Page 22 of Pity Present

Blake points to the bar table set up next to the dancing chipmunks. “Let’s go see,” he says.

I remain quiet on the way to our destination. Blake makes me nervous. He’s exactly the kind of guy I could imagine seeing myself with, but he’s made it clear I’m not the kind of woman he’s looking for. Without thinking, I blurt out, “So what’s your ideal woman like?”

“Over three feet tall but under seven feet.”

I stop walking and stare him down. “Excuse me?”

He stops moving and says, “She walks on two legs, unless of course she only has one, then I’d have to assume she might hobble a little.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

His smile is enough to set loose a flock of butterflies in my stomach. “I don’t know what my ideal woman is like,” he says. “I haven’t met her yet.”

“You mean you don’t have a type?” I find it hard to believe that Blake’s future mate might be a three-foot, six-inch, peg-legged pirate.

“I’ve dated a lot of different kinds of women,” he says.

I snort loudly in response.

“You don’t believe me?”

I suddenly return to the nervous mass of awkwardness that I’ve always been around him. “It’s just that … well …”—I point at the top of his head and let my finger slowly move toward his feet—“you’re not exactly, you know …”

“A lumberjack?” he teases.

Oh, he could be a lumberjack all right. Before a trail of drool slides down my mouth, I manage to say, “You’re not exactly unattractive.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

He smiles endearingly. “You’re not exactly unattractive yourself.”

“That’s not much of a compliment,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so either when you said the same about me.”

“Sorry about that.”Why can’t I act normally around this man?

He gestures toward the bar. “What do you say we go get you that drink. Then maybe we can wander around the room together looking for our soulmates.”

That says it all, doesn’t it? As if I needed reminding, Blake does not see me as a potential love interest. And being that we’re at a singles’ event, if he were even slightly interested in a five-foot, six-inch brunette with blue eyes, he’d certainly let me know, wouldn’t he? Either that or he’s decided I’m too awkward to catch his fancy. In truth, that’s a real possibility.

“I think I’ll get that gin after all,” I tell him.

When we reach the bar, he tells the bartender, “We’d like two gin martinis, dry, straight up with olives. Make them extra cold, please.”

“How do you know that’s how I like my martini?” I ask, surprised that he nailed my order.

With a slow grin, he answers, “Because you’re clearly not a barbarian.”

Laughter erupts out of me. “Only barbarians drink their martinis on the rocks with lemon twists?”

“Obviously,” he says with such dry humor I want to throw myself into his arms and beg him to like me. Short of that, I guess I’ll just enjoy spending whatever time I can with him.

As soon as we get our drinks, we hear a loud tapping sound before Trina’s voice is amplified around the room. She says, “I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves. I have a lot of fun things planned for us in the next two weeks. But first things first …”

She gestures around the room. “Turn to the first person of the opposite sex you see.” She waits while we follow orders, then she says, “Now, tell them something about yourself that you’ve never told a potential suitor.” So much for tonight just being a meet and greet.

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