had made it past depressed and was halfway to optimistic when Marisa breezed in, a vision in bright blue silk, turning all male heads in her path.
Except for Gabe’s.
Marisa shouldered through to find a seat in front of Tessa.
“How’s it going?”
“Busy,” answered Tessa, which she hoped would prevent long, extended Gabe-filled conversations.
“Were you able to talk to him? Should I go introduce myself? Do you think this dress is okay? Not too trashy? I wanted sexy but classy. This is sexy but classy, don’t you think?”
Tessa stared, unable to reconcile this babbling sinkhole of female insecurities with confident, self-assured Marisa. However, it did make her feel more comfortable with her own lack of confidence when it came to Gabe. Did he affect all women this way? Probably.
Tessa smiled at Marisa, somewhat vindicated. “You look great. Don’t worry. I started laying the groundwork for you, but let me go over and say a few more things, and then you sit at his bar for a while. Oh, and one thing—I didn’t tell him about the apartment at Hudson Towers. He never liked the place, and I don’t want to say anything. Let’s keep that part just between us. Okay?”
Marisa nodded. “Sure. You’ll talk to him now?”
Tessa nodded and wiped suddenly sweaty palms on her rag. She could do this. She could definitely do this. She tightened her smile, took a deep breath and went to see Gabe.
He was pouring a pitcher of beer and he looked up, surprised to see her.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Tessa nodded. “You remember me talking to you about Marisa, the Realtor who’s getting me into school?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking at her, confused.
Not that she could blame him. She knew everything that was going on and she still felt confused. “I think you should talk to her. Get to know her. I think you two would really hit it off.”
“Leave it alone, Tessa. I’m not feeling friendly.” He sloshed the pitcher on the bar, which was a testament to how unfriendly he was currently feeling. Gabe didn’t slosh. Ever.
Tessa flashed Marisa a reassuring smile and turned back to Gabe.
“She’s very pretty. And she’s nice, too.”
“What is with you?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, licking suddenly dry lips.
“You’re hell-bent on setting me up with her, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I like her and I like you, and I think you two would get along well,” replied Tessa. She wasn’t the world’s greatest actress, but man, she should really get an award for this…assuming she could walk away from Gabe without bursting into tears—again.
Gabe wasn’t buying it, wasn’t even close to buying it, but at least he had stopped asking why.
“Send her over. I’ll make sure she has a great time,” he snapped, which sounded more like a threat.
Tessa walked away because, yes, she was going to fall apart here, and there were over one hundred thirsty customers and they all needed her.
She squared her shoulders, tightened her stomach and swore to herself that as soon as she was alone she could fall apart. But not until then.
Tessa was getting stronger.
GABE FELT AS IF HE had walked onto the set of some fictional drama and he had no idea who was who and what his lines were supposed to be. All he knew was that Tessa was pretty damn insistent that he hook up with Miss Marisa What’s-her-name, irrespective of whether Gabe wanted the woman or not. The Realtor looked polished, confident, a Manhattan barracuda with teeth. Completely not his type. He liked his women…
Like Tessa.
That’s what he wanted. Somebody that was soft and comfortable, that didn’t care if they went out on Saturday night or stayed at home. Somebody that understood the rules of poker.
And, most of all, somebody that needed Gabe.
The way Tessa needed Gabe.
But, okay, she wanted to go down this pathway to disaster, then he’d walk down it, if only to show her how badly she was screwing up.
His smile was cruel.
Because Tessa was screwing up royally.
Marisa noticed Gabe looking in her direction and waved. Gabe motioned her over. A discreet dip of the head, nothing more and—zoom—she was at Gabe’s bar.
Gabe took a deep breath and then proceeded to charm Miss Marisa Whoever right out of her senses. And he did. He complimented her dress, told her how the blue set off the twinkle in her eyes. He created a new drink, rum, vodka, and lemonade—and christened it the Marisa, insisting that everyone try it.
Tessa glowered at that one.
Inside, Gabe was beaming.
Everything was going along swimmingly until Daniel pulled him aside.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked his big brother, looking irate. This from a man whose general demeanor was somewhere between extracalm and not exactly breathing.
“What?”
“Why are you messing with this other girl? This can’t be the woman you were talking to Sean about. Is it?”
“Sean told you?” snapped Gabe, glaring at his other brother and deciding he was going to kill Sean after all.
“Sean would tell the Pope if he got the chance. Why did you ever go to him for advice?”
“I didn’t want to talk to you about it.”
“Why?”
Gabe threw down his rag. “What is it with why? I don’t want to tell you why, so I’m not going to. Deal with it, Daniel.”
Daniel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, look, I’m sorry for interfering, but you can’t go messing up your life like this.”
And now Daniel was drinking the same Kool-Aid as Tessa? “Messing up my life? What the—Daniel, I’m talking to a customer, that’s it.”
“No, you’re doing the whole eye game with her, Gabe. It’s like visual sex—and in front of everybody. Did you ever think you might be hurting somebody by doing that?”
“Hurting who?”
“Somebody,” answered Daniel vaguely. Too vaguely.
“What are you talking about?”
“Why are you doing it?”
Gabe was tired of being accused of being a jerk for no good reason. It was about time he defended himself, because nobody else around here would, that was for damned sure. “Tessa wants me to go out with her. She’s one of Tessa’s friends. Some Realtor chick.”
“Tessa?” Daniel stared over at Tessa, brows drawn together.
“Yes, Tessa. I’m doing her a favor,” explained Gabe self-righteously. If there was anybody that deserved a medal, it was him.
“Why does Tessa want you to go out with somebody else?”
At that, Gabe threw up his arms. “How the hell should I know? Ask her. I’m going back to work. This is a bar, not the O.C., thank you very much. I’m going back to work. Going back to work now. And if you figure anything out, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to understand. I don’t want to go boohoo. I just want to tend bar. Capisce?”
Daniel