Just Surrender.... Kathleen O'Reilly

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СКАЧАТЬ the bartender?” Anita pointed toward the hulking creature with a chain tattooed around his neck, and Tyler dragged his bleary eyes away from Edie.

      “I see him.”

      “They had a thing a few years ago, but she dumped him.”

      “Who’d she fix him up with?”

      Anita laughed, chucking him on the arm. “You’re brighter than most.”

      “Thanks. So, who was the next victim?” he asked, even though he already knew. Anita was watching the chain-painted bruiser with sappy eyes. After only a few hours in the city, Tyler was now convinced that the stereotype of the hardened New York heart was flat-out wrong.

      “The next victim was me.” She sighed, confirming his hypothesis.

      Saps. All of them.

      A happy patron walked past and curved a hand over Anita’s naked thigh, and she only smiled. The bartender didn’t blink.

      Tyler shook his head, surprised. “That’s very uh, open of both of you that he doesn’t get jealous.”

      “I’m putting him through acting school. It eases the pain.”

      “Yes, I get that.” His eyes again found the bar, drawn to Edie immediately. In a naked sea of female perfection, the bartender was ogling the one female who was completely clothed. And Dr. Tyler Hart completely understood.

      As if she sensed his weakness, Edie turned, met his eyes and smiled from across the room.

      “She’s not into relationships,” warned Anita.

      “Me, neither.” Tyler watched as Edie came toward him, carrying four shot glasses. Just then the music volume increased, and a gravel-throated singer moaned about the Highway to Hell.

      And tonight Dr. Tyler Hart was riding her for all he was worth.

      3

      EDIE WASN’T SURE WHY she’d brought him to the diner. She didn’t usually reveal this part of her life to anyone. Maybe it was the Edie-induced grease stains on his hands, maybe it was the Edie-induced mud stains that had permanently ruined his pristine white shirt. Maybe, possibly, it was the arrogance in his melancholy eyes. She knew that kind of arrogance. She had lived her entire life with it, but her father had never looked that lonely. Not once.

      It was after three in the morning, the darkest part of the night. Except in Manhattan, and especially at her diner. Here it was never dark, never night. Ira’s had bright yellow walls, four-hundred-watt fluorescent lights and a waitstaff with dreams that didn’t involve the food service industry.

      After Edie ordered for them, she continued on her current mission. Trying to take the loneliness out of his eyes.

      “You know, there’s nothing wrong with reaching out to someone, forming a connection, even if it’s temporary,” she told him. Tonight she’d introduced him to Paradise, Passion, Lulu and Honey and it disappointed her that he’d turned them all down.

      “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it,” he insisted.

      “Well, you didn’t find anybody at the club,” she argued, pointing out the obvious discrepancy between what he said, and what he didn’t do.

      “Do I look like the stripper type?” he protested, and she rolled her eyes, surprised at his cluelessness.

      “Every man is the stripper type. You’ve just got it buried deeper than most. All that emotional repression takes time to undo.”

      His brows drew together. “I’m not repressed.”

      “You’re an emotional brick, but don’t feel bad. It comes from being loved by a woman named Cynthia. What did you love about her?” she asked, curious about what would attract him, since it wasn’t the allure of topless females.

      Carefully he arranged his silverware, silently laying out the utensils until he lifted his head and gave her a curious look. “Why do you think I loved her?”

      His answer was a total dodge. She knew it. “Why were you with her, if you didn’t love her?”

      “Cynthia is beautiful, good company, intelligent and very fond of literature.”

      Oh, yawn, Edie thought to herself, so what was the source of attraction? Ha. There could be only one.

      “A wildcat between the sheets,” she surmised. She’d seen it before. Her old roommate, Scott had been dumped fourteen times by his girlfriend, but kept crawling back because she blew his mind—in the allegorical sense. Edie looked at Tyler sympathetically, genuinely sad that he was caught in such a web of sexual slavery. Men could be such dogs.

      “I’d prefer not to discuss my sex life,” he insisted, a flush rising on his cheeks.

      “Sorry,” she apologized. He was a cute blusher. All buttoned up and trying so very hard to be polite. Having known her share of uncouth males, the old-fashioned gallantry was new, fun…sexy. “Okay, we won’t dwell on the painful past of your sex life. Instead, let’s concentrate on the new and exciting future. There’s a lot of women out there. Like that one, for instance.”

      The waitress Edie pointed to was nearly thirty, heir to the Petrovich fortune, and always enjoyed meeting new fab people. “That’s Olga,” Edie explained, and started to wave her over, but Tyler grabbed her hand, holding it painfully tight.

      “It’s okay,” he said, still holding her hand, but the tension there became something new, nice…warm.

      Not liking this friendlier line of thinking, Edie started on her selling job. “Olga’s great. She’s so easy to talk to, and she has this great sense of humor. Ask her to do her Joan Rivers impression. She’ll have you rolling.”

      “I’m sure she would, but I don’t need you to take care of me.” He looked down at their entwined fingers, smiled, and then let her hand go. And no, she didn’t miss the contact. Not at all.

      “Don’t take it personally,” said Edie, laughing it off. “I like taking care of people. And you’re new to the city, and you’ve had this miserable night, and it’s completely my fault. I’d feel ten times better if you let me do something else for you.”

      “I don’t want you to owe me,” he insisted.

      “But I do,” she insisted, too.

      “No, you don’t. Couldn’t we be…friends, just because we actually get along?”

      Get along? Trench coats and tattoos? Ties and toe-socks? It sounded…impossible.

      Or not?

      “Maybe,” she answered, then shifted uncomfortably in the vinyl booth. “But I still feel responsible.”

      “You can buy breakfast. We’ll call it even. Unless you can’t afford it.”

      Edie grinned, grateful for her own financially viable position, none of which was her own doing. СКАЧАТЬ