Her Convenient Christmas Date. Barbara Wallace

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      She eyed him through her lashes. “You tell me, Champagne.”

      How he hated that name. If he never heard the nickname again, it wouldn’t be soon enough. The irony of the situation—if that was the right word—was that he didn’t remember the picture being taken.

      “I’m beginning to see why you don’t have friends.”

      His companion’s lower lip started to tremble.

      Terrific. On top of everything, he’d gone and hurt her feelings. Why not stomp on a puppy for an encore? “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

      She responded with a sniff. “Don’t be silly. I don’t cry.”

      She was doing a darn good impression of tearing up. Lewis handed her one of the cocktail napkins from his pile. “Here, dry your eyes.”

      “I told you. I’m not going to cry.”

      “Then wipe your nontears with it before they make your mascara run,” he said. “And, I’m sorry. The comment was uncalled for.”

      “Yes, it was. It’s also true.”

      “I’m sure it’s…”

      “I’m in a bar getting drunk by myself and no one from upstairs has noticed I’m missing.”

      “I’m sure someone has noticed,” Lewis replied. Granted, she wasn’t the kind of girl he’d look for, but she was hardly forgettable. Her black dress was sexy in a naughty-secretary way—prim but tight enough to show she had curves. She had black curly hair that she’d pulled into a high ponytail—to match the dress he presumed. It worked together to give her a no-nonsense vibe. If there was such a thing as a no-nonsense sex kitten, she was it.

      “If it helps, no one’s looking for me either,” he said.

      “Of course they aren’t,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “You insulted two women.”

      “And here I’d gone five whole minutes without thinking of my stupidity.” Good to know her tears didn’t dull the bite of her tongue.

      “Now you know why no one’s looking for me, except my friend here.” She waved her half-empty martini glass, the red liquid sloshing against the sides. “Unless you want your reputation to get worse, you might want to slide down a few stools.”

      “Trust me, my reputation can’t get much worse, luv.” A drink in the face was nothing when everyone in the UK thought you were washed up. Maybe not everyone, he corrected, but the people who counted. Like the people at BBC Sport who thought Pete “White Noise” Brockton made a good commentator.

      “More likely, you’re going to mess up your reputation sitting with me,” he told her.

      “Whatever. Here’s to our rotten reputations. Oh, no!” The liquid had splashed over the rim when she’d waved her drink. Running down the stem, it dripped onto the napkin he’d tossed down earlier. “And she’d been such a good friend.”

      Her lip was wobbling again. Reaching into her space, he took the glass from her hand before she could take another sip.

      “Hey! What are you doing?”

      “I think you’ve had enough.” Personified drinks were never a good sign. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender hold up four fingers.

      “Why does everyone keep saying that?” She went to grab the drink only to pitch forward. Fortunately, her hand grabbed the bar rail, keeping her from falling completely.

      Without missing a beat, she continued. “It’s Christmastime. A girl should get as many wishes as she wants.”

      “Christmas Wishes,” the bartender supplied when Lewis frowned. “It’s the name of the drink.”

      “Well, you’re going to wish you didn’t have this last wish tomorrow morning. Why don’t we switch to water for a little while? Get you hydrated.”

      “I don’t need water. I’m fine.”

      “Trust me.” Lewis set the drink on the bar as far down as he could reach. If she wanted it, she was going to have to stand up and walk around him. “You’re an expert on soap? I’m an expert on getting drunk. You need water.”

      “Fine. I’ll have the water.” The way she huffed and rolled her eyes like a teenager proved his point. Lewis had a feeling she wouldn’t be caught dead making such an expression sober.

      “Thank you. Bartender?”

      Giving a nod, the bearded man poured two large glasses, minus ice. “Room temperature will go down a little easier,” he said.

      Good man. Lewis took the fuller of the two glasses and handed it to Susan. “Here, drink up. Then I’ll call a car to take us home. You’ll have to pick up your car in the morning.”

      “Don’t have one,” she said in between swallows. “Took a car service.”

      “Even better.”

      “Wait a second. You’re taking me home?” She looked up at him through her lashes.

      Wow. Her eyes were really pretty. He wasn’t sure if it was the sheen from the tears or the bar lighting but the hazel color had a copper center that looked lit from within. They were almost hypnotic.

      “I’m making sure you get home safely,” he told her. While he imagined she could handle herself, Lewis didn’t like the idea of sending her home alone—car service or not. “We’ll share a ride and I’ll have the driver drop you off first.”

      “Oh.” Her gaze dropped to her glass. “That’s very nice of you.”

      There was no missing the disappointment in her voice. He didn’t stop to think, but after going on about no one liking her, his dropping her off was probably a kick in the teeth. When she sobered up, she’d be really embarrassed.

      “Bad form to leave a woman alone when she’s been drinking,” he said. “Or, to take advantage of her.” Not that he would have taken her home, but he might as well take the sting out of his rejection.

      It worked. A tiny blush bloomed in her cheeks. “You’re a very decent person,” she said. “Even if you did forget those women’s names.”

      Lewis couldn’t remember the last time he was called decent. “Thank you. If you get a chance, spread the word. I’m in need of an image makeover.” A big one. Otherwise, he’d be stuck as “Champagne Lewis” for the rest of his life. Or worse, he’d fade into obscurity.

      “You and me both,” she replied.

      “Amen to that, sister.” Helping himself to the other water, he clinked the bottom of his glass against hers. “Amen to that.”

       CHAPTER TWO

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