Page 2 of Highball and Chain

Jack, bless his heart, walked to a jewelry case and pulled out a necklace. “Here. Put this on, and no one will notice the dress.”

The thing looked like it cost more than my car. “I can’t. What if I lose it?”

“It’s insured.” He motioned me closer. “A girl has to look the part, even if the girl lives on a dental floss budget.”

I turned my back to him. “The term is shoe-string.”

“Honey, in your case, it’s more like thread.” Jack fastened the necklace and spun me around. “Gorgeous, but you’re late.”

“I know. I know. I was working.” I zipped my backpack and hoisted it to my shoulder.

“Leave the bag.” He pointed at my wrist. “And the watch.”

“I can’t. I don’t have a purse and this dress doesn’t have pockets.” I batted my lashes. “And without my watch, how will I know how many steps I’ve taken?”

This time, Jack did groan. “One of these days, I’ll make a girl out of you.”

Laughing, I handed over my backpack and spy watch. “It’s woman, and no thanks.”

“Well, you’re all woman tonight.” His voice came out somewhere between strangled and breathy.

I turned and caught him checking out my ass. That’s new. “Thanks, Jack.”

“I have a gold brocade bag in back that will match the embroidery on your dress…”

I’d wasted another ten minutes, but Jack had hooked me up with an antique clutch and earrings.

“Thanks. You’re the best.” I planted a kiss on his cheek.

“So you keep saying.” He looked me over as if I were one of his antiques. “Remember, be polite, smile a lot, and for God’s sake, don’t talk about religion or politics.”

“Not a problem. I don’t plan on talking to anyone except Maggie and Dahlia, and all we gab about is sex.” I checked my reflection one last time. Thanks to the ballcap I’d worn on the stakeout, my hair stuck out at odd angles. I smoothed the short pieces in hopes of achieving an Audrey Hepburn vibe.

“Live a little. Branch out. Cozy up to one of the Marchionni brothers before they’re all married off.” He sounded like he’d swallowed something foul.

No-freaking-thank-you. “If you’re so interested in the Marchionnis, you should come to the party as my plus one.”

Jack lowered his brows. “Unless you’re proposing a threesome, I’ll have to pass.”

“Now there’s a mental picture I’ll never be able to un-see.”

In all honesty, Jackson Landry had it going on in the looks department, but he was like a brother to me. The thought of him getting busy with anyone, male or female or anything in between, gave me the heebie-jeebies. As for the Marchionnis, they could bump uglies with whoever they wanted as long as it wasn’t me.

He wrapped his hands around my upper arms and waited until I met his gaze. “Seriously, Shoshanna, isn’t it time you let someone in besides your cat?”

“Hey, don’t you dare besmirch Mr. Boogerre. He’s soft, round, and is happy as long as I feed him. He’s the perfect man.”

“Stop deflecting.” Jack folded his arms. “There are men in this world who would never hurt you if you’d only give them a chance.”

“I know, but if I set the bar any lower, I’ll have to bury it.” Best-guy-friend or not, I didn’t have time for this conversation. “I have dated, and I’ve learned battery-operated-boyfriends are a better bet. Less disappointment.”

“You’re deflecting again.”

“Bye, Jack.” I shook my head and exited the shop.

I didn’t hate men or anything. I just didn’t have much luck playing the dating lottery. I’d shared few magical hours with Enzo Marchionni, a card-carrying member of the Bourbon Street Bad Boys’ Club. After which, I’d spent my nights on the phone and my days texting with him. For a brief shining moment, I’d thought we had a connection.

Enzo asked me to dinner, but he’d canceled and ghosted me like a bad Tinder hook-up. A few days later, I’d caught him with an Italian super-model type.

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