“Luck. Pure dumb luck.”
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “I find that dumb luck might be fun, but not always effective. So as it stands, and without much luck thus far, you really leave me no choice,” he said, and took her braid fully in hand, using it to pull her a little closer, “than to declare straightaway that I find you terribly attractive. And as it would be frightfully inappropriate to jump your lovely bones in this horrid little corridor—not to mention that hardly being the most romantic gesture in the world, and fantastically presumptuous as well—I’m hoping for at least the chance to chat,” he said, and let go of her braid. His hand drifted across her jawline, then down her neck.
“Ooh,” she whispered.
“Rachel?”
Myron’s voice was no less startling than a screech of tires, and startled Rachel so badly that she actually bumped into Flynn as she jerked around. “Myron!” Why did he have to choose that moment of all moments in the universe to show up? It made her feel angrily flustered that he even existed.
Myron was staring at Flynn, and idiot that he was, unabashedly sizing him up. “What’s going on here?”
“I ah . . . this is ah . . . Flynn.”
“Flynn Oliver,” Flynn said, extending his hand.
Myron reluctantly took Flynn’s hand and dropped it quickly. “Is everything okay?” he asked Rachel, still staring at Flynn.
“Yes, of course,” she exclaimed a little heatedly.
“I just wondered if everything was all right. I mean, when you didn’t come back—”
“I wasn’t gone that long.”
“Well, your beer is getting warm,” Myron said. “Are you going to drink it?”
“I didn’t realize,” Flynn said politely, and stepped away from her, leaving a cold draft on her back. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your evening—it would seem I owe you another apology.” He made a move to step around Myron.
“No, really, you don’t owe me an apology,” Rachel said as she realized he was leaving. “I didn’t . . . I mean, I’m not really—”
“Oh, sorry,” Myron said as he moved out of Flynn’s way and bumped up against Rachel.
Flynn smiled, let his gaze flick over her once more before lifting his hand. “Have a good evening.” He turned and walked on, leaving her there with a moron.
As he disappeared into the crowd, Rachel sighed with great exasperation and shoved Myron away from her.
“What?” he demanded. “I thought that dude was bothering you!”
“He wasn’t bothering me!”
“You mean you liked him?” the dolt asked, looking over his shoulder at Flynn’s retreating back.
“Oh just . . . shut up, Myron!” Rachel said hotly, and walked into the ladies’ room, furious with herself for not having more guts.
Flynn walked to the other side of the bar, nodded slyly at Joe, then proceeded to the parking lot, Joe following behind. He got in the passenger side of the car; Joe got in behind the wheel and started up his blue 1977 Camaro, revving the motor a couple of times as he liked to do.
“So?” Joe asked as he coasted through the parking lot toward the street.
“Apparently she’s already hooked up,” Flynn said.
“You mean you got nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say nothing,” Flynn said. “I got a look.”
“A look? What look?”
“A look,” Flynn repeated, motioning vaguely with his hand. “You know . . . a bloody look.”
“Dude . . .” Joe sighed, shook his head. “You’re going about this all wrong. You have to come on to her. Let her think you want in her pants. Rub up against her, like, let her know what you’re working with. Women like that.”
“Do they, indeed,” Flynn drawled.
Joe shrugged as he turned the Camaro onto the street. “Works for me,” he said, and hit the gas.
Chapter Eight
Rachel’s night went from bad to worse, but all things being equal, the incident involving the police later went pretty well, considering Dagne was involved.
After Myron had chased Flynn away, Rachel called Glinda the Good Witch from Fratangelo’s and convinced her to show up at her house a little later with some Chinese food and her spell book.
“For real?” Dagne asked, all excited.
“For real. I think. No, no, not for real, just . . . I don’t know—”
“I’ll meet you in an hour,” Dagne said, and hung up before Rachel could talk herself out of it.