Page 38 of Cakes for the Grump

Deciding it matters not, I engage Theo in conversation. My most immediate questions are: Why? Why be friends with Luke? You are literal opposites? Was it a forced rooming situation? Is there remnant Stockholm Syndrome at play? What has kept you together?

With my boss sitting there, these inquiries might feel pointed. So I keep them circling in the back of my head as Theo tells me how he’s in town for a mindless vacation, that Manhattans are his favorite, which is why he orders us both a round, and how his heart continues to be pulverized after his most recent breakup. As soon as the Manhattans arrives, he drinks half thecocktail in one gulp. “I came to be around a friend, because I don’t think working holed up in a room somewhere without any breaks is particularly healthy, even for me.”

I take a few sips of my drink. It’s strong, catches on my throat, and makes my words come out huskier. “You need a distraction until it feels better.”

“Drinks, dancing, and potentially finding another man’s burly thighs to bury my head between,” says Theo, surveying the surrounding crowd.

“Oh, I can help with that,” I say, adding myself to the reconnaissance efforts, my eyes going between thighs to find the burliest one. “How about that redhead over there?”

Theo pats my arm. “Good choice, but not yet. I’m feeling delicate.”

Luke snorts.

How rude.I lean over our circular table and attempt to poke his arm. It takes a few tries, but when my finger makes contact, Luke looks down at it, and then up at me. Well, not my face, technically. More my ample cleavage, which this forward motion has plumped up; my breasts are pillowy globes standing in attention.

“What?” hisses Luke.

“Is everything alright? Should I poke you again?” I ask.

“There is no need to assault me,” he grits out. “Especially when Imeantto tune you two out.”

“Assault you? I was merely reminding you of how people pay attention to each other in polite society when they are out together. We might not be close, but Theo will have his already vulnerable feelings hurt further if you keep ignoring him like this. Why are you being dismissive—and—and—irregularlyagitated?”

“Poor workaholic needs drinks to socialize,” says Theo, gesturing over a waiter to order multiple shots. “Once he gets alcohol in him, he’ll loosen up.”

“I’m not drinking,” dismisses Luke, picking up his water instead. “I’ve got morning meetings I can’t miss.”

“Does your schedule ever have a proper break in it?” I wonder.

“The answer is no, sweet Rita,” says Theo. “But don’t you worry, we’ve got each other now.”

“We do.” I turn my body to face Theo more. “Tell me. How can I help you pick up?”

“Actually…” Theo’s smile is sheepish. “I thinkyoushould pick up.”

“Me?”

“Don’t you see?” He clutches my hand and brings it to his chest. “Ineedinspiration. Please, show me how it’s done. Go out there and flirt.”

“He’s playing you,” warns Luke. “Don’t fall for it.”

“I’m not. Ignore him. And even if I was, I’ve got faith in our Rita. She can get anybody she wants in this room. Don’t you think?”

Luke doesn’t answer, and my hackles rise.

Does he not think I can flirt? That in this full bar, there is nobody who might be interested in me? How completely wrong, considering the looks I got when I first walked in. Somewhere out there is someone interested in me.

Finishing the last of my Manhattan, I stand up. I’ve got a strong urge to poke Luke again, but my hands curl into little fists instead.

There are many ways to proposition someone. Entire books have been written on the subject. There are the saucy pickup lines that either make the recipient laugh or cringe, depending on how attractive and non-creepy they perceive you to be. Or there is the sticky staring when your eyes connect across the bar, glance away, and then peek to meet again. Blunt honesty cuts down the guessing. Ahello, I think you’re cute.That takes gumption and tequila. You can also offer to buy a stranger tequila, but I’m already warm and inhibited—not looking to be unhinged. Shots will do me in.

Weaving slowly around people, I arrow to the bar and safely slot myself beside a tall, dark-haired man ordering beer.

“How is the night going?” I ask.

Startled, he turns his head. “Good.”

“Are you here alone?”