The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane. Sheila Roberts

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      She felt several pairs of male eyes on her as she walked in. This was nothing new. She’d always attracted male attention. But here, in this tavern, she felt as if she were the one in the tight tank top instead of a conservative pink sweater and loose-fitting jeans. This place, it was just so...ugh.

      Todd had been behind the bar helping his bartender, Pete, but at the sight of her he came around and started moving toward her. He was dressed casually in jeans, loafers and a black T-shirt. It wasn’t so tight it looked spray-painted on like the one Bill Will was wearing, but it clung enough to let a girl know he was sporting some splendid pecs beneath it.

      He smiled at her, sending a jolt through her that ran all the way from her bra to her panties. What was it about this man? Did he have pheromone overload?

      She shouldn’t have come. If he kissed her, that would be it; she was bound to do something stupid and get her heart broken for the third time.

      Well, she had a great excuse to leave. There was no sense staying if the pinball machine was out of order.

      “You’re looking especially pretty tonight,” he greeted her, taking in her pink sweater. “Why do I look at you and think cupcakes?”

      She motioned to his black T-shirt. “And why do I look at you and think devil’s food?”

      Of course, he wasn’t insulted. Her comment served only to produce a grin on that handsome face of his.

      She didn’t give him a chance to say any more. “I might as well go. Your pinball machine is broken.”

      “No, it’s not. I just put the sign up there to keep everybody else off it.”

      She shook her head. “You could’ve put up a sign that said Reserved.”

      One dark eyebrow shot up. “What does this look like, Schwangau?”

      Good point. The Man Cave was hardly an upscale restaurant.

      He nodded toward the bar. “What would you like to drink?”

      “Coke.” If she were at Zelda’s she’d have indulged in some girlie drink like a Chocolate Kiss or a huckleberry martini, but his place was no Zelda’s. Anyway, it was a given that an evening of verbal sparring with Todd Black would require her brain to be in top working order. She wasn’t about to cloud it with alcohol.

      “Rum and Coke?”

      “Just Coke.”

      “You live dangerously, Cecily Sterling.” He held out some coins and said, “Go on over and warm up. I’ll get the Cokes.”

      “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.” She took the coins and walked over to the corner. It was a vintage model from the seventies called Pin Up—a sexy name for a game with a bowling theme. This was going to be fun. By the time Todd joined her she’d studied the landscape of the machine and was ready to rock and roll.

      He set their drinks on a nearby empty table and said, “Okay, let’s see how long you can go.”

      “Are you sure you don’t want to go first? I’ll last a lot longer than you,” she taunted him.

      He leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear. “You have no idea how long I can last.”

      That hit her zing-o-meter. She made a determined effort to ignore it and turned her back on him. “Okay, you had your chance.”

      She positioned herself in front of the machine, standing straight. Then she put the ball in play, waiting patiently, not overworking the flippers, nudging the machine enough to get it to work with her but not to the point where it would tilt and end her game. The play went on. And on. Oh, this was fun!

      At some point she became aware of the fact that she’d gathered a crowd. And soon the crowd began whooping and clapping. It finally messed up her concentration. Her game ended, and she stepped back from the machine with a frown.

      “That was something else, Cec,” Bill Will said reverently.

      “Impressive,” Todd admitted.

      “I thought this was broken,” one of the bikers said, glaring at Todd.

      The man wasn’t much taller than Todd, but he was twice as big and he looked like a block of cement with legs. And attitude. Weren’t most bikers these days supposed to be nice, middle-aged men? Dentists who’d always wanted to own a Harley? Maybe this particular specimen hadn’t gotten the memo.

      Todd wasn’t fazed by the customer’s ire. He merely shrugged and said, “I guess she fixed it.” He motioned to the game with his hand, and the big guy pushed his way up to it.

      “That was convenient,” Cecily teased. “Now you don’t have to compete with me.”

      He grinned. “I can think of other things I’d rather do than compete.”

      Zing! So could she. Meanwhile, Jake O’Brien’s new hit song, “Hot and Bothered,” boomed from the speaker.

      Todd picked up her glass from the table and handed it to her. “The darts corner is empty. Wanna give it a try?”

      “Try is about all I can do,” she said.

      She proved it right away. She could barely hit the dartboard, let alone the bull’s-eye, and he beat her soundly.

      He was about to give her some pointers when things got noisy over at the pinball machine. The big biker was not happy, and the whole room (with the exception of the TV and the music coming through the speakers) got quiet. Cecily watched as Bill Will, his buddy and the tank top chick casually moved away to the relative safety of the bar. The men on the barstools hunched even lower over their drinks. Meanwhile the biker animal was swearing and pounding on the machine. Bad pinball etiquette.

      “He’s going to break that,” Cecily predicted. If her big sister, Samantha, had been here she would’ve fearlessly strode over to the creep and let him have it. Cecily was not her sister.

      Todd didn’t have a problem, though. He went to the bar and had a quiet word with his bartender, Pete, then strolled across the tavern to where the gorilla’s friends stood nonchalantly watching as he tried to beat up the pinball machine. Trying to get in touch with her inner Samantha, Cecily followed, not sure what she’d be able to do if things got ugly.

      “Sorry, pal, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stop beating on that,” Todd told the man. “It can’t take that kind of abuse.”

      The biker stopped, and the way he scowled was clearly a challenge. “The machine’s rigged.”

      “What, to favor women?”

      Now the biker gorilla loomed over Todd. “Are you trying to make me look like a dick?”

      “Not at all,” Todd said easily. “It looks like you don’t need any help with that.”

      A couple of the older patrons at the bar snickered. Everyone else in the room braced for the fight that was about to begin.

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