His Best Friend. Patricia Kay
peace. It’d be just like it was when I was in college. I’d still be expected home for Sunday dinner. My mother would constantly grill me on who I was dating. And my grandmother would never stop bugging me about not working for the company.” The company was Hathaway Baking, one of the largest and most successful baking companies in the Texas/Oklahoma area.
“I know.” But Sally still sounded glum.
“And no matter how many times I told them, especially Gran, that I hate the business world and that my decision had nothing to do with our company and everything to do with the fact I’m just not cut out to work in business, she just will never accept it. So the best thing for me to do is what I’m doing—putting some distance between me and my well-meaning but extremely irritating family.” She grinned to soften her words, because no matter how irritating some of her family members could be, she genuinely loved them and knew she would miss them.
“I would think by now you’d be used to your grandmother. I mean, she always wants her own way, you know that.”
“Yes, but it still gets old listening to her. Not only old, but dangerous. ’Cause, eventually, if you’re subjected to her gloves of steel long enough, you start weakening, and before you know it, you’re doing exactly what she wants you to do. No, I’ve made the right decision. I love Gran, but she’s too stubborn and she knows exactly how to layer on the guilt until a person has no willpower left.” Out of the corner of her eye, Claudia saw their waiter approaching with their drinks. “Now c’mon, let’s change the subject and talk about something fun.”
For the rest of their meal, Claudia’s approaching move wasn’t discussed. Instead, they talked about mutual friends, Sally’s dating life, which—according to her—was practically nonexistent right now, and where they might go on vacation together next summer.
“I ate too much,” Claudia moaned when they’d finished. “But it was soooo good.”
“Like you have to worry,” Sally said, giving Claudia’s figure an envious glance.
Claudia knew she was lucky. She seemed to have the kind of metabolism that allowed her to eat whatever she wanted without gaining weight, whereas poor Sally had to watch every bite religiously.
As she’d put it once, “Even the smell of carbohydrates causes my weight to shoot up two pounds!”
While their waiter calculated their bill, Claudia excused herself and headed for the ladies’ room. As she rounded the corner leading to the restrooms, she was nearly knocked off her feet by a man walking fast in the opposite direction.
“Whoa, steady there,” he said, grabbing her shoulders to keep her upright. “Sorry about that. I should have been looking where I was going.”
Flustered, Claudia said, “You’re right, you should have.” Instantly sorry—after all, she was as much at fault as he was—she quickly amended, “Now I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching, either.” It was only then she really looked at him.
He was major cute. Major. Not handsome. Just cute, with a friendly, open face and dark eyes and thick, dark hair that was tousled and falling down on his forehead, and the nicest smile. Wow, Claudia thought. Now she really was flustered.
“Well,” he said.
“Well,” she said.
Then they both laughed.
“I—I was going to the ladies’.” Claudia inwardly winced. I was going to the ladies’. What kind of stupid remark was that?
He grinned. “I just came from the mens’.”
For the life of her, she couldn’t think of another thing to say. So she stood there and wished she was clever and smart and had a snappy comeback the way cooler, cleverer, smarter women would have had. Finally, she realized she was staring at him and she could feel her face heating in embarrassment. She thanked all the gods in heaven that it was dimly lit back there because if he’d seen how she was blushing, she would have died. Just melted down into a puddle.
“Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t looking,” she said again. Oh, please. Could she act any dumber?
Clutching her handbag to her chest, she scurried off to the restroom without looking back.
Holy cow.
John Renzo felt as if he’d been slammed in his chest with a sledgehammer. Whoa, she was gorgeous. So gorgeous, he’d babbled like a thirteen-year-old confronted with his first big crush.
On a scale of one to ten, John would put her at about twenty. She was definitely the total package. Short blond spiky hair, huge blue eyes and a tall, slender body with curves in all the right places.
And that mouth!
Her lips were plump and pouty, just the kind he liked to kiss. John considered himself a connoisseur of lips. Hell, he’d practically majored in lips in college.
She looked like Meg Ryan.
Maybe she was Meg Ryan!
He laughed at his own idiocy. She was too young to be Meg Ryan. He guessed her age at about twenty-eight. Thirty tops. Just right for his thirty-four.
He was still thinking about the perfect girl he’d nearly run down when he rejoined his buddies at their table.
“Hey, man, we thought you fell in!”
The joker was Matt Zelinsky, a videographer at the film production company where John worked.
“Ha ha,” John said, pulling out his chair and joining the group. “You order yet?”
“Not yet.” Jason Webb, a friend of Matt’s who had recently become a regular part of their group, licked the salt from his margarita.
Just then, their waitress, a pretty young thing with wildly curly red hair, bounced over to their table. “Y’all ready to order?”
While the other three flirted with the waitress and placed their orders, John looked around the room to see if he could spy the Meg Ryan look-alike. Nope. He couldn’t see her anywhere.
“Are you ready, sir?” the waitress said.
John grinned. “Sir? You think I’m a sir?”
She laughed. “I have to call everyone sir.”
“Even girls?” John teased. Then, taking pity on her, he said, “I’ll have the chicken quesadillas.”
As he handed her the menu, he suddenly saw the blonde. She must have just returned from the rest room because she was in the process of sitting down at a table where a pretty brunette was already seated.
Listening to his buddies with half an ear, he covertly watched the blonde, all the while trying to figure out if he had nerve enough to approach her again. He had just about decided to get up and walk over when she and her friend stood, gathered their belongings and walked off.
Damn!
They were leaving!
“John. Hey, John. You deaf or something? I asked you a question.”
John looked blankly at his friends, mumbled an apology, pushed back his chair and, ignoring their startled questions, took off after the blonde.
By the time he got to the front door, they’d already exited. John dashed out, looked left, then right. There they were, walking toward the parking lot. He reached them just as they climbed into a Jeep Wrangler—the blonde on the driver’s side. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
“Don’t be alarmed. I’m not a stalker.” He grinned. “I did follow you out, though.”
Now she smiled, too. “You did?”
Was it his imagination, or did she seem pleased?
“Yeah, I, uh…” Oh, hell. Might as well go for broke. “Look, I know you don’t know me, but I’m a really nice guy. If you doubt it, my friends inside