snoring on my bar."
The tall man left his friend's side and sauntered over to the other end, laying an elbow on the bar beside the bigger—and drunker—man. "Hey, Jim, what kind of customer service is that?" he said to the bartender.
"The kind that keeps my ass from getting sued because this guy plows into someone's living room after I serve him one too many."
"You could at least be nice about it."
The bartender shrugged and started drying glasses. "He's drunk. He won't even remember me tomorrow."
"He's still a human being."
Meredith watched the entire encounter, fascinated by the tall stranger who'd defended a drunk. How many men had she known who would do that? She'd known far more whose idea of being nice meant letting their girlfriends take the first sip off the head of a fresh draft of Bud. She hadn't met many who'd go out of their way to defend a guy who'd gone way past 0.08 percent.
The tall man slid onto the stool beside the older man, who was now rooting in the nut dish for an elusive cashew. "Hey, Mike," he said. "Whatcha doing here on a Sunday night?"
Mike looked up at him with bleary eyes. "Wife left me, Travis. Took the damned dog, too."
"She took Chester?"
Mike nodded, reached for his glass, saw it was still empty and put it back on the bar with a sigh. "I screwed up again."
"Ah, you don't need her."
He sniffled. "But I need the damned dog."
"Sitting here drinking yourself into a coma isn't going to bring Chester back."
The man heaved a sigh and clutched his beer mug like it was going to save him from drowning. "You're right."
Travis reached forward, removed the empty glass from the man's hand and pushed it away. It was an easy, gentle touch. Friendly, yet firm. "Let me call you a cab."
"You mean, go home?"
"Yeah, go home. Sleep it off and—"
"But Chester isn't there." A sob caught in Mike's throat.
"I know. I know." He put a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Listen. Get over to the animal shelter in the morning. There are a lot of animals there looking for someone who needs them. Hell, you already have the fenced-in yard." He gave Mike a grin.
Travis had a heart and a soul. Meredith hadn't expected to like the man she chose, but it was a nice bonus. Kind of like getting the free matching purse when she bought new shoes, only better.
Mike considered Travis's words for a long moment, then he nodded, his face brightening. "And if I get joint custody of Chester, he'll have a friend to play with when he comes for visitation."
Travis grinned. "Exactly." He signaled to the bartender for some coffee for Mike, then unclipped his cell phone from his belt and punched in some numbers. After a minute, he closed the phone and turned to Mike, sliding a freshly stocked bowl of nuts toward the man. "Cab's on its way. You gonna be all right tonight?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Travis. You're a great guy."
Travis chuckled and patted Mike on the shoulder. "You're drunk right now. When you're sober, you'll change your mind."
Mike opened his mouth to protest, saw Travis already had an argument ready on his lips, and reached for the mug of coffee instead.
After saying good-bye, Travis crossed back to his friend and started watching the Patriots on one of the thirty-inch screens circling the bar area.
Meredith squeezed the slice of lime into her margarita and considered Travis. Until he'd walked in, the bar had lived up to its name— Slim Pickin's . Travis, however, wasn't just gorgeous, he was nice. He seemed trustworthy, even chivalrous. Meredith didn't know a lot about cities but she did know not to choose a man based solely on looks. Ted Bundy had been kind of cute, too.
Meredith watched Travis, who kept his eye on Mike until the cab arrived a few minutes later, then screwed up her nerve. She took a long sip of the margarita. Damn. Why couldn't the tequila hit her fast, before her self-consciousness had a chance to awaken and put her whole plan at risk?
"You two guys gonna order something? Or are you just here to
The tall man left his friend's side and sauntered over to the other end, laying an elbow on the bar beside the bigger—and drunker—man. "Hey, Jim, what kind of customer service is that?" he said to the bartender.
"The kind that keeps my ass from getting sued because this guy plows into someone's living room after I serve him one too many."
"You could at least be nice about it."
The bartender shrugged and started drying glasses. "He's drunk. He won't even remember me tomorrow."
"He's still a human being."
Meredith watched the entire encounter, fascinated by the tall stranger who'd defended a drunk. How many men had she known who would do that? She'd known far more whose idea of being nice meant letting their girlfriends take the first sip off the head of a fresh draft of Bud. She hadn't met many who'd go out of their way to defend a guy who'd gone way past 0.08 percent.
The tall man slid onto the stool beside the older man, who was now rooting in the nut dish for an elusive cashew. "Hey, Mike," he said. "Whatcha doing here on a Sunday night?"
Mike looked up at him with bleary eyes. "Wife left me, Travis. Took the damned dog, too."
"She took Chester?"
Mike nodded, reached for his glass, saw it was still empty and put it back on the bar with a sigh. "I screwed up again."
"Ah, you don't need her."
He sniffled. "But I need the damned dog."
"Sitting here drinking yourself into a coma isn't going to bring Chester back."
The man heaved a sigh and clutched his beer mug like it was going to save him from drowning. "You're right."
Travis reached forward, removed the empty glass from the man's hand and pushed it away. It was an easy, gentle touch. Friendly, yet firm. "Let me call you a cab."
"You mean, go home?"
"Yeah, go home. Sleep it off and—"
"But Chester isn't there." A sob caught in Mike's throat.
"I know. I know." He put a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Listen. Get over to the animal shelter in the morning. There are a lot of animals there looking for someone who needs them. Hell, you already have the fenced-in yard." He gave Mike a grin.
Travis had a heart and a soul. Meredith hadn't expected to like the man she chose, but it was a nice bonus. Kind of like getting the free matching purse when she bought new shoes, only better.
Mike considered Travis's words for a long moment, then he nodded, his face brightening. "And if I get joint custody of Chester, he'll have a friend to play with when he comes for visitation."
Travis grinned. "Exactly." He signaled to the bartender for some coffee for Mike, then unclipped his cell phone from his belt and punched in some numbers. After a minute, he closed the phone and turned to Mike, sliding a freshly stocked bowl of nuts toward the man. "Cab's on its way. You gonna be all right tonight?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Travis. You're a great guy."
Travis chuckled and patted Mike on the shoulder. "You're drunk right now. When you're sober, you'll change your mind."
Mike opened his mouth to protest, saw Travis already had an argument ready on his lips, and reached for the mug of coffee instead.
After saying good-bye, Travis crossed back to his friend and started watching the Patriots on one of the thirty-inch screens circling the bar area.
Meredith squeezed the slice of lime into her margarita and considered Travis. Until he'd walked in, the bar had lived up to its name— Slim Pickin's . Travis, however, wasn't just gorgeous, he was nice. He seemed trustworthy, even chivalrous. Meredith didn't know a lot about cities but she did know not to choose a man based solely on looks. Ted Bundy had been kind of cute, too.
Meredith watched Travis, who kept his eye on Mike until the cab arrived a few minutes later, then screwed up her nerve. She took a long sip of the margarita. Damn. Why couldn't the tequila hit her fast, before her self-consciousness had a chance to awaken and put her whole plan at risk?
"You two guys gonna order something? Or are you just here to
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