Two Wrongs Make a Right (12 page)

~~*~~

Parked in front of Megan’s for over an hour, it’d been pure torture waiting. At five-thirty, nerves getting the best of Quinn, she finally saw her friend pull into the drive. Quinn bounded from the car to meet her.

With manila folders clutched to her chest, Megan struggled to get out of the car. Before she could, Raynie’s red VW bug wheeled in. She joined them at the front entrance. Once Megan got the door open, they filed in behind her.

“I have some guys for you to consider,” Megan said. “I want this done before Charlie gets home, so let’s hurry.”

Quinn’s stomach fluttered. “I’m anxious to see them.” She scooted a chair from the table and sat. “I’ve done the calculations, and it turns out Memorial Day weekend will be perfect for conception.”

“That doesn’t give us much time,” Raynie said. “What if you can’t figure out how to make contact by then? I mean, we need to find out what the guy does socially.”

Quinn opened the first folder. “He’s cute.”

Megan leaned over for a better view. “Dennis Blackmon. He works in the tech department. Forty. Divorced. No kids. He’s been with the company five years.”

Quinn laid the file on the right and opened the next one. “Ooh, he’s hot.” A mixture of Greek god and super hero. Square jaw. Dark eyes and hair. Perfect teeth. Quinn considered how his offspring would look. Beautiful.

Raynie leaned closer. “Holy crap. If you don’t choose him, I will.”

“Yeah. He’s a hottie all right,” Megan said. “Mike LeShaw. Thirty-six. Single, never married. Legal department.”

Quinn placed his folder on the left.

“Wait,” Raynie said. “Which stack are you considering?”

“On the right.”

“What? You’re culling Hottie McHottie? What’s wrong with you?”

“I pictured him naked and he’ll be way prettier than me. My ego can’t take that.”

“In my experience, first time out, they pay little attention to visuals,” Raynie said. “Make sure the lights are low.”

“You should know,” Megan said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just saying.”

Raynie smiled. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Megan presented the final folder. “I saved the best for last.” She passed it to Quinn.

“He is cute. More than cute. Those dimples are nice. What’s his story?”

“Justin Malone. Divorced. One child. A little boy. Marketing department.”

Raynie stared at her phone, then spoke to Megan. “If he’s into country music, there’s a whole bunch of Texas bands performing that weekend down on 5th and 6th streets. If he’s a fan, comp him some tickets.”

“Why would I do that? He’d suspect something was up.”

“Tell him that company trying to buy y’all out gave them as a gift for your hard work, but you can’t use them because you have plans already.”

Megan considered it for a minute. “Okay. That should work. But if he doesn’t take the bait, I’m done. One try. Understand?”

Quinn nodded. “If he doesn’t, I’ll accept it isn’t meant to be.”

~~*~~

A week later, hard at work on her last dating article, Quinn’s phone sounded. She stopped typing.
Megan
. This was the day her partner in crime planned to set up the meeting.

She slid the bar to accept and crossed her fingers. “Hello.”

“Well, it worked. He didn’t even hesitate.”

Quinn released the breath she’d been holding. “Good. Now what?”

“What do you mean, now what? I’ve done my part. The ball is in your court.”

“It’d be nice if you could find out which of the three bars he’s going to.”

“When he came to get the tickets, I asked who he was excited to see, and he said—get a load of this—wait for it—the band, Emory
Quinn
.”

“Oh my God. To quote Raynie. ‘This is fate. Written in the stars. Meant to be.’ How crazy is it the band has my name?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of spooky.”

“My heart is beating so fast right now. I have so much to do. Nails, waxing, teeth cleaned.” She took a quick breath. “I should buy new panties.”

“You should slow down before you have a heart attack.”

Quinn’s head reeled. The plot was in place and she didn’t know if her emotions were due to excitement or fear. On one hand, she didn’t have to worry about trying to impress the guy for a long term relationship. But on the other, she’d never hooked up and fallen into bed with a stranger. “Thanks for doing this, Megan.”

“Don’t thank me. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Quinn twirled around in front of the mirror and studied her butt in the black pencil skirt. Pleased with the way it hugged her hips, she went back to the closet to choose a blouse. A pang of regret tightened her chest. This night was about seduction, and she wasn’t sure she had any clothing sexy enough.

The pale pink silk was nice, but the bottom button was missing. Why did she obsess over such a small detail? If things went according to plan, Justin wouldn’t be paying attention to buttons, except to undo them and get her naked.

She laid it on the bed and held up the starched white shirt. Not as fancy as the pink. More sophisticated. Tailored. Add a string of pearls, perfect. She threaded her arms through the sleeves, buttoned it up and tucked it in.

The ensemble wasn’t the typical honky-tonk flair, but that would make her stand out in the crowd, or she should say, competition. There’d be plenty of women there wanting to hook up just as she was. Well, the rest of them probably didn’t want to get pregnant, but most likely they’d be younger. Skinnier. Prettier. According to Megan, since Justin’s divorce, he’d never brought a woman to a company function, so she didn’t have a clue what kind of woman he preferred.

Younger and thinner
. The words pounded in her head. She spun around again to check out the finished product. She didn’t have a skinny bone in her body. Everything was full and rounded. How depressing. She’d never picked up a man in a bar, or had a one-night stand. If he rejected her, what would be her next move? Go back to the dating game?

She’d practiced make-believe conversation all week, and read about him in the company newsletters. Fantasized about him at night. How it would feel to stand next to him. To be in his arms. Kiss him. He was taller than Brad. Broader. At five-six, she’d never felt petite with her former boyfriend since he was five-nine. Closing her eyes, she prayed for strength to finish her scheme.

~~*~~

Dak rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth and wondered why he’d agreed to the night out. A public bar hadn’t been his choice of entertainment in a while and certainly not a redneck saloon. Women were there. Lonely. Desperate. And although those types could be a good thing for his hormones, he’d made his no-pickup rule a long time ago and stuck to it. Most were interested in finding another daddy for their children, and if there was one thing he didn’t want, it was raising another man’s kids, and dealing with a jerk of an ex-husband. No woman was worth that. Not to him. He wouldn’t let a one-night fling ruin his future. Surviving two tours in Iraq and one crazy woman’s boyfriend was his limit.

Earlier today, Dalton’s Department Store finally accepted his ad campaign, so tonight he’d celebrate. A multi-million dollar deal for his company and sizeable bonus for him. He planned to let loose. And because of that, he’d drive to his condo in town, and take a taxi to the bar. That way, if he drank too much, he didn’t have to find another way home, and leave his truck in a vacant parking lot.

On Saturday, he’d sleep late, and work in a trip to the grocery store before heading to the cabin. A juicy steak and a quiet evening sounded good. The extra hours put in concerning the last client hadn’t allowed him much free time, but it’d paid off.

With one last look in the mirror, he ran his hand through his hair, picked up his wallet and keys, then strode out of the house full of anticipation.

~~*~~

The closer Quinn got to the hotel, the more she second guessed the plan. What was wrong with her? The way her luck had been going concerning the opposite sex, there was no guarantee Justin would show up, and if he did, no assurance he’d be interested.

For the second time, she pulled to the shoulder and considered her choice. Even after planning, could it work? A reserved hotel room waited, and she’d chosen a fake name. Also, researched a medical supply company in El Paso where she could claim employment. It was far enough away from Austin, seeing him again would be impractical. She laughed out loud. What a joke. Even if she got him into bed, he’d never want to see her again.

She took her hands from the steering wheel, but they were shaking so much, she gripped it again to stop the tremors. No. She’d come too far to turn back now. She’d bought new panties.

With a wave of new resolve, she pulled back into traffic. Thirty minutes later, she stood at the window of her second floor room and stared across the street at the bar. Rowdy’s flashed in red neon, and the marquee read: ONE PERFORMANCE ONLY, EMORY QUINN, 8 PM.

Her stomach somersaulted.
Molly Harper, Molly Harper, Molly Harper.
She’d repeated the fake name so much over the last week, she’d gotten comfortable with it. Everything was in place. Alias. Rented car. Fabricated job and hometown. Faulty condoms.

Turning from the window, she opened her luggage. After putting the toiletries in the bathroom, she placed the condoms in the side pocket of the suitcase. She felt sure he’d buy her latex allergy story and use her protection instead of his. She’d poked plenty of holes in three of the twelve, and made sure they were first in the box. If she convinced him to stay over, and seduced him once tonight, and again before he left tomorrow, her odds went up.

She glanced at her watch. Seven. Too nervous to wait in her room, she checked her makeup one more time, then headed to the elevator.

A few minutes later, she stood inside the club. Most of the tables were full, so she went straight to the bar and ordered a virgin banana daiquiri. Even though alcohol offered fortitude, it was better to keep her wits. Making friends with the bartender, she gave him instructions, then slipped him a couple of twenties.
I must be in Molly Harper mode because Quinn Dorsey would do none of this.

A group of girls let out shrill yelps, and she turned to look at them. In tank tops and jeans, they appeared to be in their early twenties. Probably sorority sisters celebrating someone reaching the legal drinking age.

Nope, this mission wasn’t normal for Quinn. This was an out-of-body experience. Sensible Quinn didn’t go to bars to pick up men. Molly Harper was a wild woman.

Eyes fixed on Quinn, one coed approached. When she reached the counter, she propped a hip on the next stool and rested her elbow on the bar. “Hey, Dave, we need another round of shots,” she ordered, then spoke to Quinn. “Are you here all by yourself or meeting someone?”

Surprised by the question, she stuttered. “Oh…I…”

The blue-eyed blonde laughed. “We noticed you standing here and thought we’d invite you to join our party. The more the merrier.”

She started to refuse, but her alter ego stepped up to the plate. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

“No intrusion.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Natalie.”

Quinn clasped it. “Molly. In that case, sure. What are y’all celebrating? Birthday? Bachelorette party?”

“Kristen’s divorce. It was final today.” She pointed to a dark haired girl in the center of the pack.

Quinn squinted to bring the girl into focus. She looked too young to be married, much less divorced. “Wow, she must have married when she was a teenager.”

“Nah. Twenty-five.”

“But she barely looks twenty-five.”

Dave slid the brown platter of drinks across the bar. Natalie grabbed the tray and balanced it on one hand. “Starter marriage. Seven months. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

Quinn followed to the table and met the crew. The honoree wasn’t hard to identify. Across her white tank top were the words, I DO, I DID, I DON’T.

As much as Quinn appreciated the invitation, she was out of place. These girls were ten years her junior. Another decade would pass before they had to worry about gravity pulling anything south.

Molly slapped sense into her. She refused to let pragmatic Quinn bring her down. The house band started a roaring rendition of Gretchen Wilson’s,
Here for the Party
. Kristen pulled Quinn to her feet, and they danced and hollered until the song ended. Lord, Quinn hoped they didn’t follow up with
Redneck Woman
, because her heart was pounding and Molly wasn’t any better off.

At a quarter till eight, Quinn’s nerves took over again. Still no sign of Justin, and the show started in fifteen minutes. He’d probably decided not to come. Just as well. With all the young, sexy women in the bar, she’d be the last person he’d notice. She wanted to leave, but Molly reasoned with her. The band wasn’t one she was familiar with, but she’d read they were all native Texans.

Keeping an eye on the entrance, she started on her second virgin daiquiri. Her palms sweated. Lord, she hoped her armpits weren’t doing the same. She felt hot all over and not in a good way.

~~*~~

By the time Dak parked at his condo and took the taxi ride to the club, it was almost eight. Just enough time for a drink before the show.

Once inside, he scanned the room for Luke. Not an easy task with the lights so dim. Then he saw him at the end of the bar. A group of rowdy women occupied the table between the stage and where Luke stood. Dak gave them a cursory glance as he sidled up next to his friend. They were all young, loud, and sporting tight jeans and low-cut tanks. Except for one. She looked out of place. Like she should be in a courtroom instead of a local watering hole.

Dak leaned in to Luke and asked, “You the only one here?”

“Here comes another one.”

Justin eased up to the bar. “Hey, y’all been here long?”

“Just now.”

The bartender came over. “What can I get you?”

“Blue Moon.”

“Balcones, neat.”

“Ben coming?”