I know where he’s headed, but I ask anyway. “Why?”
“I want you to watch me pick her up. By tomorrow night at the latest, her legs will be locked like a vise around my hips and she’ll be calling to God, Jesus, and anywhere from three to four disciples.” He scoffs when I laugh. “Come on. I’m serious. Pick one out and watch me work my magic.”
Declan’s always been a player. Always. Political aspirations aside, he doesn’t commit, and I’m not sure he ever will. But if he ever does, one thing I know: he’ll never cheat, and he’ll never look back. Nope. If Declan ever falls for someone, it’s going to be hard and there won’t be anything to cushion his landing.
So for now, I’ll play his game.
As a cop, even one out of serious commission, I have certain ingrained skills that will never leave me. Even though I’ve been talking, flipping through my phone, and lookin’ like I’m bored out of my mind, I’ve checked out everyone in the bistro, cased the emergency exits, eyed those wandering in, watched anyone who’s left, paid attention to who follows who into the bathroom, and kept tabs on everyone who passed by the large picture window across from us. I expect everything, and maybe nothing at all.
I do another sweep of the small room. There are lots of women here who fit Declan’s criteria. Some have given us the once-over a handful of times. Even now, one smiles my way. She’s pretty, no denying it, but I don’t really care. A fact that gives me a shitload of pause. My attention wanders to the smaller group of tables on my right. It’s there I find her: the right gal for Declan to release his mad moves on.
She’s a brunette, with thick hair that curls just below her shoulders. She walked in alone and is flipping through the pages of a paperback in between bites of her salad. She’s not Declan’s type. In a red dress with tiny white polka dots that hug her hourglass body, she’s more fifties pinup babe than the Barbie dolls Declan usually goes for. Her profile is to us, giving me only a small view of her deep red lips and creamy skin. She might be plain or she might be beautiful; the way her dark hair veils part of her face, there’s no real way to tell. That doesn’t matter, though. Declan never said anything about looks.
I motion with a tilt of my head. “Brunette, red dress. Tucked in the corner.”
Declan angles his body in her direction. He sighs, clearly uninterested. “Fine. But I thought you’d give me a challenge.”
He stands and fixes his jacket. I adjust my seat in the small booth to get a better look, but not enough that it’s obvious I’m watching the show. I chuckle when she crosses her legs and turns the page of her book just as he reaches her. Declan’s right; this girl won’t be a challenge. She seems lonely, defenseless even. Yeah. Glad we didn’t make a bet. This girl’s going down.
Probably on my brother.
“Hello, miss,” he says, keeping his deep voice quiet. “Forgive me, I don’t usually approach women this way, but you look stunning in that dress.”
“Polka dots” turns another page without so much as smiling.
Declan cocks his head, probably dumbstruck as to why this chick isn’t giving him the eye and why she’s still in her panties.
But big bro won’t be deterred. “I apologize for being so forward. But my position as assistant district attorney doesn’t allow me time to meet many women, especially one as lovely as yourself. Would you mind if joined you?”
Holy Mother. He went for the kill and threw in the DA card to seal the deal. Declan’s not messing around.
The chick sighs and turns another page. I straighten. She still hasn’t even glanced up. Declan makes a motion with his hand like, “Don’t worry. I got this,” and lowers himself into the seat opposite her. He chuckles when the woman lifts her chin and finally acknowledges him. He holds his smile, showing off his perfect teeth. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in a red dress,” he tells her.