Page 1 of Happily Evan After (Dog Tags #5)

chapter

one

Marley

Six months ago…

“There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to grab the bull by the dick.”

I burst out laughing. “That is not how the saying goes.” I stare at my closest friend as she stands behind the bar where she works, slinging drinks, making quips, and probably earning more in tips than I do as a veterinarian.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that her family owns the bar.

She has more bravado and confidence in her little toe than I have in my entire body. “How are we even friends?”

“Because, sugar tits, every super smart, neurospicy girl needs a crazy friend with no filter.”

I shrug and smile at Lana. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Let’s get back to the conversation we were having.”

“What conversation? You were trying to ply me with liquor.” I swirl my wine glass.

“Chardonnay is a lonely woman’s drink.”

I shrug again. “Goes with all the cat hair on my pants.”

“Marley! You have something to celebrate! You are about to own your own veterinary practice. That’s huge,” Lana says. She leans forward, bracing her elbows on the heavily polished wood in front of her.

“I think it might be a little less impressive than this bar. It’s swanky.”

She lifts a shoulder, causing her shirt to fall off said shoulder, revealing the colorful tattoos that cover most of her right arm.

“Stop avoiding the conversation,” she says.

I blow out a breath. “I’m fully aware that you think I need to get laid.”

“I know you need to. If it’s been as long as I’m thinking it has, then I’m pretty sure there might be cobwebs in your lady garden.”

That makes me snicker. “You are mixing your metaphors again. And yes, it’s been that long.”

“Jason? Junior year?” she asks.

“Yes. He kept his socks on the whole time. It was weird.”

“Pre-med students are weird.” She tops off my Chardonnay. “Not that you vets are much different.”

“Oh, I’d much rather deal with animals all day than people.”

“Same. But a bar for dogs hasn’t caught on,” Lana says with a grin. She leans a little closer to me. “All I’m saying is that you could have your pick of some very attractive men who have been checking you out since you walked in.”

I scoff. “As if. I’ve never had to pick because there hasn’t ever been enough for a choice. Which is fine because I’m picky.” Still, my curiosity niggles at the back of my brain. “But just because I’m nosy, who are we talking about, hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically, there’s a total bro-man at one of the back tables. He’s cute enough, but I’d be willing to bet he wears loafers ironically.”

I snort-laugh. “I don’t even know what that means.” I don’t even bother turning around to look. “Why don’t you just tell me which one you think I should go home with?”

Lana’s eyes flash. “That’s the spirit, sugar tits.” She leans forward over the bar as if to give me a hug, but instead she whispers in my ear. “At the far end of the bar, sitting by himself is a hot young thing who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of you.”

Before I can ask what she means, a customer comes up to the bar and Lana excuses herself for a moment to get their drink, but not before waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Hot young thing? What does that mean? This is a bar; whoever she’s seen can’t be that young.

I try to be casual as I turn my head to the right to see the end of the bar.

Is she messing with me? Because the man at the end of the bar—currently talking to two women in skimpy dresses—is, hands-down, the most attractive human I’ve ever seen.

Male or female. He’s just beautiful, there’s no other way to describe him.

His jawline is so chiseled, it must be the one that broke the proverbial mold. Brown hair falls in tousled waves around his head. The look is part carefree playboy, part romantic poet. Even from this distance, I can tell his body is insane. Muscular, big, and perfectly controlled in every movement.

And that’s from being across the bar with less than stellar lighting.

A guy like that? There’s no way he’s the one who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off me.

Lana is either fucking with me (unlikely) or trying to boost my confidence so that if Bro-Man tries to pick me up I’ll feel good about myself. Lana is snarky, but never ever mean (at least not to me), so I doubt she’s fucking with me. Trying to build up my confidence, however, is totally her jam.

Which is sweet of her, but unnecessary. I know I’m pretty enough. I have good hair when I bother to fix it. It’s blonde, which, for some reason I’ve never understood, matters to some guys. And I’m blessed with the kind of curves that often garner a second look.

Catching the brief attention of a random guy in a bar has never been the problem. It’s keeping that attention once the poor sap walks up to me. Once I open my mouth and start talking, I blow it by being too… well, too me.

Whatever mysterious, magical quality that allows some women to lure in men and hold their attention with sly looks and witty banter, I don’t have it.

Lana has it. In spades.

I’ve seen men go from Can-I-buy-you-a-drink to You’re-my-soulmate-will-you-marry-me in less than an hour with her. More than once.

It’s just who she is.

And it’s not who I am.

Maybe it’s the neurospicy thing. Maybe it’s something.

But inevitably, when I open my mouth, I ruin it.

Instead of banter, I end up talking about the geo-political implications of desertification in Africa.

Or I point out a mole he should have checked.

Once, I blurted that a guy reminded me of Snuffleupagus.

I meant it as a compliment, but he took it the wrong way, and there’s no coming back from that.

Somehow, even worse than my unique brand of man-repellent is that I’m never sorry when I’ve driven a man away. By the time they make excuses, it’s a relief. Inevitably, I am as uninterested in them as they are in me. It’s hardly my fault I can’t tolerate men who are boring, self-absorbed twats.

This is something I’ve always been more at peace with than Lana has.

Still, I know she means well and that her concerns about the cobwebs in my lady garden might be valid. Yes, there’s a certain efficiency in my … um … toys, but every once in a while it would be lovely to achieve orgasm with someone capable of snuggling afterwards.

I sigh, looking at Mr. Hot Young Thing.

Hell, even if he doesn't want to snuggle after, this creature is beautiful enough that it hardly matters.

All of that flashes through my mind before he even glances in my direction.

Then, his eyes raise and meet mine, and it feels like a jolt of electricity shoots through me. He stands from his bar stool, says something to the women and then walks around them—to head to me. What is happening right now?

I will kill Lana if she set this up.

I glance around the bar and see my friend talking to one of the servers as she mixes a colorful drink.

“I was wondering when you were going to feel the weight of my stare and look over.”

The rich baritone voice is lined with just the hint of a Texas accent. The only thing sexier might be a British accent. Dammit.

I turn to face him, and wow—I was so not prepared.

Not for him up close. Not for him in all his sculpted handsomeness.

He flashes me a sexy grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that reaction before.” He must see my confusion because he adds, “the wow.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.”

Well, I guess it’s better than comparing him to a Muppet.

He is younger, Lana was right about that. Maybe in his early twenties. Clearly too young for me.

“If Lana put you up to this or if you are planning to use this interaction for a dare or to win a bet, then keep on walking.”

He sits on the stool next to me. Well, not so much sits as he kinda leans his butt against it. His t-shirt clings to his muscular torso like a damn lover.

Awesome, never been jealous of a shirt before. Who is this guy ?

He points at himself. “This guy?”

“I seem to be speaking my thoughts, which is just going to make this disastrous,” I say. Or perhaps I should say, more disastrous than unusual .

“Nah, Dimples, I’m thinking you’re delightful, not disastrous in the least.” He opens his arms as if inviting me in for a hug.

Delightful? Well, that’s new.

Thank God I don’t jump into his arms.

“What do you wanna know?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You sure about that? You look closer to twenty-one or barely twenty,” I say.

“I’m sure. I’ve got a babyface. My twin brother—fraternal—has always called me that. Annoying fucker,” he mutters.

I turn my body more to face him. And I think I’m probably smiling. “Tell me three things about yourself, but not your job or your name.”

“Alright. I think The Mummy is the greatest movie of all time. I’m good with my hands. And I love animals.”

“Which Mummy movie?” I ask, ignoring the other two items he ticked off on his fingers.

He frowns at my question. “No disrespect to Mr. Cruise, he’s excellent in other movies. And while his Mummy movie wasn’t bad, it’s simply not The Mummy with Rick and Evie and Imhotep and Ardeth Bay. That’s the greatest movie of all time.”

“You feel pretty strongly about that,” I say.

“I do. I even have a tattoo in honor of it. Wanna see?” He half turns his body, lifting part of his shirt as if he’s gonna flash me his ink.

That makes me laugh. “Do you always flirt with women like this?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“What about your previous entourage?” I nod to where he was sitting earlier.

“Those women? Nah, they came up to me so I chatted with them, but they’re not my type.”

“Because you don’t like beautiful women?”

“I, in fact, do like beautiful women, which is why I’m now here talking to you.”

“Smooth. But I’m not buying it.”

“I have time to convince you. Why don’t you tell me your three things?”

“Same rules?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Well, I was born and raised in Connecticut. I’d much rather be hot than cold. And I think shrimp Pad Thai is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

It’s not until he smirks that I realize what I said could be twisted into something sexual, but he doesn’t bother grasping at my low-hanging fruit.

“Do you have strong opinions about movies?” he asks.

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

He lifts one of those muscular shoulders. “Some people are weird and don’t like movies.”

“People are weird,” I agree.

“Cough it up, Dimples. Tell me what your favorite movie is.”

I should probably be embarrassed by how much his charm is working on me, but instead, I just smile. “Favorite movie,” I say, “I think I’d have to go with The Shawshank Redemption.”

“Bullshit!” Lana says. Because, of course, that’s when she’d walk back over to me.

The sexy man’s chuckle is authentic, and he winks at me. “Busted.”

I roll my eyes and shoot a glance at my friend. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“Pretty sure I do,” Lana says without missing a beat. Then she points at the hot guy. “Her favorite movie is The Mummy.”

I close my eyes. She just had to go there.

“Is that so?” he asks. “Well, Dimples, it looks like you and I have all sorts of things in common.”

“Everyone likes that movie,” I argue.

“Same favorite movie. I think you’re sexy. You think I’m sexy.”

“I never said that,” I say.

“Just going by the ‘wow’ from before,” he says.

“He’s got you there, sugar tits,” Lana says. “She totally thinks you’re sexy,” she says directly to him.

“I’m going to give you a pass on the movie thing,” he says. “Because Shawshank is a great film.” Somehow he’s standing closer to me and his hot breath is against my neck.

I shiver. My nipples harden.

“I think we should be honest with each other though. There’s some incredible chemistry brewing between us. I felt it the moment I first saw you and your mouthwatering soft curves.”

“What are you proposing?” I find myself asking, because for once, somehow, I haven’t driven a man away merely by being myself, and he doesn’t seem like a boring, self-absorbed twat.

“If I thought you’d agree to marry me, I’d whisk you off to Vegas or Jamaica and make it happen.”

Lana walks off to mix another drink.

“But I’m guessing that’s asking too much,” he says, “so instead I would take a night. One night to make you forget the real world and let a man worship your body.”

One finger trails down my arm, and I shiver in response. “How do I know I can trust you?”

He stands to his full height so he can look directly at me. “Do you want to see my ID? I have a download of my last medical tests, I’m clean on everything.” He pulls his wallet out. “My name is?—”

I put a finger to his lips and shake my head.

So far, all the things we said—and not said—have been perfect.

If we keep talking, either I’ll blow it or he will.

Sure, there’s a very good chance that this guy is not as great as he seems. But right now, I don’t want to know that.

“Tonight let’s be Rick and Evie. Let’s not complicate it with our real lives.”

He gives me a devastating smile, and my heart thumps in response.

“Alright, Evie, what do you say? Can I take you back to my place and do wicked things to you?”

I fold my lips in on themselves and consider his offer.

I want to say yes. I never say yes to these sorts of things.

Well, I’m rarely asked, but in those situations, I’ve never said yes.

Growing up, I never snuck out of my house to meet friends and dabble with alcohol or weed.

I’ve slept with exactly one guy, and we were in a relationship.

My eyes flit to Lana, and she’s staring at me, nodding. “Do it,” she mouths.

“Okay, Rick,” I say. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to leave your wallet here with my friend, Lana, on the off chance that my body is found chopped into little pieces.”

His lips quirk with a smile, but he slaps his wallet on the bar top. “Let’s go, Dimples.”