Page 52 of Blitzing Emily

“Maybe they’ll break up.” All five men laughed at Zach’s attempt to sound like a female.

Brandon nodded at a passing server. “I need some beer before you ladies start on the post-game wrap-up.”

“Your loss is our gain, brother. The dark-haired one with the big rack, short skirt, and spike heels is meeting me tomorrow night at Feedback Lounge. I’m sure she’ll forget all about you when she meets my friend,” Zach told Brandon. He pointed at his groin for emphasis.

Brandon shook his head. He loved these guys, but he was consistently amazed at how little they knew about him. Ms. Big Jugs wouldn’t have been on his to-do list in the first place. There had been too many women over the years with whom there was nothing to talk about five minutes after he pulled his pants back on. That part of his life was over the moment he met Emily, and he was grateful.

The server left with an order that would keep the cook and the bartender busy for a while. Brandon’s phone buzzed in his pocket: A text from Emily. She asked him how the signing went. He tapped out, “It was fine. I miss you,” and hit “send.”

“Let me guess. The other half wants to know what you’re doing,” Tom teased.

“She’s saying goodnight.” Brandon took a long swallow of the pint of Mac and Jack’s Amber Ale another server had set down in front of him.

“She’s checking to see if you’re with someone else,” Zach said.

“Maybe your woman is jealous and suspicious. Emily’s not that type,” Damian said. Damian had a bit of a crush on Brandon’s fiancée, it seemed.

“Oh, yes, she is. You just haven’t seen it yet,” Zach informed the entire table.

Brandon responded by draining his pint glass. Maybe it was best if he called a cab and went home. He didn’t want to spend the next half hour impressing on Zach why it wasn’t a good idea to say anything remotely critical of Emily, or any other young woman of his acquaintance, in his presence. He really wanted some of those chili fries, but Damian would eat his order. He pulled thirty dollars out of his wallet, slipping the bills under the empty pint glass.

He checked his phone to see another “xxx ooo” message from Emily, and hit the “stored contacts” icon to find a number for a cab. A commotion at the front door of the bar made him look up from his phone’s screen. His stomach lurched.

Anastasia and two of her model friends were cantering toward their table. She wouldn’t be caught dead in this place while they were dating. What the hell was she doing here now? She flipped a curtain of long, straight hair over a bony shoulder. The oversized sweater she wore slid off the opposite shoulder. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the other side of the sweater showed signs of sliding right off, too. Half an inch more, and she’d give a whole new meaning to the words “wardrobe malfunction.” The two women she was with wore dresses that left even less to the imagination, and impossibly high heels.

“Well, look who’s here,” she purred. “Just the man I wanted to talk with.” She pulled out the chair on Brandon’s right and sank into it. She was glancing around the table already. She clearly wanted a cigarette, and there were no ashtrays available.

“Smoking’s not allowed here, Anastasia,” he said. “Maybe you should leave.”

“They won’t care.” She pulled out a lighter, laid it on the table in front of her, and reached into her bag once more. Brandon grabbed the lighter off the table.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me. You’re not doing this,” he said.

She tossed her head. “Where’s your fiancée?”

“Why should you care? You and I aren’t together anymore.”

Her smile was feline. It matched the exaggerated cat-eye black eyeliner she wore. She tossed a box of Marlboro Reds onto the table in front of them. “I need my lighter.”

He sat forward in his chair. “What is it that you want from me?”

“You must miss me.” She shook a cigarette out of the pack and slid it between her fingers. “I know I miss you. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere quieter.” He knew what she meant by “somewhere quieter”—her bedroom. He wasn’t interested. He wondered why he never noticed how cold her eyes were the entire time they were together. She gave him what he was sure she thought was a sultry glance.

He felt like he was observing the entire scene from somewhere overhead—Anastasia’s belief she could seduce him with nothing more than a glance, and his realization that he couldn’t believe she’d ever lured him into her spider web in the first place.

The guys pretended not to notice what was going on at their end of the table. Zach and one of Anastasia’s model friends went so far as to grab a two-top a short distance away. In other words, they expected trouble.

“Maybe I need to remind you what you said about me on that entertainment TV show.” His voice dropped. “I’m not interested. Take your friends and get the hell out.”

She let out a sigh of faux distress. “You can’t believe I really meant that.” She rolled the unlit cigarette between her fingers again. “They wanted a good quote. You know how amazing it was with us.” She leaned closer. He almost choked on the wave of stale smoke, too much perfume, and evidence of her preferred method of weight loss—vomiting—hitting his nostrils. “Remember the entire day in bed?”

Oh, he did. He wondered what he could shower with to scrub the images off his brain pan, too. He couldn’t believe he spent any time at all with her now. Supermodel or not, she didn’t do a thing for him. She reached out and plucked the lighter out of his fist. “You have to know there isn’t a guy in this place that would turn me down, Brandon.”

The server arrived with a platter of food, noted the cigarette and lighter in Anastasia’s hand, and snapped, “There’s no smoking here. You’ll have to leave.”

It happened so fast he had no time to evade her. Anastasia leaned forward, wrapped one arm around his neck, and kissed him. She made it good, too—she writhed against him like a snake, she tried to stick her tongue in his mouth, she did everything but give him a lap dance. He pushed her away.

He sprang to his feet. “Get out,” he said in a low voice.

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