decorate my bar?" the bartender said to Travis and his friend.
"Two rum and cokes," the short one said, pivoting toward the bartender.
"Except leave out the rum in mine," Travis said. His friend shook his head at him, then paid Jim for the two drinks. The men turned, putting their back to the bar again. The short one's gaze roved over the room, alighting on anything female. Travis, though, kept his gaze on the pigpile of men in blue and red uniforms.
Meredith checked his left hand. No ring or evidence of one being there before. Maybe he was dating someone, which would explain his lack of interest in the women in the room.
Or maybe he was just waiting for the right woman to come along.
Meredith swallowed, then took another gulp of her margarita. Nope, no courage in the lime twist either. Just a slight buzz that made her skin feel flushed.
If she didn't move now, she'd never get past the label printed on the white sash draped across the mirror of her bedroom back home.
There was no way she was going to her grave with her greatest life achievement being "Miss Holstein."
She slid off her stool and headed over to the duo, her hand on her purse. Beneath the leather exterior, she could feel the box of Trojans. She took in a deep breath, forced a smile to her face and crossed to the one named Travis.
Travis stood there, like an oak tree, staring at the football game as if she didn't exist. He was a foot taller than her, maybe more. A whiff of his cologne teased at her nostrils. A bit of musk, a hint of pine.
And a lot of man. More man than she was used to. "Excuse me," she said.
The short guy's gaze swiveled toward her. "You looking for me?"
"Uh, no. I'd like to talk to you." She directed her words at Travis.
"I'm watching the game," he said, without looking down.
The short guy punched him in the arm. "Don't be rude, Travis. A pretty lady wants to talk to you."
"You know what I vowed five minutes ago," he muttered.
"And you know I think you're nuts," his friend muttered back. "So say hello and don't be a jackass."
Travis looked down at her. "Hello." Then his gaze went back to the television.
Cousin Henrietta, who'd been in Boston once for a wedding, had warned her that Bostonians were as rude as a litter of kittens in an ice bath. Maria, however, had proved to be the exact opposite. So had Rebecca, who, contrary to Momma's predictions, had stayed true to her sweet nature after moving to Boston when she was eleven.
Maybe it was just this guy. Maybe she'd chosen the wrong one.
"You know, it's too bad you're busy with the game," Meredith said, keeping her tone flip, unconcerned. "Because I was about to make you a very nice offer."
His gaze stayed riveted on the Patriots/Bears matchup as if the fate of the world hung in a piece of pigskin. "What's the offer?" the shorter one said. "If it's a drink, I'm all yours."
"Let her go, Kenny. I'm not—"
"Crazy, even if you act it," Kenny interrupted. "Don't mind him, he's grumpy."
"Maybe he's just obnoxious." Meredith started to walk toward her seat, then stopped midstep.
A man wouldn't walk away from something he wanted. He wouldn't let a little aloofness get in his way. He'd try a little harder.
And so would a city girl, Meredith decided. Small town Indiana girls gave up easily when confronted with big-city attitude. City girls told the man off.
She returned to stand in front of Travis. "Do you have something against women?"
He dropped his gaze to hers. "Not at all."
"Something against me in particular?"
This time, his gaze swept over her, slow and easy, inching down the details of her body. Meredith felt a slow burn of embarrassment creep into her cheeks.
And a slow burn of a whole other kind stirring in her gut.
"Not at all," he said.
"Then why are you being so rude?"
He blinked. "Rude? I... Well, I guess I was being rude."
"He has his reasons," his friend piped in, a grin on his face. "Stupid ones, but reasons all the same."
"Kenny, I'm having a
"Two rum and cokes," the short one said, pivoting toward the bartender.
"Except leave out the rum in mine," Travis said. His friend shook his head at him, then paid Jim for the two drinks. The men turned, putting their back to the bar again. The short one's gaze roved over the room, alighting on anything female. Travis, though, kept his gaze on the pigpile of men in blue and red uniforms.
Meredith checked his left hand. No ring or evidence of one being there before. Maybe he was dating someone, which would explain his lack of interest in the women in the room.
Or maybe he was just waiting for the right woman to come along.
Meredith swallowed, then took another gulp of her margarita. Nope, no courage in the lime twist either. Just a slight buzz that made her skin feel flushed.
If she didn't move now, she'd never get past the label printed on the white sash draped across the mirror of her bedroom back home.
There was no way she was going to her grave with her greatest life achievement being "Miss Holstein."
She slid off her stool and headed over to the duo, her hand on her purse. Beneath the leather exterior, she could feel the box of Trojans. She took in a deep breath, forced a smile to her face and crossed to the one named Travis.
Travis stood there, like an oak tree, staring at the football game as if she didn't exist. He was a foot taller than her, maybe more. A whiff of his cologne teased at her nostrils. A bit of musk, a hint of pine.
And a lot of man. More man than she was used to. "Excuse me," she said.
The short guy's gaze swiveled toward her. "You looking for me?"
"Uh, no. I'd like to talk to you." She directed her words at Travis.
"I'm watching the game," he said, without looking down.
The short guy punched him in the arm. "Don't be rude, Travis. A pretty lady wants to talk to you."
"You know what I vowed five minutes ago," he muttered.
"And you know I think you're nuts," his friend muttered back. "So say hello and don't be a jackass."
Travis looked down at her. "Hello." Then his gaze went back to the television.
Cousin Henrietta, who'd been in Boston once for a wedding, had warned her that Bostonians were as rude as a litter of kittens in an ice bath. Maria, however, had proved to be the exact opposite. So had Rebecca, who, contrary to Momma's predictions, had stayed true to her sweet nature after moving to Boston when she was eleven.
Maybe it was just this guy. Maybe she'd chosen the wrong one.
"You know, it's too bad you're busy with the game," Meredith said, keeping her tone flip, unconcerned. "Because I was about to make you a very nice offer."
His gaze stayed riveted on the Patriots/Bears matchup as if the fate of the world hung in a piece of pigskin. "What's the offer?" the shorter one said. "If it's a drink, I'm all yours."
"Let her go, Kenny. I'm not—"
"Crazy, even if you act it," Kenny interrupted. "Don't mind him, he's grumpy."
"Maybe he's just obnoxious." Meredith started to walk toward her seat, then stopped midstep.
A man wouldn't walk away from something he wanted. He wouldn't let a little aloofness get in his way. He'd try a little harder.
And so would a city girl, Meredith decided. Small town Indiana girls gave up easily when confronted with big-city attitude. City girls told the man off.
She returned to stand in front of Travis. "Do you have something against women?"
He dropped his gaze to hers. "Not at all."
"Something against me in particular?"
This time, his gaze swept over her, slow and easy, inching down the details of her body. Meredith felt a slow burn of embarrassment creep into her cheeks.
And a slow burn of a whole other kind stirring in her gut.
"Not at all," he said.
"Then why are you being so rude?"
He blinked. "Rude? I... Well, I guess I was being rude."
"He has his reasons," his friend piped in, a grin on his face. "Stupid ones, but reasons all the same."
"Kenny, I'm having a
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