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Laurel pinched her face into a grimace. “Yeah…no!”
Britt laughed.
Eventually, the burning in Laurel’s gut changed to warmth and spread throughout her body. Little by little she started to relax.
“How ’bout now?” Britt asked.
Laurel shrugged.
“She’s better.” Skye turned to Laurel. “Now back to Mr.NotSome Guy.”
The warmth in Laurel’s body pooled low. It had nothing to do with tequila and everything to do with ice blue eyes and the man they belonged to. The drink must already be affecting her because it was categorically impossible for merely thinking about someone bumping into you to make your panties damp. Wasn’t it?
“Can we change the subject?” Laurel asked.
“We just got onto the subject,” Skye argued.
Britt started scanning the bar. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Stop looking around!” Laurel ordered.
“I don’t see him,” Skye said, perusing the bar, as well. “Do you?”
“No.” And Laurel wasn’t going to look. She was embarrassed enough already, but if he’d seen her hair, she’d have to become a recluse and never leave her house for fear of running into him.
“There he is!” Britt pointed to a table on the far end of the bar, close to the dance floor.
Laurel slapped her friend’s hand down. “For the love of fudge, stop pointing!” Still, she couldn’t refrain from stealing a look.
The most mouthwatering man on the planet was sitting with his back against the wall, talking to a big, burly, tatted guy, another man, and a woman. They were engaged in animatedconversation, the big one miming what looked like tossing something over his shoulder and climbing. Everyone laughed except her guy. He shook his head with a grin and took a drink of his beer. Then he?—
Wait. My guy? Where did that come from?
“Go ask him to dance,” Skye ordered.
Laurel spun on her chair to face her. “Are you crazy? No way in bells am I asking that man to do anything!”
“I’d ask him to doeverything,” Britt said, biting her thumb—an unconscious habit she had whenever she concentrated.
So would Laurel, if truth be told. At least, she would if she was the type to chase a man and throw probable rejection to the wind.
“That’ll check off number five,” Skye said.
Laurel blanched. Who cared if asking a stranger to dance was number five. She’d never done that before and wasn’t about to start now. Especially not with him. “No way!”
“Yes, way,” Skye shot back.
Laurel ventured a glance at Mr. Not Some Guy, who, of course, chose that exact moment to look up. Their gazes held for a few seconds before her brain engaged, and fire ignited her cheeks. She did the deer-in-the-headlights thing and quickly looked down.
“And then on the dance floor,” Skye continued, “you can segue into number six.”
Laurel coughed out a strangled sound before blurting, “Oh good gravy!Absolutely not!”There was no way she was going to make out with a total stranger!
The cocktail waitress arrived with the third tequila shot Skye had ordered. As soon as the glass touched the table, Laurel grabbed it like she was in anaphylactic shock, and the shot was an EpiPen. She gulped it down, then shook the empty glass at the waitress.
“May I have another?”
“No, you may not,” Skye told her, while Britt sent the waitress on her way. “You’re cut off.”
