I Don't Own Anything!
"It's a relationship with an expiration date…and it's going to go bad."
Her excuse was the same for each guy because it was true: "I'm waiting for a friend." But that didn't stop the parade of men from wandering over to the table in the corner and asking Ally Dawson to dance. Sitting alone listening to the band was an open invitation she didn't realize she was sending. These guys possessed the same radar as an obnoxious dog that always sniffs out the one person in the room who doesn't want to be licked.
She looked down at the long, black, wrap-around skirt exposing her thigh and frowned. That certainly doesn't help. She tried holding it closed with one hand. Her friends teased her for having zero instincts about men. She never knew when they were really interested, and when she did go out with someone, she always ended up with first-date remorse.
The wedding she'd attended the weekend before was the perfect example. Her Great Aunt Mildred had tied the knot, and Ally had been asked to dance a dozen times at the reception. Her best friend Trish brought her buddy, Dallas, and he'd asked her three times. Her friend Cassidy had been there, and she'd been sending a line of guys her way, too. Maybe I should bring an ankle brace and fake an injury next time.
Great Aunt Mildred gave out shiny nuggets of rose quartz crystals as favors. The stones were supposed to bring the guests love; some crazy new age thing. Ally left those puppies sitting on the table. She didn't want to attract any more love in her life. Right now, she was trying to repel it.
She looked up and spotted another guy smiling at her, under a thick red mustache. She snapped away her gaze. Not everyone comes to a bar looking to hook up, she grumbled to herself.
The guys hadn't taken it well. Am I sitting in a must-dance zone? She'd been sworn at more than once. But she didn't care. While she was single, she truly wasn't interested. Not even in the George Clooney look-alike who had asked if she was certain she didn't want to dance with him.
Although she had pondered his offer for a moment, before gathering up her wits again.
She settled her hand on her chin, watching the country-western group that Trish had wanted to see.
It was Friday night, and she'd bet a bundle that Trish was still at work with her boss, because being alone in his office—sometimes on the couch, sometimes on his desk—made it all that more exciting.
She was so killing Trish.
Half-drunk couples with busy hands cluttered the dance floor, and she pulled out her cell to check the time. Nine forty-five. If Trish didn't show by ten, she was leaving.
Another man made his way over. She sighed and looked up at him standing by her table.
His brown eyes locked on hers, and one corner of his mouth curled up. "I'd ask if I could buy you a drink, but you haven't touched the one in front of you. And I'd invite you to dance, but I know you'll say no. So let me ask, why is a woman sitting alone at a bar, not drinking and turning down every guy who comes her way?" He was tall, with dirty-blond hair and might have been her type a few years back.
She swirled the liquid in her glass, but didn't take a drink. "You've been watching."
"You're hard to miss." He gripped the back of the chair in front of him, his fingers tensing around the wooden slat.
She closed her eyes and smiled. "I'm waiting for my friend to show up, but I suspect she's ditching me for a guy. And turns out, I'm not in a drinking mood." The band finished its song and cleared the stage for a break. They promised to be back in ten.
He glanced over his shoulder. "A sea of men will be storming your table now. Why don't I join you and keep them at bay while you wait?"
Now her mouth curled up. "Will that count towards your community service?"
He placed his hand on his heart and jerked back like he'd been punched. "Ouch, now I have to sit down, that hurt."
Biting her lip to stifle a laugh, she shrugged. "Sure, but I'm leaving in fifteen minutes if she doesn't show."
He held out his hand. "Austin Moon."
His hand was firm and warm when she shook it. Always a good quality in a man—if she'd been looking.
"Ally Dawson." She took a sip of her drink, now watered down from the melting ice cubes.
He spun the chair around, straddled it, and sat across from her. "So, why not give some poor guy here a shot and kill time while you wait? Do you have a boyfriend?"
She shook her head.
He shook a finger at her. "Let me guess. Too busy with your career for men?"
"Nope. I've got time, or I wouldn't be sitting here waiting for a friend." Her freelance graphic design business meant she could make her own hours. Just one of the reasons she loved it.
He narrowed his eyes. "An arranged marriage looming?"
"She laughed. "That might be easier than the dating scene."
"Ahh. You're coming off a nasty breakup and you're not ready to have your heart broken again." He crossed his arms and looked very satisfied.
She blew out a breath. "Nasty breakup, yes. But a broken heart? No. I wish."
He cocked his head, looking confused. "You wish your heart was broken? What, you need an excuse for a weekend-long chocolate binge?" He planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
"It's too ridiculous to explain. Trust me." She held up her hand like she might be able to keep this hot guy and his personal questions from getting any closer.
"Now you have to explain. I love ridiculous."
She nibbled on her lower lip, wondering how to tell him this without sounding like a total bitch. Who cares? You'll never see him again. "I'm sick of breaking hearts."
Should I Continue With It!
Please Review!
