She kept her smile in place. It wasn’t easy.
“Hi,” one of the men said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” The others followed suit. None of them made eye contact.
“I have to run, guys,” the first one said, pushing back from the table.
“Me, too.”
“Me, too.”
And just like that, they were gone.
Meghann waved at their backs, said brightly, “See you again, soon. Drive safely.” Just in case anyone had witnessed her humiliation.
She counted silently to five, then turned around. There was another table, not too far away. This one had only one man seated at it. He was writing on a yellow legal pad, obviously taking notes from an open textbook. He was staring so intently at the work that he hadn’t seen her debacle at the table.
She walked over to him. “May I join you?”
When he looked up, she saw that he was young. Maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. His eyes were unguarded, filled with the kind of open-ended hope that came with youth. She felt drawn to that optimism, warmed by it. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. What did you say?”
Ma’am.
“Call me Meg.”
He frowned. “You look familiar. Are you a friend of my mother’s? Sada Carlyle.”
She felt like the old lady from Titanic. “No. I don’t know her. And I … thought I knew you, but I was mistaken. Sorry.”
She tightened her grip on the wineglass. Desperation came for her, tapped her on the shoulder.
Get a grip.
She headed toward another table. As she came within range, a woman slipped into the empty chair and leaned in to kiss the man.
Meghann spun to her left and ran into a shaggy, derelict-looking guy who was obviously on his way back from the bar. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have signaled before I made a turn like that.”
“No harm done.”
He went back to his table and sat down. She saw that he was slightly unsteady on his feet.
She stood there, alone in the midst of the crowded bar. There were three men back at the pool table. Two of them looked dangerous, dressed as they were in black leather and chains. The third man had so many tattoos on his bald head that it looked like earth as seen from space.
She felt the press of desperation, but it was useless. This wasn’t going to be her night. She’d have to return to Claire’s homey, comfortable guest room, climb into bed alone, and spend the night tossing and turning and wanting. Wanting, most of all.
She looked at the derelict. His shoulders were broad; his black T-shirt stretched taut along the top of his back. The waistband of his worn, faded Levi’s veed out, as if he’d lost weight and hadn’t bothered to buy jeans that fit.
It was him … or loneliness.
She went to his table, stood beside him. “May I sit down?”
He didn’t look up from his beer. “What am I, your lucky fifth choice?”
“You’re counting?”
“It isn’t hard, lady. You’re clearing out the place faster than a cop at a frat party.”
She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. The song “Lookin’ for Love” came on the jukebox. In all the wrong places …
Finally, he looked up. Beneath the silvery fringe of hair that must have been trimmed with a pocket knife, a pair of blue eyes stared at her. With a start, she realized that he wasn’t much older than she was, and he was almost handsome, in a Sam Elliott stranger-in-town kind of way. He looked like the kind of man who’d walked down a few dark alleys in his time.
“Whatever you’re looking for,” he said, “you won’t find it here.”
She started to flirt, to say something funny and impersonal, but before her tongue had even formed the first word, she paused. There was something about him.…
“Have we met?” she asked, frowning. She prided herself on her memory. Faces, she rarely forgot. Unless they belonged to the men she sometimes picked up; those she forgot immediately. Please God, tell me I haven’t screwed him already.
“People say that all the time.” He sighed. “Just an ordinary face, I guess.”
No, that wasn’t it. She was sure she’d seen him before, but it didn’t matter, really. Besides, anonymity was her goal here, not making friends. “It’s far from ordinary. Are you from around here?”
“I am now.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Do I look like I make a living? I get by, that’s all.”
“That’s all any of us do, really.”
“Look, lady—”
“Meghann. Friends call me Meg.”
“Meghann. I’m not going to take you home. Is that clear enough for you?”
That made her smile. “I don’t remember asking to be taken home. I asked if I could sit down. You’re making quite an assumption.”
He pulled back a little, looked uncomfortable. “Sorry. I’ve been … alone for a while. Makes a man poor company.”
Poor company. It had the ring of education to it.
She leaned closer, studying him. Though the light was dim in here, and the air clogged with cigarette smoke, she liked his face. Enough for one night, at least.