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  Pete shot straight up, an eager look in his eyes. “So we’re free tonight?”

  “You’re free,” Travis corrected. “I’m doing the research. But yeah, whatever you wanna do, go have fun.”

  Pete gave a whoop and bounced off the bed. “Come on, you can research later. Let’s go get that drink now. God knows I need cold beer and a hot woman or two about now. I didn’t even get a chance to hook up with an old fuck buddy before this trip.”

  Travis shook his head, laughed a little. Neither suffered from lack of women while in the States. But returning from a seven-month deployment in Afghanistan, where the only ass a man could get came with four legs and a tail, usually made a man horny enough to binge for days on good sex. “You go, have fun. There’s a few bars within walking distance.”

  Pete gave his shoulder a shove. “Come on. For fuck’s sake, Trav, you didn’t hook up with anyone before we left for Philly either. I should know, we usually switch halfway through the night. Just put The Great Sister Search aside for one night and let’s have a good time.”

  Just then, Trav’s phone vibrated on the desk where he’d tossed the contents of his pocket. Both men looked at the cell, then at each other. Pete shook his head. “Fine. You stay in and text with the imaginary girl of your dreams who you will never meet. Meanwhile, I’m gonna go have a good time.” He walked to the door and opened it before turning back. “And you’ll be jealous,” he added with a wink, then shut the door behind him.

  “Maybe,” Travis conceded to the empty room before picking up the phone. But somehow he doubted it.

  Chapter Two

  Ariel’s unplanned nap was rudely interrupted when something scratchy landed on top of her head. She’d fallen asleep while reading her textbook and one of the pages was stuck to her cheek. As she jerked her head back, the page ripped from the book. Well, shit. That’ll take down the resale value. She replaced the page, making a mental note to tape it later, and removed the scratchy item from her head.

  It was a black tank top with sequins that she wore when she went out. Looking around, she found the real source of the interruption. With one shoulder propped against the doorway to her room, Mary Ellen stood and watched. Her tiny friend’s auburn hair was tousled in that I-just-got-out-of-bed-and-don’t-you-wish-it-was-yours look, her torso encased in a hunter-green halter, and she wore what Ariel knew was Mary Ellen’s favorite miniskirt with her tallest heels.

  “All right, what gives?” she asked her friend as she held the shirt up as evidence.

  “It occurred to me that you haven’t really done much of anything recently besides study and go to class and work at the camp. And then, after that lightning bolt of realization struck, I also remembered that I haven’t done much of anything besides work the stables and sit on my ass. So,” she concluded with a firm nod, “we’re going out. We’re finding ourselves a hot pair of men and we’re going to wash away our worries with orgasms and cocktails. Probably not in that order, though.”

  “We are?”

  Mary Ellen nodded again and pointed to the shirt still dangling from Ariel’s fingertips. “We are. Now put that thing on or pick out something else that doesn’t scream ‘I’m a nerd with no social life’, pop in your contacts so you’re not blind as a bat and let’s go out. No classes tomorrow, nothing at the camp to show up for until breakfast crew. So come on.”

  “Are you so horny that you’ve become desperate? Am I your last hope of getting laid?” she joked.

  “No, not my last hope. You know I love going out with you.” Mary Ellen walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner and shrugged her shoulders so her own shirt shifted down, displaying more cleavage. She looked at Ariel through the reflection. “But horny, that I’ll cop to.”

  Ariel laughed at that. Mary Ellen definitely had a healthy sex life. And if it wasn’t for her friend’s prodding, Ariel wouldn’t have had half the experiences she’d had herself. She wasn’t as naturally bold and adventurous as Mary Ellen, but she was just as curious and driven by sexual urges as the next red-blooded woman. With Mary Ellen by her side—her safety buddy, they joked—it was easier.

  When Ariel didn’t say anything, Mary Ellen raised a brow. “Okay, I was half joking about the horny part, but come on. Aren’t you? I know when the last time you had sex was…I was there. So come on. Let’s do something before that puss of yours goes stale from inactivity.”

  She sat for a moment, ran a hand through her tangled hair. She really should study, every second counted. But she was so burned out that her books currently had more drool than highlighted notes in them. Maybe one night out would help. And, blunt and crude though she was, Mary Ellen was right. Her own “healthy sex life” had turned into more of a “healthy study life”.

  “Give me a few minutes to do something with myself and we can go,” Ariel said, making up her mind. She went to the dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans, tossing them on the bed. As they landed with a thump, her cell phone beeped on her pillow.

  “I’ll check it. You get dressed,” Mary Ellen said and pushed Ariel toward the closet to pick out shoes. Though Ariel’s fingers itched to check, she steeled herself against the irritating urge to look and forced herself to pick out an outfit instead.

  A few seconds later, still trying to decide between skyscraper heels that would make her legs look better or lower heels that would be more comfortable, she asked, “What was the text?”

  A hint of amusement touched Mary Ellen’s voice as she asked, “What type of places would a woman your age go to hang out? Where should I look?”

  “What?” Ariel popped her head back out to look at the other woman, sitting on her bed.

  Mary Ellen waved the cell phone. “That’s what the text says. Oh,” she said, almost as an afterthought, though Ariel knew it was an act. “It’s signed, ‘Trav’.” When Ariel didn’t say a word, Mary Ellen’s eyes narrowed. “This is him, isn’t it? That guy you’ve been texting?”

  “Maybe,” Ariel said, turning back to the closet. One of the million curses of having pale skin was how easily she blushed. It was impossible to hide with her cream complexion. And right then, her face felt like it was on fire. Not that she knew why, since texting with Trav wasn’t wrong. No, not in the slightest. Not at all. Nothing wrong with—

  “I’m not an idiot. I can still see your neck and it’s flaming red,” Mary Ellen said dryly.

  Ariel just managed to not to rub the offending area. “Shut up,” she muttered then grabbed the skyscraper heels and walked over to the bed. She extended her hand, motioning for Mary Ellen to relinquish the phone.

  “Playing with fire,” Mary Ellen murmured when Ariel flipped the phone open to text back. “You going to deal with the faceless man all night? Or come out and have fun with a real one?”

  Ariel glanced at the phone, then at the shoes in her hands. Either she’d been studying too long and her brain was fried, or the symbolism of real full-color life and the vague ghost of a social life she could have with Trav the Texter really existed. Did she stay at home and talk with someone named Trav who might or might not even be who he said he was? Or go out with her best friend and find someone who was real, flesh-and-blood and have the opportunity for a good night of no-strings-attached sex?

  Decision made, she closed her cell, shoved it into her bag and picked up her jeans. “I’m in.”

  * * * * *

  When on the hunt for a man, the best place was the gender’s natural watering hole. Also known as a sports bar.

  Dance clubs with tiny tables and pink drinks were fun for a girls’ night out. But when those girls wanted a man, or men…well, it stood to reason you went where the men were.

  At least that was Mary Ellen’s theory, devised from years of experience. Go where the men you want congregate. Which brought Ariel and her best friend to The Home Stretch, their favorite sports bar on Ariel’s side of the city. Though the place was a testosterone trap with flat screens showcasing various sporting events on them, dark wood a
nd athletic memorabilia on the walls, it wasn’t anti-female. There was no smoke in the air, the sound of the games didn’t drown out conversation and the beers were both affordable and didn’t taste like they came out of the bottom of a day-old keg.

  Two light beers later, they’d commandeered a high-top table near the big screens. The bar was warm and Ariel slipped her jacket off while sniffing appreciatively at the pleasant smell of man. She took one long swig of beer, relishing the taste. Mary Ellen wasn’t a fan and tended to nurse one beer as long as possible. She’d have rather had a fruity cocktail, but swore it made men less likely to approach because it screamed, “I’m high maintenance!” But Ariel never minded a cold one after work or a long study session, though getting drunk had never appealed to her.

  “Are you on the prowl for someone specific tonight?” Ariel asked.

  “For someone specific in this place?”

  Ah. Ariel knew immediately why her friend had been so desperate to go out.

  “What’d he do this time?” she asked softly. The “he” was obvious between the two of them… Brice. Ariel’s brother.

  Mary Ellen rolled her eyes, took a large drink and winced a little as she put the bottle back down. “Same shit, different day.” Her voice dropped, mimicking Brice’s deep timber. “We’re not supposed to be together, Mary Ellen. We’re just not. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Just accept it.” She took another sip, smaller this time, and her voice returned to its usual pitch. “Bullshit. It’s all bull. He stares at me, he looks like he wants to snap someone’s neck when I talk about going out with another guy. Tells me I shouldn’t be dating or seeing so many guys. But will he grow a pair and ask me out?”

  “No,” Ariel replied.

  “No!” Mary Ellen went on, as if Ariel hadn’t said a word. “He won’t talk about why, he won’t give me a reason, but he hates that I don’t just sit around waiting for him to man up.” She sat back, a pretty pout on her lips, auburn hair swinging. “It sucks.”

  “I know, sweetie.” Ariel rubbed her friend’s arm in comfort. “But did you ever think that running out to have a one-nighter every time Brice pisses you off isn’t the answer?”

  Mary Ellen shrugged. “I’m not going to die a ninety-year-old virgin because the one man I’d want to spend forever with won’t even give me for now. So why not have fun? It’s not like I ever lead these guys on, you know that. It’s a use-use situation. A one-night hook-up. Scratch the itch. Which,” she added, looking peeved again, “wouldn’t itch at all if Brice would just—”

  “Hold it.” Ariel put up a hand. “We’re all adults and I’m not deluding myself into thinking my brother’s a monk or something. But still, can we lay off the sex references when referring to Brice?”

  Her friend smiled. “Yeah, fine.” Sitting up straight, she asked, “So, see anything that strikes your nerdy fancy?”

  “Har har,” Ariel muttered. She didn’t really mind the nerd label. She studied enough to earn it and it wasn’t given with malicious intent. But still…at times she wished she could be done with school already. Actually in a full-time job instead of full-time school plus work. Enough free time to devote to an actual relationship instead of the occasional fling. But for now, this was as good as it got. Besides, she hadn’t met anyone who made her want to bust buns to fit a fulfilling relationship into the cracks of her life anyway. Maybe she’d reevaluate if she did. For now…fun only.

  Mary Ellen groaned. Before Ariel could ask what the problem was, she heard a familiar voice over her shoulder and gave an inward groan to match her friend’s.

  “You ladies ready for another round yet?”

  The problem with having one main place to go out for a drink was that you often ran into the same people over and over again. Same staff, which was convenient since the Home Stretch staff was helpful and fun. Same regulars, most of whom were sweet if not invisible. But also the same assholes. And one was stinking up the place right behind her.

  “Hello, Mark,” Ariel said, pasting a polite—if a little cool—smile on her face. “No, I think we’re fine right now, but thank you for asking.” Hoping to cut off further conversation, knowing it probably wouldn’t work, she deliberately turned her back on Mark the Married Moron.

  Mark had been hitting on them almost since the first time they came to the Home Stretch. Fortunately the bartender or one of the servers would often run interference if they saw the women struggling with the leech. Unfortunately it was busy and everyone appeared occupied, leaving them to cope on their own.

  Not taking the hint of his unwelcome status, he slid between the two of them, draping an arm not-so-casually over their shoulders. “Ladies. I’ve been coming to your table for months now. Every time you’re around, I ask to buy you a drink. And yet you never take me up on it. Why is that?”

  Mary Ellen removed his arm with delicate finality, using her thumb and forefinger to pry the roaming digits from her shoulder. “For one, you’re married.”

  “Just a piece of paper,” he said, falling right into their usual argument. “And don’t give me the ‘We’re just here to have a girls’ night out’. I’ve seen you leave with guys before. Hell, sometimes you just leave with one.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Ariel had to swallow the urge to vomit. “You ladies are into the sharing thing, aren’t you?”

  He was right on that one. They didn’t mind sharing, it was fun to mix it up from time to time if they were both attracted to the same guy. And going home with a pair of roommates wasn’t out of the question either. But she had a good idea that Mark’s idea of sharing involved her and Mary Ellen going at it like experimenting college freshmen while he got his rocks off before going home to his wife.

  Pass.

  “Really, we go through this every time. It’s not going to happen,” Ariel said, trying to keep the bite out of her tone. He was an idiot and a cheater, but she didn’t want to be rude or unnecessarily mean. Once more she glanced around to see if any servers had a moment to run interference. No such luck. She slipped away from his grabbing hand by making a show of standing up next to her chair.

  “Ladies. A Mark Sandwich seems like a great way to end the night,” he said, his voice holding some fake, not-so-sensual purr and he wiggled his eyebrows again. The guy had been watching too many really cheesy eighties porn videos.

  Mary Ellen, less concerned about being rude and more concerned about losing valuable prowling time, said, “Mark, honestly. Stop coming over here. It’s never going to happen. There will never be a Mark Sandwich, or a Mark Taco, or a Mark Pita. Get over it.”

  Mark’s eyes, which had a bedroom, hooded look before narrowed into anger. “You can’t be serious. You walk out of here all the time with all manner of boys and you won’t give a real man a go?”

  “If they want a real man, they probably wouldn’t want you.”

  Ariel looked to her left, surprised to see their savior was not a Home Stretch employee but another patron.

  His black hair was buzzed short on the sides, tapering up into a military-style haircut. He wore a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans. He wasn’t a large man, almost eye level with her in her heels, and his shoulders weren’t particularly broad. But what he lacked in physical stature, he made up in sheer presence. His face was one step from pissed and his arms were crossed in a don’t-fuck-with-me manner.

  “Not your concern, son,” Mark said, trying once more to get an arm around Ariel. She sidestepped, bringing her closer to the stranger’s side. Better the devil you don’t know, at least in this situation. She noticed Mary Ellen had risen and was inching around the table toward their unnamed knight in shining Banana Republic.

  “When a woman says no and a male doesn’t respect it, it’s my concern,” he said mildly, a direct contrast to his fight-ready stance. “Are you finished here?”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed farther and his hand gripped the top of the chair she’d vacated so hard his knuckles turned white. “When someone s
ticks their nose in where it doesn’t belong, we handle that with an ass-kicking.”

  Although Ariel appreciated the intervention, she didn’t want the situation turning into a bar brawl. But before she could say a word, their unnamed hero stepped forward, lowering his voice so his words didn’t carry past the table.

  “Listen up. They don’t want you, and they may not want me either. But the fact is, you’re hassling them and I’ll do something about it if it comes to that. I’ve got ten years in the Corps behind me and a black belt as well. Do you really want this to turn into a cage match? Because I guarantee you, you’ll go home bloody and have to explain that to your wife.”

  Obviously the realistic odds that he would have the crap beat out of him started sinking in and Mark backed up. He glared first at Mary Ellen, then at Ariel before muttering, “Wouldn’t have been worth it,” and stalked off toward the bar.

  “Oh, it would have,” Mary Ellen shot back under her breath before she turned to their savior. Over the man’s shoulder, Ariel caught the tell-tale gleam in her friend’s eye. The man might as well have a bull’s eye painted on his forehead, because when Mary Ellen got that look, the man it was aimed at was a goner.

  “Ellen. Nice to meet you, White Knight.” She stuck out her hand, giving him the name she always gave men in bars, following her never-too-safe plan. Their mystery man shook her hand and she kept hold of it while nudging his shoulders her way. “This is my friend Mackenzie.”

  Ariel had to bite back a smile. Mackenzie was her middle name. She wasn’t as cautious as Mary Ellen, but she went along with the rules to make her friend feel better.

  Mary Ellen released the man’s hand long enough for Ariel to shake it. Strong grip, which she appreciated. He wouldn’t be treating her like a wilting flower. “Thank you. Mark’s been bothersome before, but usually leaves before embarrassing anyone.”

  “Not a problem.” He flashed her a smile, white teeth against tanned skin. “Never fails to piss me off when a man can’t respect the word ‘no’. Either he hasn’t heard it enough, or he’s heard it too much.” With a wry glance over his shoulder toward the bar, he added, “I’m guessing the married guy’s heard it too much.”