Page 1 of One Week Wingman

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ROXY

If you wanta crash course on the mysteries of sex and human dating rituals, you don’t need to spend a fortune going to grad school—just become a bartender instead.

Believe me, I’ve seen it all. On a busy Saturday night, the bar is like a petri dish, teeming with hormones and liquor—and I have a front-row seat to the action. Flirting, fights, tequila-fueled bad decisions… One time, I even saw two people meet on a blind date, look each other over, and then go get down to business in the bathrooms—all in under ten seconds flat.

I guess when you know, you know.

But for all the buzz (and bigger tips) of the late-night scene, Sunday afternoons are my favorite. That’s when you get to see the scandals playing out in the bright light of day. Girls sipping mimosas, trading the stats (and size) of last night’s prize... Lucky loved-up couples smooching in the corner booth… And the not-so-lucky ones, slowly realizing that last night’s fun hookup is today’s living nightmare.

Like Sebastian Wainwright is currently doing, judging by the hungover, horrified look on his face right now. He’s at a table by the windows with some blonde woman. He was all over her last night, but now he looks like he can’t wait to get away.

Typical Seb.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Charlie, one of the owners of Mavericks, joins me at the bar. He nods in Seb’s direction with a smirk. “I never thought I’d see the man make it to brunch. And he’s not leaving anytime soon, by the look in her eyes.”

“First of all, she’s a human being with hopes and dreams,” I chide him lightly, pouring his usual ale. “And did you see how hard he was chasing her last night? It’s no wonder she thinks it’s the real deal.”

She doesn’t know Seb. Nothing is the real deal to that man; at least, not once he’s added her name to his very, very long list of conquests. And there’s competition for that spot, too. Between the ruffled dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and sexy English accent, he’s like a modern-day Mr. Darcy—if Darcy was a successful playboy raking around New York City, that is. I’ve had a front row seat to his man-whore act since I started working here three months ago, and I would feel sorry for the women he beds, if I hadn’t also overheard their gossip sessions the morning after.

Apparently, the man is blessed. Ineverydepartment.

“Looks like he needs some help.” Charlie says, and he’s right. Seb is waving me over, barely-disguised desperation on his face.

I grab them a couple of waters and head over, curious to see what he’s gotten himself into this time. “Finally,” Seb breathes in relief. “I’ve been waving for an hour.”

I smirk. “Sorry. You two looked so cozy, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He gives me a private glare. I smile back, enjoying his misery. “What can I do for you?”

“Alcohol. Food. Please.” Seb manages. “What about you, dollface?” he asks the blonde. “I know you have to leave soon.”

“No, it’s cool. I cancelled,” she coos. “We can spend the whole day together.”

The look on Seb’s face nearly makes me laugh out loud. “Isn’t that sweet?” I agree. “You can share some real quality time.”

Seb makes a strangled noise as the blonde reaches across, grips his hand, and beams at him. She ignores me, as she barks her order: “Soda water, light ice, cheeseburger, no cheese, no buns, onion on the side, extra fries.”

I blink. No please, thank you, or acknowledgement that I’m a human being with hopes and dreams?

OK, maybe I don’t need to take her side in all of this.

“Coming right up.”

I head back behind the bar and put their food order in, and I’m just preparing her zero-fun soda when Seb follows. He slumps on a bar stool and fixes me with an imploring look.

“You have to help me.”

I grin. “Why? It looks like you’re having a great time with…?”

“Lulu.”

“Sweet. She’s a keeper.”

Seb scowls. “She’s a menace in high heels. Last night it was all, ‘Let’s keep this light,’ and, ‘I just want to have fun.’ Now she’s talking about couples cooking classes and trying to schedule a date for me to meet her brothers. All four of them,” he adds with a sigh.

“You’re too charming for your own good,” I tease. “Try being less attractive next time.”

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