Bet Me

  Suppose for the next three weeks she made him pay by stringing him along and then took him to Di’s wedding. He wouldn’t leave her; he had to stick for a month to win his damn bet. All she had to do was say no to sex for three weeks, drag him to her sister’s wedding, and then leave his ass cold.

  Min settled back against the bar and examined the idea from all sides. He more than deserved to be tortured for three weeks. And in that three weeks she could figure out a way to make David suffer, too. And her mother would have somebody beautiful to point out to people at the wedding as her date. It was a plan, and as far as she could see, it was all good.

  The bartender came back and Min said, “Rum and Diet Coke, please. A double.”

  “That’s your third,” Liza said. “And fourth. The aspartame alone will make you insane. What are you doing?”

  “Was he mean to you?” Bonnie said. “What happened?”

  “I didn’t talk to him.” Min waved them away. “Move down the bar a couple of feet, will you? I’m about to get hit on and you’re cramping my style.”

  “We missed something,” Liza said to Bonnie.

  “Move,” Bonnie said, and pushed Liza down the bar.

  Min turned away when the bartender brought her drink, so when The Beast spoke from beside her, she jerked her head up and caught the full force of him unprepared: hot dark eyes, perfect cheekbones, and a mouth a woman would betray her moral fiber to bite into. Her heart kicked up into her throat, and she swallowed hard to get it back where it belonged.

  “I have a problem,” he said, and his voice was low and smooth, warm enough to be charming, rich enough to clog arteries.

  Dark chocolate, Min thought and looked at him blankly, keeping her breathing slow. “Problem?”

  “Well, usually my line is ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ but you have one.” He smiled at her, radiating testosterone through his expensive suit.

  “Well, that is a problem.” She started to turn away.

  “So what I thought,” he said, his voice dropping even lower as he leaned closer to her and made her heart pound, “was that we could go somewhere else, and I could buy you dinner.”

  The closer he got, the better he looked. He was the used car salesman of seducers, Min decided, trying to get her distance back. You could never get a good deal from a used car salesman; they sold cars all the time and you only bought a couple in a lifetime so they always won. Statistically speaking, you were toast before you walked on the lot. She could only imagine how many women this guy had mutilated in his lifetime. The mind boggled.

  His smile had disappeared while he waited for her answer, and he looked vulnerable now, taking a chance on asking her out. He faked vulnerable very well. Remember, she told herself, the son of a bitch is doing this for ten bucks. Actually, he was trying to do her for ten bucks. Cheapskate. Suddenly, breathing normally was not a problem.

  “Dinner?” she said.

  “Yes.” He bent still closer. “Somewhere quiet where we can talk. You look like someone with interesting things to say. And I’m somebody who’d like to hear them.”

  Min smiled at him. “That’s a terrible line. Does it usually work for you?”

  He froze for a second, and then he segued from sincere to boyish again. “Well, it has up till now.”

  “It must be your voice,” Min said. “You deliver it beautifully.”

  “Thank you.” He straightened. “Let’s try this again.” He held out his hand. “I’m Calvin Morrisey, but my friends call me Cal.”

  “Min Dobbs.” She shook his hand and dropped it before it could feel warm in her grasp. “And my friends would call me foolhardy if I left this bar with a stranger.”

  “Wait.” He got out his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “This is cab fare. If I get fresh, you get a cab.”

  Liza would take the twenty and then dump him. There was a plan, but Liza didn’t need a wedding date. What else would Liza do? Min plucked the twenty from his fingers. “If you get fresh, I’ll break your nose.” She folded the twenty, unbuttoned her top two blouse buttons, and tucked the bill into the V of her sensible cotton bra so that only a thin green edge showed. That was one good thing about packing extra pounds, you got cleavage to burn.

  She looked up and caught his eyes looking down, and she waited for him to make some comment, but he smiled again. “Fair enough,” he said, “let’s go eat,” and she reminded herself to ignore what a beautiful mouth he had since it was full of forked tongue.

  “First, promise me no more lame lines,” she said, and watched his jaw clench.

  “Anything you want,” he said.

  Min shook her head. “Another line. I suppose you can’t help it. And free food is always good.” She picked up her purse from the bar. “Let’s go.”

  She walked away before he could say anything else, and he followed her, past a dumbfounded Liza and a delighted Bonnie, across the floor and up onto the landing by the door, and the last thing she saw as they left was David looking outraged.

  The evening was turning out much better than she’d expected.

  Chapter Two

  Liza scowled at the empty doorway. This was not good. When Calvin Morrisey came back in and spoke to David for a moment, it didn’t get better.

  “Do you suppose it was the booze?” Bonnie asked.

  Liza thought fast. “I don’t know what it was, but I don’t like it. Why was he hitting on her?”

  Bonnie frowned. “It’s not like you to be jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous.” Liza transferred her scowl to Bonnie. “Think about it. Min sends out no signals, he’s never talked to her so he can’t know how great she is, and she’s dressed like a nun with an MBA. But he crosses a crowded bar to pick her up—”

  “It’s possible,” Bonnie said.

  “—right after he’s talked to David,” Liza finished, nodding to the landing where a red-faced David was now moving in on the brunette.

  “Oh.” Bonnie looked stricken. “Oh, no.”

  “There’s only one thing we can do.” Liza squared her shoulders. “We’ve got to find out what Calvin the Beast is up to.”

  “How—”

  Liza nodded at the mezzanine. “He was with those two guys. Which one do you want, the big dumb-looking blond or the bullet head?”

  Bonnie followed her eyes to the landing and sighed. “The blond. He looks harmless. The bullet head looks like all hands, and I’m not up to that tonight.”

  “Well, I am.” Liza put her drink on the bar and leaned back. The bullet head was looking right at her. “The last time I saw a brow that low I was watching slides in anthropology class.” She met his stare dead on for a full five seconds. Then she turned back to the bar. “Two minutes.”

  “It’s a crowded room, Lize,” Bonnie said. “Give him three.”

  David had watched Cal open the street door for Min and felt a flare of jealous rage. It wasn’t that he wanted to kick Cal. He always wanted to kick Cal. The guy never broke a sweat, never made a bad business move, never lost a bet, and never hit on a woman and missed. Your therapist warned you about this, he told himself, but he knew it wasn’t just his need to be first in everything. This time the jealousy had an extra twist.

  This time Cal had taken Min. Min who was good, solid wife material except for that stubborn streak which he could have worn down, she’d have come back eventually. But now—

  He stiffened as Cal came back through the door and motioned him over.

  “We’re going to dinner,” Cal said, holding out his hand. “Ten bucks.”

  He sounded mad, which made David feel better as he took out his wallet and handed Cal the ten.

  “Smart move not tipping me that she hates men,” Cal said.

  Then he was gone, and David went back to the railing and said, “I think I just made a mistake.”

  “You, too?” Cynthie said, her voice sad over her martini glass.

  David glanced at the door. “So it wasn’t your idea to break up with Cal?”
/>
  “No.” Cynthie stared at the door. “I thought it was time to get married, so I said, ‘Now or never.’ ” She smiled tightly up at David. “And he said, ‘Sorry.’ ” She drew in a deep breath and David tried not to be distracted by the fact that she was braless under her red jersey dress.

  “That’s lousy.” David leaned against the rail so he couldn’t look down her dress since that would be crass, something Cal Morrisey would do. “Cal must be a moron.”

  “Thank you.” Cynthie turned back to watch the bar as Tony got up from the next table and walked down the stairs with Roger following. Her hair moved like TV hair, a dark silky fall that brushed her shoulders. “I’d love to know how Cal met that woman. I could have sworn he wasn’t dating anybody.”

  David considered telling her that Cal had picked up Min because of the bet and then thought, No. The bet had not been his finest hour. In fact, for the life of him, he couldn’t think why he’d done it, it was as if some malignant force had whispered in his ear. No, it was Cal’s fault, that’s what it was, and it was a disaster because if Min ever found out he’d made that bet . . .

  “Do you know her?” Cynthie said.

  “She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

  “Oh.” Cynthie put her drink down. “Well, I hope Cal’s sorry he picked her up. I hope he realizes what he’s lost once he gets her back to his place.”

  “They’re not going back to his place,” David said. “She won’t.” Cynthie waited, and he added, “She doesn’t like sex.”

  Cynthie smiled.

  David shrugged. “At least, she wouldn’t try it in the two months we were together. So I ended it.”

  Cynthie shook her head, still smiling. “You didn’t give the relationship enough time. What does she do for a living?”

  David stiffened at the criticism. “She’s an actuary. And it strikes me that two months—”

  “David,” Cynthie said, “if you wanted sex in the first five minutes, you should have dated a stripper. If she’s an actuary, she’s a cautious person, her career is figuring out how to minimize risk, and in your case, she was right.”

  David began to dislike Cynthie. “How was she right?”

  “You left her over sex.” Cynthie leaned forward, and David pretended not to watch her breasts under the jersey. “David, this is my specialty. If you loved her, you wouldn’t have given her an ultimatum over sex.”

  “What is it you do?” David said, coldly.

  “I’m a psychologist.” Cynthie picked up her drink, and David remembered some of the gossip he’d heard.

  “You’re the dating guru,” he said, warming to her again. She was practically a celebrity. “You’ve been on TV.”

  “I do guest spots,” Cynthie said. “My research on relationships has been very popular. And all of it tells me you do not give an ultimatum over sex.”

  “You gave Cal one.”

  “Not over sex,” Cynthie said. “I’d never deny him sex. And it wasn’t an ultimatum, it was strategy. We’d been together nine months, we were past infatuation and into attachment, and I knew that all he needed was a physiological cue to make him aware of his true feelings.”

  “That makes no sense at all,” David said.

  Cynthie smiled at him without warmth. “My studies have shown that the process of falling into mature love happens in four steps.” She held up one finger. “When you meet a woman, you subconsciously look for cues that she’s the kind of person you should be with. That’s assumption.” She held up a second finger. “If she passes the assumption test, you begin to get to know her to find out if she’s appropriate for you. If she is, you’re attracted.” She held up a third finger. “If, as you get to know her, the attraction is reinforced with joy or pain or both, you’ll fall into infatuation. And . . .” She held up her fourth finger. “If you manage to make a connection and attach to each other during infatuation, you’ll move into mature, unconditional love.”

  “That seems a little clinical,” David said, faking interest. After all, she was almost a celebrity.

  “That doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” Cynthie said. “Take assumption. Your subconscious mind scans women and picks out those that meet your assumptions about the kind of woman you’re attracted to.”

  “I like to think I’m not close-minded,” David said.

  “Which is why I’m surprised Cal picked up your Min.” Cynthie sipped her drink. “One of his assumptions is that his women will be beautiful.”

  “I always thought Cal was shallow,” David said, and thought, He picked her up for the bet, the bastard.

  “He’s not shallow at all,” Cynthie said. “Since they’ve passed assumption, they’ll now subconsciously gauge attraction. For example, if they fell into step when they left the bar, that could be a strong psychological hint that they’re compatible.” She frowned. “I wish we could watch them at dinner.”

  “And see what?” David said, picking up his drink again. “Them eating in unison?”

  “No,” Cynthie said. “If they mirror each other in action, both crossing their legs the same way, for example. If she accepts his touch with pleasure. If they exchange a copulatory gaze.”

  David choked on his drink.

  “It’s a look that’s held a few seconds too long,” Cynthie said. “It’s a clear sexual signal. All species do it.”

  David nodded and reminded himself not to stare in the future.

  “If their conversation picks up a rhythm with no long silences, that will be attraction. If they develop enough of a relationship to use nicknames.”

  “Min hates nicknames,” David said, remembering a disastrous “honey bun” incident.

  “If they have the same tastes in music or film. If they establish shared secrets or private jokes. If they value the same things. Is Min self-employed?”

  “No,” David said. “She works for Alliance Insurance. Her father is a vice president there.”

  Cynthie’s smile curved across her beautiful face. “Excellent. Cal likes to gamble, so he admires people who take risks. That’s why he refused to go into his father’s business and started his own company instead. He’s not going to be impressed by somebody who’s riding her father’s coattails. He’ll think she’s dull.”

  “That’s good,” David said. The superficial bastard.

  Cynthie nodded over her glass. “Even her attitude will make a difference. Someone who likes you and likes being with you is attractive.” She looked woebegone for a moment. “And of course your Min will be delighted to be with him.”

  “No, she isn’t,” David said, feeling better. “She’s mad at all men right now because I broke things off with her. And she’s got a sharp tongue.”

  Cynthie brightened. “So he’ll combine her bad temper with his analysis of her as someone who’s too conservative. This is sounding very good, David. Will she let him pay for dinner?”

  David shook his head. “Min insists on going Dutch. She’s a very fair woman.”

  “Every species has a dinner date as part of courting ritual,” Cynthie said. “A woman who won’t let you pay for dinner is rejecting your courtship. She may think she’s playing fair, or that she’s being a feminist, but at a very deep level, she knows that she’s crossing you off her list of possibilities.”

  “She won’t let him pay,” David said, rethinking his stance on that. When Min came back, he was going to pay for dinner.

  “So they’ll fight over the check. That’s wonderful.” She sat back, her face relaxed for the first time. “From what you’ve told me about her, Cal is already regretting asking her to leave with him.”

  “That’s good,” David said, cheering up at the thought.

  Cynthie’s smile wavered. “So did you want to go to dinner, or did you ask me out just to make Cal mad?”

  Dinner. If he took Cynthie to dinner, Tony and Roger would tell Cal he and Cynthie had hooked up. That would serve Cal right. He could walk off with the hot brunette who’d dumped the legendary Calvin Morrisey. H
e’d win.

  He put his drink down. “I asked because I wanted to have dinner with you.”

  Cynthie smiled and he was dazzled. Cal was a fool for letting this woman go.

  “And you can tell me more about Min,” Cynthie said.

  “Of course,” David said.

  All about Min. Nothing about the bet.

  Min had waited outside while the beast went back in to retrieve whatever he’d forgotten—his morals, maybe—and the cool air of the June night cleared her head and her anger a little. The bar was on one of her favorite streets, full of funky little shops and restaurants and a great revival theater, and a gentle breeze blew through the skinny trees that struggled to grow in their iron cages along the street edge. For a moment, Min watched the trees and thought, I know just how you feel. Well, she didn’t know the skinny part. But the trapped? Yep.

  Because she was stuck, no doubt about it. Stuck dateless in a stupid bridesmaid’s dress for her sister’s wedding to a dweeb with her mother sighing at her. Because the truth was, she wasn’t going to be able to play somebody like Cal Morrisey for three weeks. It had been a dumb, dumb idea, fueled by rum and rage. For a moment, she wished that she was back in her attic apartment, curled up on her grandmother’s old pumpkin-colored sofa, listening to Elvis’s Moody Blue album. Maybe she wasn’t the type to date, maybe she should just give in to her well-upholstered genes and become a kindly maiden aunt to Diana’s inevitable offspring. It wasn’t as if she wanted kids of her own. And what other purpose did men serve? Well, sex, but look how they acted about that. Honestly—

  A cell phone rang behind her, and she started. When she turned, it was Calvin Morrisey, back again. He reached in his jacket and took out his phone, the kind that had more bells and whistles than any human being needed, and it confirmed her decision: There was no way in hell she was going to spend three weeks with a soulless yuppie just to get a date to Diana’s wedding. She’d go Dutch on dinner and then say good-bye forever; that was a plan.

  She crossed her arms and waited for him to impress her with a business call, but he turned the phone off.

  Min raised her eyebrows. “What if it’s important?”