Jennifer Probst - Searching for Someday

She laughed and eased into the give-and-take of the initial mating conversation. His buzz-cut hair emphasized a strong face, and meaty arms under his button-down shirt and jeans. Maybe military. When she brushed against his arm from the bump of another patron, there was a distinct lack of any tingle. Still, she was so over the touch thing. Tired of judging herself and every man she laid her hands on. For tonight, she wanted to be silly and girly and let go. With Bruce.

The sexy R&B strains of “Blurred Lines” blasted from the speakers. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

She tilted her head in surprise. Rarely did she meet men who were comfortable on the dance floor after the first meeting. “I’d love to.”

He placed their drinks on the bar, took her hand, and led her to the floor. His body was rock solid, but she topped him in height with her crazy heels. Still, he didn’t seem to mind, not afraid to hold her close but still retain a modicum of modesty. Kate relaxed into the mating call of the dance, her arms on his shoulders, content for a while not to engage in conversation but to let their bodies mingle and move.

A woodsy fragrance drifted to her nostrils. Kate sighed, letting go of the tension, content to enjoy the physical touch of a man without any demands. Maybe this is what she really needed. A man who could help her forget, maybe give her physical pleasure, maybe more. A crazy touch meant nothing and had only gotten her into trouble, giving away her mates to other women and leaving her alone.

“Hi.” The familiar voice jerked her head around. She stared at Slade, who danced right beside them holding Jane. “How’s it going?”

She blinked. His inane words buzzed her brain like a fog. “What are you doing here? You have a date.”

He grinned and dazzled her with those perfect teeth. “It’s over.”

Bruce turned her slightly, probably dying to get away from the chatty guy, but she leaned her head to the side. “How did it go?”

“Amazing. Wait till I tell you about the dinner.”

Hope crashed. Ice slithered down her spine, and she fought off her initial reaction like the survivor she was. Good, he was finally going to move on. With Hannah. Not her.

Awesome.

“I’m so glad,” she forced out.

Jane gave a sigh and shook her head. “Slade, let poor Kate enjoy her dance. Give her some privacy.”

“Oops, sorry. I’ll catch up with you at the bar.”

She nodded, forced a smile at Bruce, and tried to enjoy his embrace. Unfortunately, she kept sneaking glances at Slade and Jane, wondering about the details of his date. Did he fool around with her? Kiss her? Make another date for tomorrow? That would be too soon, and she’d advise against such a move immediately.

“That guy a friend of yours?” Bruce asked.

Focus, Kate, focus . “Just a client. Sorry I was distracted.”

“It’s okay. I’m willing to be one of your distractions.”

She laughed at the half-lame line but gave him credit for effort. His hands tightened around her waist and she leaned in, determined to relax. They moved well together, but the song ended and turned into a pounding club rhythm with JLo and Pitbull’s “On the Floor.” Kate waited for him to pull her off, not used to any men she ever met actually dancing, but Bruce tossed her a grin and threw himself into the dance.

Enjoying his enthusiasm, she moved her hips to the grindy tempo and let herself go. Bruce was going up a few notches—any man with solid dance moves deserved credit.

Suddenly, her rear was bumped. A hand closed around her upper arm and burned her skin.

Kate jumped back in a twist and faced Slade. “Sorry. Don’t you love this song?” he shouted. In sheer astonishment, she watched him expertly mimic some major hip-hop moves, his jeans emphasizing the tight curve of his ass, his designer white shirt catching the light and flinging it against her gaze like an explosion of fireworks. Jane matched his moves with no self-consciousness, free for a little while with the music and darkness and crowded floor.

She raised her voice over the music. “I didn’t know you danced.”

“Most women love dancing. Mom taught us both when we were young. Counseled me a man needs to know how to move if I have any chance of catching a woman.”

Kate laughed. “Smart woman.”

“Umm, Kate? How about I buy you a drink?”

She looked up with guilt. Bruce shot Slade a dirty look, obviously not happy about the shouted conversations over the dance floor. “Sure.” She waved at Slade and Jane, and stepped off the floor to follow Bruce.

Where she belonged.

He guided her back into a cozy corner and tried to get the bartender’s attention. “Your client seems determined to talk to you tonight,” he said. “What kind of business are you in?”

“I’m a matchmaker.”

Bruce lifted a brow. “Like an escort service?”

“No, more like eHarmony but not online.”

He lifted his hand, but the bartender ignored him. “You go out on dates with a variety of men?”

Irritation hit. She shifted her feet. “No, I’m the owner.”

“Ambitious little thing, aren’t you?”

His teasing question seemed way too chauvinistic, but she decided to move on. “Yes, I guess I am. What do you do?”

“Air Force. I was in Iraq.”

Most military didn’t volunteer their service so quickly, but she reserved judgment. “Was it very difficult?”

“Yep. I’m ready to get back out and kick some more ass. Better concentrating on the enemy than my cheating ex-girlfriend who dumped me while I was away.”

Hope plummeted. She looked at his angry face, now not so teasing and instead full of a bit of resentment and a whole lot of mess. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Your service to our country humbles me.”

“It should. Maybe you’ll be more respectful than the last woman. Where the hell is that bartender?”

“Chocolate martini?”

She whipped her head around. Slade held the drink in front of her, a wicked grin curving his sensual lips. “Y-y-yes. Thank you.” She took the drink and glanced at Bruce, whose face now resembled a thundercloud.

“Sorry, dude, I didn’t know what you were drinking or I would’ve bought you one too,” Slade said. He eased himself into the small notch between them and clinked his Sam Adams to the rim of her glass. “Cheers. Are you having a good time?”

Kate battled the urge to giggle. He was completely and overwhelmingly arrogant, charming, and frustrating. How did one fight such a force? Still, she arranged her face to relate disapproval. “Yes, Bruce and I were having a wonderful time together.”

“Good. You look amazing, by the way. The shoes are killer.”

Pleasure bloomed. “Thanks.”

“Welcome. So, I finally tried Carbone near Hell’s Kitchen.”

She gasped. “Is that where you went on your date? I’ve been dying to try that place—it’s impossible to get reservations. Did Hannah enjoy it?”

“I think. I had the lobster black tie pasta. The sauce nearly knocked me sideways, and with the Chianti, the richness of the tastes combined perfectly in the mouth.”

“What did Hannah have?”

“Veal parm.”

“And how did the date go?”

“Good. For appetizers, I ordered the mussels. Fresh and soaked in a spicy tomato broth. I swear I’ve never had anything better.”

“Did you share your appetizer with Hannah?”

He frowned and seemed to think hard. “I offered, but she doesn’t like shellfish. Pity.”

“Sharing a meal is a good way to increase intimacy on a date. Even a bite. Tell me more.”

“I ordered the espresso and tiramisù for dessert. Top rate.”

Kate let out a breath. “Stop talking about the menu. I want to know how the actual date went.”