Page 108 of One Week Wingman

“No, Mexico.”

Flynn snaps his fingers. “That’s right. Whatever happened to those dancers, the ones with the…”

“Sparkling conversation skills?” Jackson finishes. “No idea.”

They greet each other with a manly backslap/hug combo, and my heart sinks.

He’s Flynn’s buddy? So much for a steamy night together exploring the best that modern technology has to offer. My chances of scoring with the heartthrob—which, let’s be clear, were already thin—plummet to right about zero.

Because if there’s one thing Flynn—and all my brother’s friends—excel in, it’s chasing away every man that ever comes within a ten-foot radius of yours truly.

Call it the curse of being the baby sister, or their antiquated ideas about protecting me from the big, bad, hunky men of New York, but regardless, it ends the same way:

With me stuck enjoying the more,ahem, solo pursuits.

“I’m just finishing up some business,” Flynn tells Jackson. “Give me fifteen, and we can check out the building?”

“Sure, I have some calls. Nice to meet you, Piper,” Jackson adds, flashing me another smile as he heads out the door.

Hmm, maybe all is not lost.

Flynn steals a handful of my fries. “Don’t let the fame and good looks fool you, he’s a dog.”

I slap his hand away. “A guy hiding his man-whore ways behind a charming smile? Gee, I’ve never seenthatbefore.”

“So, you think I’m charming?”

He winks and heads upstairs before I can object, leaving me down one hunky actor—and out half my delicious snack, too.

Typical Flynn: The man has a way of getting under my skin.

“Uh oh,” Roxy, my new roommate and the best bartender around, appears from the back, lugging a crate of beers. “What’s that face?”

“Just my usual ‘I’m going to die alone and untouched by the hands of men’ face,” I reply cheerfully, downing the rest of my mimosa.

“Well, you luck might be changing.” Roxy drops her voice. “Six o’clock, by the door. He’s been checking you out for twenty minutes now.”

“He has?”

I perk up, casually turning, and locking eyes with the man in question. Khakis, preppy button-down, kind eyes…

I can work with that.

I mean, let me be clear, after the dry spell I’ve been going through, I could work with a cardboard cutout of Jason Momoa, but I’d much prefer an interactive experience.

I flutter a wave in Khaki Guy’s direction, and throw in an inviting smile for good measure…

… Just as Charlie, another of my brother’s buddies, walks through the door. He catches me smiling, follows my gaze to Khaki Guy, and then leans in to murmur something to him as he passes.

Khaki Guy snaps his head around like he’s just noticed that I have a second head. He stares intently at his phone, pretending like he never saw me, as Charlie keeps strolling.

Leaving me alone at the bar. As usual.

“Are you kidding me?” I exclaim in frustration.

Roxy winces. “They have a habit of doing that, don’t they?”

“Another day handsome, single man… who my brother’s friends drive away from me. The list just keeps on growing!” I cry, my blood boiling. “At this rate, you might as well call me The Great Untouchable Piper Dashford.”

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