

His chin dips, eyes narrow. When he says, “Libby,” she waves a dismissive hand through the air but locks her eyes on mine.

“Like someone who builds houses?” she asks me.

“Um, I guess.” I mirror her position, forearms on the bar. “But I’m not sure what that has to do with anything. I don’t need a builder for what I’m about to do.”

Bo shifts next to me. This time, when he says Libby’s name, there’s a stern tone that wasn’t there before. Palms facing him, she rolls her eyes muttering, “Have it your way,” with a shake of her head. Then she’s gone, down the bar pouring a drink.

I turn to Bo, ignoring whatever it was that just happened. “So what do you think?”

“Tell me something you like,” he says, ignoring my question.

“What doesthathave to do with anything?”

He shrugs. “Tell me something you like so I know who a good match would be.”

“Fine.” I pause, thinking of my favorite things. “Lists,” I say, straightening my spine at the way his eyebrows pinch. “I like lists because they give me control in the chaos.”

There’s a seriousness to the way he looks at me that makes me feel exposed, so I quickly add, “And country music.” Then I fully deflect with, “Tell me somethingyoulike.”

“Sitting at this bar with you.” It comes out of his mouth so easily I roll my eyes. I don’t have time for his…whatever it is.

I point to my list. “Are you going to help me do this or not?”