The rest of Paul's night didn't get much better. The bar itself was crowded, the service slow, and Trevor irritating in the way he called over any woman he deemed worthy of hitting on within a fifty-foot radius. Luckily, the idiot finally managed to find one willing to latch on and keep him occupied, but by the time Paul made it back to their table, Robbie and Brian were gone. It didn't take long to spot them up on the dance floor, pressed in with the rest of the bodies like they were riding the metro during rush hour. After a few songs, they returned with flushed faces only to pick up Robbie's drink and go off to play darts, the one remaining reminder of what the place used to be.

Paul found himself sitting alone.

But not for long.

A young woman in a skintight dress sashayed her way over and somehow maneuvered her constricted lower half into the stool next to him. "Hi there," she said in a low, sexy rasp. Despite the ten pounds of makeup, she was pretty, and she knew it, leaning toward him with a level of confidence that only came with successful experience. Lifting her arms, she gathered up the long veil of raven black hair and pulled it forward over one shoulder to show it off.

He gave her a lukewarm smile. "Sorry, but I'm waiting for someone."

"Any woman who would keep you waiting is a fool."

He'd heard it all before—the shallow compliments, the vague suggestions, the outright invitations. He waited, eyeing her over his glass as he took a long draw on his beer. There was a time when he would have played right along, stroked her ego a little before suggesting they go somewhere more private where he could get under that tight little skirt and really show her a good time. Funny how things change. In the here and now, the thought of all those empty words only annoyed him. Placing his beer back on the table, he told her, "She's no fool, believe me." After that he went radio silent, and it took her all of about fifteen seconds to get the hint and leave.

It happened two more times over the next hour—different women, similar lines—so by the time he sensed yet another enthusiast at his elbow, he was done. "Seat's taken," he barked without even looking.

"Oh."

Robbie. Paul stood up so fast, he saw stars, tons of them.

"No problem, I just came to say goodnight." Big brown eyes blinked up at him as he tried to bring his vision up to warp speed. "I'm heading out."

"Already?"

"I'm driving and I have an early day tomorrow. Thank you, by the way, for the margarita and the"—she glanced at Brian, who had attached himself to her hip—"invite."

Paul grabbed up his cell phone. "It's a dark parking lot. Let me walk you out."

A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. "I'm on it, man." Brian's grip squeezed its sit-your-ass-back-down message before it was lifted and shifted to Robbie's upper arm. "Ready?"

She nodded to him before looking back at Paul, and for one brief moment, her brows drew together in confusion, or disappointment, or perhaps it was a signal for help. Was Brian coming on too strong? Wouldn't she say something if he was? Of course she would, the voice in his head answered. This is Robbie we're talking about. And Brian is a decent guy.

As he watched them walk out, Paul's vision went a little wonky, only this time all the stars were burning bright red. Without him even realizing it, an internal timer started. When enough digits had passed to make it to her car and back at least a hundred times, it raised a silent alarm and Paul started second-guessing his friend's motives. How long had it been since he'd seen Brian anyway? Maybe the guy was different now. Even the voice in his head had changed its tune. Why are you still sitting here?

Click. Times up, Bonehead. Paul started a slow jog to the exit, detouring around the people and tables in his way, dimly aware of heads turning, the other patrons curious as to what the rush was all about. He stopped and peered through the door's glass panels, scanning the parking lot for any hint of yellow and physically sagging when he spotted the two of them leaning against the Jeep parked under one of the lampposts.

The voice in his head chimed in a, Thank God, but the relief didn't last. As Paul stood there like a fucking peeper, Brian passed something to Robbie and moved a step closer, inching his way in for a kiss, no doubt.

Paul burst through the door. "Robbie," he yelled, hearing the panic in his own voice.

They both turned their heads.

"I just want to go over a few things before you go," he yelled across the gravel, moving at a fast clip. That was lame. "Shut up," he muttered under his breath. Great, now he was talking to himself.

Paul's focus was on her when he reached them, but her expression was hard to read, the light coming from behind her and casting dark shadows across her face. She seemed fine, though, relaxed, perfectly safe . . . unkissed. Brian, on the other hand, looked royally pissed off. Too bad, so sad. Paul held the guy's glare and shrugged. "Sorry, it's—"

"Confidential," he ground out. "I get it." He turned to Robbie and pointed to the card in her hand. "Call me."

She nodded and watched him leave, not once looking in Paul's direction.

"What is it?" she finally said, turning away and lifting a foot to the Jeep's side step to hoist herself inside. For one glorious instant, the backside of those tight jeans reached Paul's eye level, and oh, Lord, there wasn't a man alive who wouldn't appreciate that view.

She sat down with the light from the lamppost hitting her face, bathing her in a soft glow, making the dark hair shine like silk and those cheekbones pop. The Elton John sized glasses were slid on before she turned her head to look at him.

She was . . . gorgeous.

Why had it taken him this long to notice? Maybe he had but didn't want to admit it. Well, there was no denying it now. At that moment, Paul wanted to take her up on that dance floor and show everyone in the bar, particularly Brian, exactly who she belonged to.

Screw that, he wanted to haul her out of that seat, push her up against the Jeep, and show her who she belonged to.

Oh, shiiiiiiit. He staggered back, the realization almost knocking him off his feet—he had fallen for Agent Westcott. The hard-ass. How the hell had that happened? What the hell was he doing? He worked with the woman for chrissakes.

No. No. No. Brian was a much better match. He lived in the east, owned a house, had money, and treated women with respect. What did Paul have to offer? A one night stand? A quick-and-dirty affair that would end in heartache? A relationship from the other side of the country that would likely fail?

As the war raged in his head, he realized Robbie was still waiting for an answer. These were the moments that tested a man's worth, validated all those sayings. True love is selfless. Two wrongs don't make a right. Honesty is the best policy. Blah, blah, blah.

There was no soft answer here. It all added up. Taking himself out of the equation by giving Brian his full endorsement was the right thing to do.

Paul opened his mouth. Closed it. Took a few deep breaths because he was starting to feel lightheaded. And then, "He's only after one thing, you know."

Okay, so maybe he was never very good at math.

"Wow. That's what you came out here to tell me?"

For the second time that night, Paul found himself at a loss for words. Meanwhile, Robbie held his stare, long and hard, to the point where he wondered if she had him all figured out.

Giving up, she shook her head and made a show of pulling down her sun visor to slip Brian's business card into a slotted holder. "And who's to say I'm not after the same thing?"

What the hell?

She started the Jeep, the rumble of its engine forcing her to raise her voice when she tacked on, "Thanks for letting me know, though."

He stood frozen as she shoved the vehicle into reverse, backed out of the spot . . . and drove away from him.

)l(

Back at home, Robbie studied her face in the bedroom mirror, about to remove the makeup she'd spent over an hour applying earlier in the day. What a waste of time that was. Going to the bar had been a stupid idea from the get-go. She should have known it would be Cannella's all over again, only on a much grander scale.

Twirling Brian's business card between her fingers, she had to admit his interest had been a pleasant surprise and extremely flattering. He seemed like a nice guy and was obviously fit and good looking with a great sense of humor. Observant too. Asking her to dance had been a welcome distraction from watching women approach Paul at the bar, and when he'd noticed she wasn't all that comfortable in the middle of a crowd, the suggestion that they play darts instead was so sweet. He'd been easy to talk to. She would have been attracted to him, too, if not for his friend commanding all of her present-day desire, as foolish and pointless as that was proving to be.

Her thoughts turned to Paul. He'd seemed happy enough to see her walk in, but the moment Brian introduced himself, Paul had started acting peculiar, moody, almost . . . Was it possible? Could he be jealous? Or was that wishful thinking on her part? He's just being overly protective.

"Like a brother," she groaned.

The phone beside her dinged, a little thrill racing through her veins when she saw Paul's name:

DID YOU MAKE IT HOME OKAY?

She picked up her cell and typed:

YES, YOU?

His reply was immediate:

WE UBERED TO B'S HOUSE. I MAY NOT GET TO YOUR PLACE UNTIL 10 OR SO, OKAY? SHOULD I PICK UP SOME BREAKFAST?

He'd obviously forgotten her plans:

I'M DRIVING TO FREDERICKSBURG IN THE MORNING, BUT YOU HAVE A KEY SO-

Arrrghh. He knows he has a key, dummy. She backspaced and started again:

I'M DRIVING TO FREDERICKSBURG, TO THE RESTAURANT IN ELIZABETH'S PICTURE

She waited for a good minute, but when there was no response, she put down her phone and started in on the makeup. The next ding made her jump. He'd typed:

OKAY. LET ME KNOW HOW THAT GOES

She could see he was still writing. The flashing dots disappeared and came back twice before the message popped up:

I'M GLAD YOU CAME TONIGHT. I WISH YOU HAD STAYED LONGER. HAVE A GOOD SLEEP

Okay, that was weird. Was it the beer talking, or was she right? Was he a little jealous? She picked up Brian's card again. As much as she wanted to test her theory, she refused to use Brian as an experiment.

Her phone dinged again, another number this time, one she knew very well:

HEY BABY, I'M COMING TO DC THURSDAY. WANT TO COOK ME DINNER?

Robbie looked up at her reflection and smiled. Perfect.

END OF CHAPTER TWELVE

Who do you think that final text was from? Do you think Robbie is going down the right path, or will her little test backfire?😳

Happy New Year everyone!🥳 🎉🍾🥂I plan to get back to my regular schedule after the holidays, although I might switch my day to Sunday. I kinda like it, and it gives me a little more wiggle room.

Also: I recently entered #PlanetorPlastic , a 500 word writing contest for the National Geographic profile. The River Dragon can be found on my profile page if you are interested. It's a quick read and a very emotional topic for me😢

Dedicated to @Cbpz23 for reading and commenting and noticing all my little hints along the way! Thank you SO MUCH❤️