A/N: This is the last story of the summer that I will be rewriting for Samcedes fanfiction. It is 75 percent of Jennifer Crusie's Bet Me. My rewriting of it includes Glee characters whose looks have changed since Glee. Holly will be only slightly older than Mercedes and will have the red hair she has as Pepper Potts. Marley will be aged up to them and will have the blonde hair she has a Kara in Supergirl. All characters will be mostly out of character. Sometimes I like to switch things around and have different takes on them when I am doing AU stories. Trigger warnings not that many this time just thirsty women, thirsty men, fat shaming, self-loathing, light gambling, emotional abuse from parents, infidelity, eating disorders, and a bunch of crazy thirty-something-year-olds and their crazy parents.

Chapter One

Once upon a time, Mercedes Jones thought as she stood in the middle of a loud bar, the world was full of good men. She looked into the handsome face of the man she'd planned on taking to her sister's wedding and thought, Those days are long gone.

"This relationship is not working for me," Anthony said.

I could shove this swizzle stick through his heart, Cedes thought. She wouldn't do it, of course. The stick was plastic and not nearly pointed enough on the end. Also, people didn't do things like that in Lima, Ohio. A sawed-off shotgun, now that was the ticket.

"And we both know why," Anthony went on.

He probably didn't even know he was mad; he probably thought he was being chilled and an adult. At least I know I'm furious, Cedes thought. She let her anger settle around her, and it made her warm all over, which was more than Anthony had ever done.

Across the room, somebody at the big roulette wheel-shaped bar rang a bell. Another point against Anthony: He was dumping her in a theme bar. The Long Shot. The name alone should have tipped her off.

"I'm sorry, Cedes," Anthony said, clearly not.

Cedes crossed her arms over her gray-checkered suit jacket so she couldn't smack him. "This is because I won't go home with you tonight? It is a weeknight it's Wednesday. I have to work tomorrow. You have to work tomorrow. I paid for my own drink."

"It's not that." Anthony looked noble and wounded as only the tall, dark, and self-righteous could. "You're not making any effort to make our relationship work, which means ..."

Which means we've been dating for two months and I still won't sleep with you. Cedes tuned him out and looked around at the babbling crowd. If I had an untraceable poison, I could drop it in his drink now and not one of these people here would notice.

"... and I do think, if we have a future together, that you should contribute, too," Anthony said.

Oh, I don't, Cedes thought, which meant that Anthony had a point. Still, lack of sex was no excuse for dumping her three weeks before she had to wear a maid-of-honor dress that made her look like a fat, demented black shepherdess. "Of course we have a future, Anthony," she said, trying to put her anger on ice. "We have plans. Bree is getting married in three weeks. You're invited to the wedding. To the rehearsal dinner. To the bachelor party. You're going to miss the stripper, Anthony."

"Is that all you think of me?" Anthony's voice went up. "I'm just a date for your sister's wedding?"

"Of course not," Cedes said. "Just as I'm sure I'm more to you than somebody to sleep with."

Anthony opened his mouth and closed it again. "Well, of course. I don't want you to think this is a reflection on you. You're intelligent, you're successful, you're mature. . . ."

Cedes listened, knowing that you're beautiful, you're hot were not coming. If only he'd have a heart attack. Only four percent of heart attacks in men happened before forty, but it could happen. And if he died, not even her mother could expect her to bring him to the wedding.

"... and you'd make a wonderful mother," Anthony finished up.

"Thank you," Cedes said. "That's so not romantic."

"I thought we were going places, Cedes," Anthony said.

"Yeah," Cedes said, looking around the gaudy bar. "Like here."

Anthony sighed and took her hand. "I wish you the best, Cedes. Let's keep in touch."

Cedes took her hand back. "You're not feeling any pain in your left arm, are you?"

"No," Anthony said, frowning at her.

"Pity," Cedes said, and went back to her friends, who were watching them from the far end of the room.

"He was looking even more uptight than usual," Holly said, looking even taller and hotter than usual as she leaned on the jukebox, her hair flaming under the lights.

Anthony wouldn't have treated Holly so callously. He'd have been afraid to; she'd have dismembered him. Gotta be more like Holly, Cedes thought and started to flip through the song cards on the box.

"Are you upset with him?" Marley said from Cedes' other side, her blonde head tilted up in concern. Anthony wouldn't have left Marley, either. Nobody was mean to sweet, pretty Marley.

"Yes. He dumped me." Cedes stopped flipping. Wonder of wonders, the box had Tupac. Immediately, the bar seemed a better place. She fed in coins and then punched the keys for "Keep Ya Head Up." Too bad Tupac had never recorded one called "Dickhead."

"I knew I didn't like him," Marley said.

Cedes went over to the roulette bar and smiled tightly at the slender bartender dressed like a croupier. She had beautiful long, soft, kinky brown hair, and Cedes thought, That's another reason I couldn't have slept with Anthony. Her hair always getting knotted when she left it down and not tied down under a silk scarf, and he was the type who would have noticed.

"Rum and Coke, please," she told the bartender.

Holly and Marley never had man trouble: but in Lima, they looked enough like supermodels to never have to worry about being dateless. She looked at Holly, racehorse-thin in purple zippered leather, shaking her head at Anthony with naked contempt. If she jammed herself into Holly's dress, she'd look like Barney's slut cousin. "Diet Coke," she told the bartender.

"He wasn't the one," Marley said from behind Cedes' shoulder, her hands on her tiny hips.

"Diet rum, too," Cedes told the bartender, who smiled at her and went to get her drink.

Holly frowned. "Why were you dating him anyway?"

"Because I thought he might be the one," Cedes said, exasperated. "He was intelligent and successful and very nice at first. He seemed like a sensible choice. And then all of sudden he went bougie on me."

Marley patted Cedes's arm. "It's a good thing he broke up with you because now you're free for when the right man finds you. Your prince is on his way."

"Right," Cedes said. "I'm sure he was on his way but a truck hit him."

"That's not how it works." Marley leaned on the bar, looking like a superhero. "If it's meant to be, he'll make it. No matter how many things go wrong, he'll come to you and you'll be together forever."

"What is this?" Holly said, looking at her in disbelief. "Barbie's Field of Dreams?"

"That's sweet, Marley," Cedes said. "But as far as I'm concerned, the last good man died when Tupac went."

"Maybe we should rethink keeping Marl as our broker," Holly said to Cedes. "We could be major stockholders in the Magic Kingdom by now."

Cedes tapped her fingers on the bar, trying to vent some tension. "I should have known Anthony was a mistake when I couldn't bring myself to sleep with him. We were on our third date, and the waiter brought the dessert menu, and Anthony said, 'No, thank you, we're on a diet,' and of course, he isn't because there's not an ounce of fat on him, and I thought, 'I'm never taking off my clothes with you' and I paid my half of the check and went home early. And after that, whenever he made his move, I thought of the waiter and crossed my legs."

"He wasn't the one," Marley said with conviction.

"You think?" Cedes said, and Marley looked wounded. Cedes closed her eyes. "Sorry. Sorry. Really sorry. It's just not a good time for that stuff, Marl. I'm mad. I want to savage somebody, not look to the horizon for the next jerk who's coming my way."

"Sure," Marley said. "I understand."

Holly shook her head at Cedes. "Look, you didn't care about Anthony, so you haven't lost anything except a date to Bree's wedding. And I vote we skip the wedding. It has 'disaster' written all over it, even without the fact that she's marrying her best friend's boyfriend."

"Her best friend's ex-boyfriend. And I can't skip it. I'm the maid of honor." Cedes gritted her teeth. "It's going to be hell. It's not just that I'm dateless, which fulfills every prophecy my mother has ever made, it's that she's crazy about Anthony."

"We know," Marley said.

"She tells everybody about Anthony," Cedes said, thinking of her mother's avid little face. "Dating Anthony is the only thing I've done that she's liked about me since I got the flu freshman year and lost ten pounds. And now I have no Anthony." She took her diet rum from the bartender, said, "Thank you," and tipped her lavishly. There wasn't enough gratitude in the world for a server who kept the drinks coming at a time like this. "Most of the time it doesn't matter what my mother thinks of me because I can avoid her, but for the wedding? No."

"So you'll find another date," Marley said.

"No, she won't," Holly said.

"Oh, thank you," Cedes said, turning away from the over-designed bar. The roulette pattern was making her dizzy. Or maybe that was the rage.

"Well, it's your own fault," Holly said. "If you'd quit assigning a statistical probability to the fate of a union with every guy you meet and just go out with somebody who turns you on, you might have a good time now and then."

"I'd be a puddle of damaged ego," Cedes said. "There's nothing wrong with dating sensibly. That's how I found Anthony." Too late, she realized that wasn't evidence in her favor and knocked back some of her drink to ward off comments.

Holly wasn't listening. "We'll have to find a guy for you." She began to scan the bar, which was only fair since most of the bar had been scanning her. "Not him. Not him. Not him. Nope. Nope. Nope. All these guys would try to sell you mutual funds." Then she straightened. "Hello. We have a winner." Marley followed her eyes. "Who? Where?"

"The tall guy in the navy blue suit. In the middle on the landing up by the door."

"Middle?" Cedes squinted at the raised landing at the entry to the bar. It was wide enough for a row of faux poker tables, and four tall men were talking to a blond in red. One of the four was Anthony, now surveying his domain over the dice-studded wrought-iron rail. The landing was only about five feet higher than the rest of the room, but Anthony contrived to make it look like a balcony. It was probably requiring all his self-control to keep from doing the Queen Elizabeth Wave.

"That's Anthony," Cedes said, turning away."And some blonde. Good Lord, he's dating somebody else already." Get out now, Cedes told the blond silently.

"Forget the lady," Holly said. "Look at the guy in the middle. Wait a minute, he'll turn back this way again. He doesn't seem to be finding Anthony that interesting."

Cedes squinted back at the entry again. The navy suit was taller than Anthony, and he was white with light sandy brown hair, but otherwise, from behind, he was pretty much Anthony II. "I did that type and I am not looking to recast," Cedes said, and then he turned.

Sandy brown hair, yummy lips, classic chin, broad shoulders, chiseled everything, and all of it at ease as he stared out over the bar, ignoring Anthony, who suddenly looked a little less handsome. Cedes sucked in her breath as every cell she had come alive and whispered, This one, when she finally looked at the man in the blue suit. Then she turned away before anybody caught her slack-jawed with admiration. He was not the one, that was her DNA talking, looking for a high-class sperm donor. Every woman in the room with a working ovary probably looked at him and thought, This one. Well, biology was not destiny. The amount of damage somebody that beautiful could do to a woman like her was too much to contemplate. She took another drink to cushion the thought, and said, "He's too pretty."

"No," Holly said. "That's the point. He's not pretty. Anthony is pretty. That guy looks like an adult."

"Okay, he's full of testosterone," Cedes said.

"No, that's the guy on his right," Holly said. "The one with the head like a bullet. I bet that one talks about sports and slaps people on the back. The navy suit looks civilized with an edge. Tell her, Marley."

"I don't think so," Marley said, her pretty face looking grim. "I know him."

"In the biblical sense?" Holly said.

"No. He dated my cousin Madison. But—"

"Then he's fair game," Holly said.

"—he's a hit and run player," Marley finished. "From what Madison said, he dazzles whoever he's with for a couple of months and then drops her and moves on. And she never sees it coming."

"The beast," Holly said without heat. "You know, men are allowed to leave women they're dating."

"Well, he makes them love him and then he leaves them," Marley said. "That is beastly."

"Like Anthony," Cedes said, her instinctive distrust of the navy suit confirmed. Holly snorted. "Oh, like you ever loved Anthony."

"I was trying to," Cedes snapped.

Holly shook her head. "Okay, none of this matters. All you want is a date for the wedding. If it takes the beast a couple of months to dump you, you're covered. So just go over there—"

"No." Cedes turned her back on everybody to concentrate on the black and white posters over the bar: Paul Newman shooting pool in The Hustler, Marlon Brando throwing dice in Guys and Dolls, W. C. Fields scowling over his cards in My Little Chickadee. Where were all the women gamblers? It wasn't as if being a woman wasn't a huge risk all by itself. Twenty-eight percent of female homicide victims were killed by husbands or lovers.

Which, come to think of it, was probably why there weren't any women gamblers. Living with men was enough of a gamble. She fought the urge to turn around and look at the beast on the landing again. Really, the smart thing to do was stop dating and get a dog.

"You know she won't go talk to him," Marley was saying to Holly. "Statistically speaking, the probable outcome is not favorable."

"Screw that." Holly nudged Cedes and sloshed the Coke in her glass. "Imagine your mother if you brought him to the wedding. She might even let you eat carbs." She looked at Marley. "What's his name?"

"Samuel Evans," Marley said. "Madison was buying wedding magazines when he left her. She was writing 'Madison Evans' on scrap paper."

Holly looked appalled. "That's probably why he left."

"Samuel Evans." Against her better judgment, Cedes turned back to watch him again.

"Go over there," Holly said, prodding her with one long fingernail, "and tell Anthony you hope his rash clears up soon. Then introduce yourself to the beast, smile, and don't talk statistics."

"That would be shallow," Cedes said. "I'm thirty-three. I'm mature. I don't care if I have a date for my sister's wedding. I'm a better person than that." She thought about her mother's face when she got the news that Anthony was history. No, I'm not.

"No, you're not," Holly said. "You're just too chicken to cross the room."

"I suppose it might work." Marley frowned across the room. "And you can dump him after the wedding and give him a taste of his own medicine."

"Yeah, that's the ticket." Holly rolled her eyes. "Do it for Madison and the rest of the girls." He was in profile now, talking to Anthony. The man should be on coins, Cedes thought. Of course, looking that beautiful, he probably never dated the terminally chubby. At least, not without sneering. And she'd been sneered at enough for one night.

"No," Cedes said and turned back to the bar. Really, a dog was a good idea.

"Look, Stats," Holly said, exasperated, "I know you're conservative, but you're damn near solidifying lately. Dating Anthony must have been like dating concrete. And then there's your apartment. Even your furniture is stagnant."

"My furniture is my grandmother's," Cedes said stiffly.

"Exactly. Your butt's been on it since you were born. You need a change. And if you don't make that change on your own, I will have to help you."

Cedes' blood ran cold. "No."

"Don't threaten her," Marley said to Holly. "She'll change, she'll grow. Won't you, Cedes?" Cedes looked back at the landing, and suddenly going over there seemed like a good idea. She could stand under that ugly wrought-iron railing and eavesdrop, and then if Samuel Evans sounded even remotely nice—ha, what were the chances?—she could go up and say something sweet to Anthony and get an intro, and Holly would not have movers come in while she was at work and throw out her furniture.

"Don't make me do this for you," Holly said.

Standing at a roulette wheel bar sulking wasn't doing anything for her. And with all she knew ahead of time, it wasn't likely that he could inflict much damage. Cedes squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "I'm going in, coach."

"Do not say 'percent' at any time for the rest of the night," Holly said, and Cedes straightened her gray-checkered jacket and said a short prayer that she'd think of a great pick-up line before she got to the landing and made a fool of herself. In which case, she'd just spit on the beast, push Anthony over the railing, and go get that dog.

"Just so there's a plan," she said to herself and started across the floor.

Up on top of the landing, Sam Evans was thinking seriously about pushing Anthony Rashad over the railing. I should have moved faster when I saw them coming, he thought. It was Hunter's fault.

"You know, that redhead has great legs," Hunter had said. "See her? At the bar, in the purple with the zippers? You suppose she likes football players?"

"You haven't played football in fifteen years." Sam had sipped his drink, easing into an alcohol-tinged peace that was broken only slightly when somebody with no taste in music played a rap song. As far as he was concerned the only two drawbacks to the place were the stupid decor and the fact that rap music was on the jukebox.

"All right, it's been a while since I played, but she doesn't know that." Hunter looked back at the redhead.

"I got ten bucks says she'll leave with me. I'll use my chaos theory line."

"No bet," Sam said. "Although that is a terrible line, so that would shorten the odds." He squinted across the room to the roulette wheel bar. The redhead was flashy, which meant she was Hunter's type. There was a pretty blonde there, too, the perky kind, their friend Ryder's dream date. Behind the bar, Santana saw him watching and waved, but she didn't smile, and Sam wondered what was up as he nodded to her. Hunter put his arm around Sam. "Help me out here, she's in a group. You go over and pick up her chubby friend in the gray-checkered suit, and Ryder can hit on the athletic blonde. I'd give you the blonde, but you know Ryder and athletic blondes."

Ryder jerked to attention at Sam's elbow. "What? What athletic blonde?" He peered across the room at the bar. "Oh. Oh."

"Suit?" Sam looked back at the bar.

"The one in gray." Hunter nodded toward the bar. "Between the redhead and the blonde. She's hard to see because the redhead sort of dazzles you. I bet you—"

"Oh." Sam squinted to see the short woman between the redhead and the blonde. She was dressed in a dull, boxy, gray-checkered suit, and her round face scowled under dark hair yanked back into a knot on the top of her head. "Nope," he said and took another drink. Hunter smacked him on the back and made him choke. "Come on, live a little. Don't tell me you're still pining for Lucy Quinn."

"I never pined for Lucy Quinn." Sam glanced around the crowd. "Keep an eye out for her, will you? She's in that red thing she wears when she's trying to get something."

"She can get it from me," Hunter said.

"Great." Sam's voice was fervent. "I'll even go pick up that suit if you'll marry Quinn." Hunter choked on his drink. "Marry?"

"Yes," Sam said. "She wants to get married. Surprised the hell out of me." He thought for a moment about Lucy Quinn, a beauty queen with a spine of steel. "I don't know where she got the idea we were that close."

"There she is." Ryder was looking over Sam 's shoulder. "She's coming up the stairs now." Sam got up and tried to move past Hunter to the door. "Out of my way."

Hunter stayed in his chair. "You can't leave, I want the redhead."

"So go get her," Sam said, trying to get around him.

"Lucy Quinn's got Anthony with her," Ryder said, and there was great sympathy in his voice.

"Sam!" Anthony's voice grated over Sam's shoulder. "Just who we were looking for." He sounded mad as hell, but when Sam turned, Anthony was smiling.

Trouble, Sam thought and smiled back with equal insincerity. "Anthony. Lucy Quinn. Great to see you."

"Hello, Sam." Lucy Quinn smiled up at him, her face lethally lovely. "How've you been?"

"Great. Couldn't be better. You are looking great." Sam looked past her to Anthony, and thought, Take her, please. "You're a lucky man, Anthony."

"I am?"

"Dating Lucy Quinn," Sam said, putting all the encouragement he could into his voice. Lucy Quinn took Anthony's arm.

"We just ran into each other." She turned her shoulder to Sam and glowed up at Anthony. "But it is nice seeing him again." Her eyes slid back to Sam's face, and he smiled past her ear again, radiating no jealousy at all as hard as he could.

Anthony looked down into her beautiful face and blinked, and Sam felt a stab of sympathy for him. Lucy Quinn was enchanting up close. And from far away. From everywhere, really, which was how he'd ended up saying yes to her all the time. Sam glanced at her impeccably tight little body in her impeccably tight little red dress and then took a step back as he jerked his eyes away, reminding himself of how peaceful life was without her. Distance, that was the key. Maybe a cross and some garlic, too.

"Of course," Anthony was saying. "Maybe we can do dinner later." He glanced at Sam, looking triumphant.

"Well, don't let us keep you." Sam took another step back and bumped into the railing. Lucy Quinn let go of Anthony's arm, her glow diminished. "I'll just freshen up before we go." Hunter and Anthony watched as her perfect rear end swung away from them, while Ryder ignored her to peer across the room at the other blonde, and Sam took another healthy swallow of his drink and wished he were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Dinner, for example. Maybe he'd stop by Rory's and eat in the kitchen. There were no women in Rory's kitchen.

"So, Anthony," Hunter was saying. "How'd our seminar work out for you?"

"It was terrific," Anthony said. "I didn't think anybody could teach some of those morons that new program, but everybody at the firm is now up to speed. We've even .. ." He went on and Sam nodded, thinking that one of the many reasons he didn't like Anthony was his tendency to refer to his employees as morons. Still, Anthony paid his bills on time and gave credit where it was due; there were much worse clients. And if he took over Lucy Quinn, Sam was prepared to feel downright warm toward him.

Anthony wound down on whatever it was he'd been saying and looked toward the stairs. "About Lucy Quinn. I thought that you and she—"

"No." Sam shook his head with enthusiasm. "She left me a couple of months ago."

"Isn't it usually the other way around?"

Anthony arched an eyebrow and looked ridiculous. And still, women went out with him. Life was a mystery. So were women. Sam thought.

"Aren't you supposed to be the guy who never strikes out?" Anthony said.

"No," Sam said.

"He's losing his edge," Hunter said. "I found an easy pickup for him, and he said no."

"Which one?" Anthony said.

"The gray-checkered suit at the bar." Hunter motioned with his glass, and Anthony looked at the bar and then turned back to Sam, smooth as ever.

"Maybe you are losing it." Anthony smiled at him. "She shouldn't be that hard to get. It's not like she's a Lucy Quinn."

"She's all right," Sam said, cautiously.

Anthony leaned in. "After all, nobody says no to you, right?"

"What?" Sam said.

"I'm willing to bet you that you can't get her," Anthony said. "A hundred bucks says you can't nail her." Sam pulled back. "What?"

Anthony laughed, but there was an edge to his voice when he spoke. "It's just a bet, Sam. You guys love risk, I've seen you bet on damn near everything. This isn't even that big a bet. We should make it two hundred."

That was when Sam had contemplated giving Anthony a healthy push. Hunter turned his back to Anthony and mouthed, Humor him, and Sam sighed. There must be something he could ask for that would make Anthony back down. "That baseball in your office," he said. "The one in the case."

"My Pete Rose baseball?" Anthony's voice went up an octave.

"Yeah, that one. That's my price." Sam slugged back the rest of his scotch and looked around for a waitress.

Anthony shook his head. "Not a chance. My dad caught that pop-up for me in eighty-five. But I like your style, upping the stakes like that." He leaned in closer. "Tell you what. The last refresher seminar you ran for us set me back ten grand. I'll bet you ten thousand in cash against a free seminar—"

Sam forced a smile. "Anthony, I was kidding—"

"But for ten thou, you have to get her into bed. I'll play fair. I'll give you a month to get her out of that gray-checkered suit."

"Piece of cake," Hunter said.

Sam glared at Hunter. "Anthony, this isn't my kind of bet."

"It's my kind," Anthony said, drawing his brows together, and Sam thought, Hell, he's going to push this, and we need his business.

Okay, clearly booze had shut down Anthony's brain. But once it was back up and working again, Anthony would back down on the ten thousand, that was insane, and Anthony was never insane about money. So all he had to do was stall until Anthony sobered up and then pretend the whole thing never happened. He stole a glance across the room to the bar and was delighted to see that the gray suit had disappeared at some point during their conversation.

Sam turned back to Anthony and said, "Well, I would, Anthony, but she's gone." And God bless you, gray suit, for leaving, he thought and picked up his drink again.

Things were finally going his way.

Cedes had walked across the room, telling herself that it was a real toss-up as to which would be worse, trying to talk to this guy or enduring Bree's wedding unescorted. When she neared the landing, she edged her way under the rail, catching faint snatches of conversations as she went, not stopping until she heard Anthony's voice faintly above her, saying, "But for ten, though, you have to get her into bed."

What? Cedes thought. It was noisy up there by the door, maybe she hadn't heard him—

"I'll play fair," Anthony went on. "I'll give you a month to get her out of that gray-checkered suit." Cedes looked down at her gray-checkered suit.

"Piece of cake," somebody said to Anthony, and Cedes thought, Son of a bitch, the world is full of sex-crazed bastards, and forced herself to move on before she climbed the railing and killed them both. She headed back to Holly and Marley, fuming. She knew exactly what Anthony was up to. He assumed she wouldn't sleep with anybody because she'd turned him down. She'd warned him about that, about the rash assumptions he made, but instead of taking her advice, he'd kept asking her out. Because he thought I was a sure thing, she realized. Because he'd looked at her and thought, overweight smart woman who'll never cheat on me and will be grateful I sleep with her. "Bastard," she said out loud. She should have sex with Samuel Evans just to pay Anthony back. But then she'd have no way of getting even with Samuel Evans. God, she was dumb. Fat and dumb, there was a winning combo.

"What's wrong?" Holly said when she was back at the bar. "Did you ask him?"

"No. As soon as you finish your drinks, I'm ready to go." Cedes turned back to the balcony and caught sight of them, just as they caught sight of her.

Anthony's face was smug, but Samuel Evans clutched his drink and looked like he'd just seen Death.

"There she is," Anthony crowed. "I told you she'd be back. Go get her, champ."

"Uh, Anthony," Sam began, consigning the gray-checkered suit to the lowest circle of hell.

"A bet's a bet."

Sam put his empty glass down on the rail and thought fast. The suit did not look happy, so the odds weren't impossible that she'd go for a chance to get out of the bar if he offered dinner. "Look, Anthony, sex is not in the cards. I'm cheap, but I'm not slimy. You want to bet ten bucks on a pickup, fine, but that's it. Nothing with a future."

Anthony shook his head. "Oh, no, I'll bet on the pickup, too, ten bucks if you leave with her. But the ten thousand is still on. If you lose . . ." He smiled at Sam, drawing out the 'lose,' "you do a seminar for me for free."

"Anthony, I can't make that bet," Sam said, trying another tack. "I have two partners who—"

"I'm good for it," Hunter said. "Sam never misses."

Sam glared at him. "Well, Ryder isn't good for it."

"Hey, Ryder, you in?" Hunter said, and Ryder said, "Sure," without looking away from the blonde at the bar.

"Ryder," Sam said.

"She's the prettiest thing I've ever seen," Ryder said.

"Ryder, you just bet that I could get a woman into bed," Sam said with great patience. "Now tell Anthony you don't want to bet a ten-thousand-dollar refresher seminar on sex."

"What?" Ryder said, finally looking away from the blonde.

"I said—" Sam began.

"Why would you bet on something like that?" Ryder said.

"That's not the question," Hunter said. "The question is, can he do it?"

"Sure," Ryder said. "But—"

"Then we have a bet," Anthony said.

"No, we do not," Sam said.

"You don't think you can do it," Anthony said. "You're losing it."

"This is not about me," Sam said, and then Lucy Quinn slid back into the group and put her hand on his arm.

She leaned into him, and he felt his blood heat right on cue.

"She's over there waiting for you," Anthony said an edge in his voice.

"She?" Lucy Quinn's glow dimmed. "Are you seeing somebody?" Oh, hell, Sam thought.

"Sam?" Anthony said.

"Sam?" Lucy Quinn said.

"I love this," Hunter said.

"What?" Ryder said.

Sam sighed. It was the suit or Lucy Quinn, the rock or the soft place who wanted to get married. He detached her hand from his arm. "Yes, I'm seeing somebody. Excuse me." He pushed past Lucy Quinn and Anthony and headed for the bar, wishing them both the worst fate he could think of, that they'd end up together.

Cedes watched Samuel Evans move toward the stairs. The beast. He thought that he could get her in a month, that she was so pathetic she'd just—

Her brain caught up with her train of thought, and she straightened.

"Will you tell us what's wrong?" Holly said.

"A month," Cedes said.

He walked down the steps and made his way through the crowd, ignoring the come-hither looks of the women he passed.

He was coming to pick her up.

Suppose she let him. Suppose for the next three weeks she made him pay by stringing him along and then took him to Bree's wedding. He wouldn't leave her; he had to stick for a month to win his damn bet. All she had to do was say no to sex for three weeks, drag him to her sister's wedding, and then leave his ass cold. Cedes settled back against the bar and examined the idea from all sides. He more than deserved to be tortured for three weeks. And in those three weeks, she could figure out a way to make Anthony suffer, too. And her mother would have somebody beautiful to point out to people at the wedding as her date. It was a plan, and as far as she could see, it was all good.

The bartender came back and Cedes said, "Rum and Diet Coke, please. A double."

"That's your third," Holly said. "And fourth. The aspartame alone will make you insane. What are you doing?"

"Was he mean to you?" Marley said. "What happened?"

"I didn't talk to him." Cedes waved them away. "Move down the bar a couple of feet will you. I'm about to get hit on and you're cramping my style."

"We missed something," Holly said to Marley.

"Move," Marley said and pushed Holly down the bar.

Cedes turned away when the bartender brought her her drink, so when The Beast spoke from beside her, she jerked her head up and caught the full force of him unprepared: hot green eyes, perfect face, and a mouth a woman would betray her moral fiber to bite into. Her heart kicked up into her throat, and she swallowed hard to get it back where it belonged.

"I have a problem," he said, and his voice was low and smooth, warm enough to be charming, rich enough to clog arteries.

White chocolate, Cedes thought and looked at him blankly, keeping her breathing slow. "Problem?"

"Well, usually my line is 'Can I buy you a drink?' but you have one." He smiled at her, radiating testosterone through his expensive suit.

"Well, that is a problem." She started to turn away.

"So what I thought," he said, his voice dropping even lower as he leaned closer to her and made her heart pound, "was that we could go somewhere else, and I could buy you dinner." The closer he got, the better he looked. He was the used car salesman of seducers, Cedes decided, trying to get her distance back. You could never get a good deal from a used car salesman; they sold cars all the time and you only bought a couple in a lifetime so they always won. Statistically speaking, you were toast before you walked on the lot. She could only imagine how many women this guy had mutilated in his lifetime. The mind boggled.

His smile had disappeared while he waited for her answer, and he looked vulnerable now, taking a chance on asking her out. He faked vulnerable very well. Remember, she told herself, the sons of bitches who were doing this for ten bucks. Actually, he was trying to do her for ten bucks. Cheapskate. Suddenly, breathing normally was not a problem.

"Dinner?" she said.

"Yes." He bent still closer. "Somewhere quiet where we can talk. You look like someone with interesting things to say. And I'm somebody who'd like to hear them."

Cedes smiled at him. "That's a terrible line. Does it usually work for you?" He froze for a second, and then he segued from sincere to boyish again. "Well, it has up till now."

"It must be your voice," Cedes said. "You deliver it beautifully."

"Thank you." He straightened. "Let's try this again." He held out his hand. "I'm Samuel Evans, but my friends call me Sam."

"Cedes Jones." She shook his hand and dropped it before it could feel warm in her grasp. "And my friends would call me foolhardy if I left this bar with a stranger."

"Wait." He got out his wallet and pulled out a twenty. "This is cab fare. If I get fresh, you get a cab." Holly would take the twenty and then dump him. There was a plan, but Holly didn't need a wedding date. What else would Holly do? Cedes plucked the twenty from his fingers. "If you get fresh, I'll break your nose." She folded the twenty, unbuttoned her top two blouse buttons, and tucked the bill into the V of her sensible cotton bra so that only a thin green edge showed. That was one good thing about packing extra pounds, you got cleavage to burn.

She looked up and caught his eyes looking down, and she waited for him to make some comment, but he smiled again. "Fair enough," he said, "let's go eat," and she reminded herself to ignore what a beautiful mouth he had since it was full of a forked tongue.

"First, promise me no more lame lines," she said and watched his jaw clench.

"Anything you want," he said.

Cedes shook her head. "Another line. I suppose you can't help it. And free food is always good." She picked up her purse from the bar. "Let's go-"

She walked away before he could say anything else, and he followed her, past a dumbfounded Holly and a delighted Marley, across the floor and up onto the landing by the door, and the last thing she saw as they left was Anthony looking outraged.

The evening was turning out much better than she'd expected.