Chapter 1
"Do you know that guy?"
"Huh?"
My friend Andrew lifted his chin in the direction of the corner. "Don't look yet, but there's a guy over there who keeps looking this way. He keeps looking at you like he's trying to place you."
"Really? Is he hot?"
"He's not bad," Andrew nodded judiciously with his eyes over my shoulder. "Could use a shave, but I know you like the scruffy type."
I snickered and continued eating my greasy, delicious burger, the sort of thing Neil would have pouted over my eating if he'd been here. But he wasn't, and despite what he thought, my arteries could handle it. "Well tell me when I can look, would you?"
"Look now. He's reading. But be casual."
I rolled my eyes; did my friend think I was a total idiot? A social retard that didn't get out much? Well... okay, that part was true. I didn't get out much, actually, but I still remembered my social skills. Turning sideways in the booth, I leaned back against the wall and took a drink of my beer. This allowed me a view of the corner, and the guy who was sitting at the corner table across the room over my shoulder. An empty plate was pushed back and he was sipping a bottle of Beck's while he read the newspaper with his cheek propped up on his hand, elbow planted on the table.
Not bad? The man was beautiful. An evening ray of sun shone through the window and flooded him like a spotlight and I had to draw my breath just looking at him. The sun painted gold in his shaggy brown hair that fell over his forehead almost to his eyes and flecks of gold illuminated his stubble. I stared at the way his hand cupped his jaw, fingers lightly drumming his cheek as he frowned down at the paper spread in front of him. Dark brows, strong but boyish jaw, probably in his early thirties same as me. Clothes rumpled, like a traveler; a battered leather satchel on the floor next to the chair. He wore jeans, a long-sleeved pullover and lace-up boots. My eyes wandered all the way down to his feet and then back up and I found myself looking into a pair of eyes so blue they startled me even from across the room. He'd caught me staring and he was grinning at me, and I dropped my eyes instantly with my face blazing.
"Dammit," I said under my breath.
Andrew, who'd watched the whole thing, was laughing. "You are so red," he told me. "You're cute when you blush, you know that?"
"Shut up," I snarled at him. I ducked my head to hide my red face. God, I hated blushing in public. It made me feel so self-conscious. If crawling under the table wouldn't have made things even worse, I would've done it.
"He thinks so too," Andrew said relentlessly. "He's still smiling. You should go say hi."
"Yeah, right." I rolled my eyes. Andrew knew better, but he never gave up. He was persistent; I had to give him that. My friends were always trying to get me past my shyness; but most of them had finally accepted it was a lost cause and left me alone, except for Andrew. Ever the optimist.
"I'm gonna go pay our bill." He swung his legs around and went to the bar with our check. I kept my head down, but I could see him cross the room and to my horror, he headed straight to the part of the bar that was right next to the guy. The guy. I knew Andrew, he'd talk to anyone and he was smiling at the guy as the barmaid took the bill from him. I sent him frantic mental messages: Don't do it, don't do it, but it was too late. He was already doing it, turning around and talking to the guy at the table. I groaned, sinking down into my chair.
Nonetheless, I had to watch from under my eyelashes. I watched the guy laugh and reply, and then they both looked at me grinning and I took my cell phone out of my pocket and flipped it open as if I was answering it even though nobody was there. "Hello?" I said to no one. What an idiot I am. "Uh-huh, yeah," I mouthed into the phone while staring down at the floor under the table until finally Andrew came back over with a big smile on his face. I said cheerfully," Okay. Sure, talk to you later," and flipped the phone closed.
"You asshole," I commented as he sat down to finish off his beer. I had turned around to face him so the guy was behind me again and I didn't have to avoid looking at him.
"You're welcome," Andrew smiled. "He's in town on business, just till tomorrow. I told him he should come down to the WETbar tonight and meet us. You're coming, right?"
I groaned and started making my usual excuses. I need to write, but this time Andrew wasn't hearing it.
"You're coming. Don't make me come to your house and drag you out the door. Besides, how many words have you already written this week? How many hours research?"
I made a face.
"You need a break, Rylan. You've hardly been out of that house since Neil moved out. I know you're a writing machine, but you can't work all the time."
"It's not really work." I shrugged; a little embarrassed to admit how much I loved spinning my silly little tales. I loved the research. I loved the urgency of a story that wanted to get out. I loved the letters I got from fans, except the scary ones. Most of them were wonderful people, my fans, but some of them worried me a la Stephen King's Misery, and so I wrote under a pseudonym and guarded my identity jealously. Otherwise, I couldn't be happier with that part of my life.
"I know you love it," Andrew shook his head indulgently. "What is this time? Regency England?"
"Yeah, always a favorite." The readers loved my Regency work and so did I; it was probably my favorite historical period. However, I didn't talk about my in-progress stories and my friends didn't ask, although they did read the free copies when the proofs came in.
"Well, Regency England can live without you for one night. I'll pick you up at ten so be ready."
