Page 3 of Santa's Girl
I turned back to Caroline. “See? This is why I don’t date. The only men here with calluses are the ones lifting free weights at Equinox.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m selective,” I corrected, finishing my drink.
I were, this wasn’t it.
Caroline was mid-story about her latest dating app disaster when the air in the room shifted.
I didn’t have to look to know why.
I could feel it.
Sure enough, in through the door walked Huntley Graham Beckingworth—perfect hair, perfect blazer, perfect smug smile—flanked by his three best friends, all looking like they’d just stepped out of a country club catalog shoot.
I froze. “Oh no.”
Caroline followed my gaze, her lips curving into a slow, wicked grin. “Well, well, well…”
“Don’t. Say. Anything.” I slid lower in my seat, scanning for an escape route.
The bar was crowded. The only thing between me and the door was a potted plant in the corner—tall, leafy, and suddenly my best friend.
I scooted toward it, trying to make myself smaller.
“Becca.” Caroline’s voice was amused. “You look like you’re hiding from the paparazzi.”
“I’m hiding from theex,” I hissed.
From my leafy cover, I risked a peek. Huntley was laughing at something one of his buddies said, drink in hand, completely at ease.
WTF.Did our phones still track each other somehow? No—he still lived nearby, sure, but the odds of running into him here,tonightof all nights, were ridiculous.
I could just stay here, let him enjoy his overpriced bourbon, and slip out later… except the exit was on the other side of the bar. Which meant to leave, I’d have to walk right past him.
Of course.
Caroline’s eyes went wide as the waitress set two martinis on our table. “Compliments of the gentleman at the bar,” she said, nodding toward Huntley.
I stared at the drinks like they were ticking bombs.
“Oh, hell no,” Caroline muttered.
“Tempted to send them back,” I said under my breath.
“Tempted? Honey, I’m ready to launch them.”
But instead, we just let them sit there, untouched.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the cavalry from arriving.
Three perfectly coiffed businessmen in designer blazers appeared at our table, Huntley in the lead, looking every inch the man who thought the world was better now that he’d decided to grace it with his attention.
“Becca,” he said warmly, like we’d just seen each other last week. “What are the odds?”
“Small world,” I said tightly. Caroline kicked me under the table.
They pulled up chairs without asking. For thirty endless minutes, it was small talk about mutual acquaintances, his latest business ventures, his golf handicap. Every so often, Huntley’s hand would brush mine like it was an accident.
