Page 32 of A Wild Card Kiss
Underestimate me.
I am not staying in.
I am not curling up and downing a carton of Häagen-Dazs.
I am taking myself out in my goddamn dress.
Stuffing my phone into my colorful clutch, I get the hell out of my apartment, hitting the sidewalk on a Saturday night.
I wander through Russian Hill, weaving unnoticed through crowds. Across the street, a woman dressed as a leprechaun skips down the block. As I round the corner, a man in a porkpie hat rides a unicycle. No one gives the woman in the wedding dress a second look as she wanders the city solo.
San Francisco is awesome and wonderful, and this is why I loved and missed this city when I was in Los Angeles building my business.
I walk, and I walk, and I walk into the night until I see a sign for Pinup Lanes advertising a Saturday-night special on tequila and bowling.
I’ll take what’s behind door number one, thank you very much.
I head inside. It’s so old school, and this is what I need right now.
Brimming with orange Formica and fifties tunes, this place is nothing at all like the Legion of Honor, my mural-artist almost-husband, or the ceremony I didn’t have.
I head to the bar, order a shot, and knock it back.
It burns all the way down.
I order one more, and when the bartender sets it down, I notice footsteps growing louder on the linoleum behind me.
I turn my head. Glance over my shoulder.
Is that…?
No way.
Tonight, after all these years, my eyes land on the guy who got away.
Chapter 11
Harlan
Holy smokes.
She is a sight.
As sexy as Katie was more than seven years ago, she’s somehow even more stunning today. Her hair is all done up and clipped back, with lush, dark-blond strands curling over her shoulders. Her skin shimmers. Her high cheekbones slant in fantastic contrast to her pert, freckled nose.
The last seven years have been very good to her.
And yet, everything about the woman is incongruous. It’s not a stretch to imagine there’s something wildly wrong tonight. A woman doesn’t wear a wedding dress solo to a bowling alley bar on a Saturday night in July without a reason. But I don’t want to make any assumptions. Hell, her groom might be in the little boys’ room, taking care of business.
Or waxing a big, old bowling ball.
Or playing a speed sesh of Pac-Man in the video game lounge.
But a quick glance around tells me she’s not here with the mister after sayingI do. The place is mostly empty with just a few groups of old dudes in bowling shirts left of the crowd, and no one who looks like he got hitched today. So I’m thinking Katie and her man didn’t rush off to Pinup Lanes for an ironic game of bowling to celebrate their nuptials.
Just to be safe, though, I go in nice and easy. I’d like to avoid hitting on another man’s bride.
What am I saying? I’m not going to hit on her, period. I’m merely saying hello to an old flame.
