Now or Never: A Last Chance Romance (Part 1) by Logan Belle Read Free Book Online

some strange guy with a short beard, but I am curious if Justin is teasing me or not.  I’m sure he is.  He must be.
    “Romi, sex is everywhere once you’ve got your eyes open to it.”
    Trying to avoid looking at the guy who is allegedly checking me out, I glance away from the bar, at a table of three women in their mid-twenties.  Their slender bodies are poured into tight, short dresses, their feet in treacherous looking stilettos.  The prettiest one has glossy dark hair falling heavily to her shoulders.  Her arms are long and tanned, decorated with thin gold bangle bracelets.  There is something feline and predatory about her.  Or maybe it’s the way she is looking at Justin.
    He notices her attention, stands up, and pushes back his bar stool.
    “Where are you going?”
    He winks at me.  “A good wingman knows when it’s time for a little space.  I don’t want that guy to think you’re unavailable.”  Just as I’m about to protest, tell him not to be ridiculous, he leans close to me and says, “Two months, Romi. It’s now or never.”
    He walks away.

Chapter 8
    I feel a sense of panic watching Justin make his way to the table where the pretty brunette is waiting for him.  She welcomes him with a wide smile, and Justin pulls up a chair.
    Don’t be such a baby, I tell myself, turning back to the bar, staring at my drink.  I don’t need him as a security blanket.  I am perfectly happy to sit here alone and nurse this vodka.  In fact, it’s kind of nice to sit quietly.  Alone with my thoughts.  I should go out like this more often.
    “Is this seat taken?”
    I turn to find an attractive man, with salt and pepper hair and short beard, slide into Justin’s newly vacant seat.
    Okay, the panic returns.
    I look back at Justin, talking animatedly while all three women at the table are clearly hanging on his every word.  He touches the brunette’s shoulder.  And I know he’s not coming back any time soon.  I’m sure the man standing next to me knows it, too.
    “No,” I say slowly.  “The seat isn’t taken.”
    He sits down next to me.
    “I’m Allen. With an e.”
    “Claire,” I say.  “Also with an e.”
    He’s wearing a powder blue button down and dark jeans.  He’s definitely attractive.  Not George Clooney territory, but certainly respectably good-looking.  I decide I’ll let the odd “with an e” comment slide.
    I glance back at Justin, who has the group laughing.  The brunette’s right hand has disappeared under the table.
    Allen starts chatting up the bartender he obviously knows.  He introduces me to the barkeep, and offers me another drink but I tell him I’ve reached my limit.
    “I come here a lot after work but I’ve never seen you before,” he says.  It’s not a question, but I know it’s my opening to contribute to the conversation.
    “It’s my first time,” I tell him, and wince at how suggestive it sounds.  But Allen, to his credit, doesn’t crack a lascivious smile.  I tell myself to relax.  But then another glance at Justin tells me he’s no longer at the table.  I look around and see him heading for the door.  With the brunette.
    How can he just abandon me like this?  And then, as if sensing my stare, he turns and gives me a wink.
    Then he’s gone.
    “Everything okay?” Allen asks.
    “Oh, yes. Fine,” I say, fighting the urge to make an excuse to leave as well.  But damn it, if Justin can do it, I can do it.  That’s what this night is all about, right?  His parting words are with me, hanging in the air like a thought bubble, Two months.  Now or never.
    “And actually,” I say.  “I will take you up on that drink.”
     
    *** ***
     
    An hour later, wobbly from the vodka and resigned to the fact that I will be taking an expensive cab home, I am laughing at Allen’s story about the fisticuffs that broke out at the Flyer’s game last night — the same game on the TV at the pub.  I have the fleeting thought this is a sign