The Real Deal. Debbi Rawlins

wasn’t. When Billy was ready to talk, he’d be the one to call Nick. “As soon as Billy wants me there, I’ll be there.”

      “Come on, Nick. You know he won’t ask.”

      “He won’t have to. I’ll know, okay?”

      “Have you talked to him lately?”

      “I’ll call him tomorrow.”

      Her resentful silence was as thick as country gravy.

      He saw the waitress approaching with his beer. “Billy is my best friend. I know what I’m doing, Liz. Trust me.”

      “Sure,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice.

      “Happy Thanksgiving.”

      She disconnected the call before he could say another word, offer any comfort. Not that he knew what to say, but he knew she was suffering, too. It sucked feeling helpless.

      “Here you go.” Sabrina set down the beer, along with a small bowl of mixed nuts. “I’ll be on the lookout for your friend. A woman, I assume?”

      “It’s okay. There she is.” Nick glanced at his watch and smiled to himself. Two minutes early. He lifted a hand to get her attention.

      Emily nodded acknowledgment, touched her hair and briefly tugged at the hem of her red sweater. Was she still wearing the red lingerie underneath? he wondered.

      “Guess I’ll just wait then,” Sabrina said, balancing the tray against her hip and curiously eyeing Emily.

      “Come back in a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

      “All right.”

      To his annoyance, the waitress lingered long enough that she had to directly pass Emily. After so many years in the limelight, he ought to be used to people’s nosiness by now, but he wasn’t.

      Just as she got to the table, he stood and pulled out the other chair.

      Emily grinned. “Why, thank you.”

      He waited until she was settled, and then reclaimed his seat across from her. “Well worth the wait. You look lovely,” he said, liking the way the sweater clung to her subtle curves. Her hair was different, but he couldn’t pinpoint how. “Although you looked mighty good twenty minutes ago, too.”

      She chuckled. “Boy, are you smooth.”

      “What?” He gave a startled laugh. “I meant it.”

      Her smile broadened, and then her gaze fell to his untouched beer. “Funny, I didn’t peg you for the beer type.”

      “No? What then?”

      “I don’t know.” She shrugged, and the sweater, which was already off her shoulder, slipped an inch. No way she was wearing that red bra he’d glimpsed earlier. No bra, period, he guessed, and tried to stay focused on her face. “One of those new fancy martinis maybe.”

      “You mean like those flavored ones? Apple or whatever?”

      “Yeah, like that.”

      He frowned. “Those are sissy drinks.”

      “Well, excuse me. I was planning on trying one of those.”

      “You’re a girl. The term ‘sissy’ doesn’t apply.”

      “A girl?” Her eyebrows went up.

      “Scratch that. A woman.”

      A smile tugged at her lips. They were a pale pink and slightly shiny. She’d done something with her eyes, too. But not too much. Good. He hated when women wore too much makeup.

      “Do you mind?” She indicated the bowl of nuts.

      “No, here.” He slid the bowl toward her and signaled for Sabrina.

      “Thanks. I skipped dinner, and I’m starving.”

      “Oh, man, I didn’t think—We could go to a restaurant. There are plenty around here.”

      She waved off the offer and popped a cashew into her mouth. “This is perfect,” she said, and the tip of her tongue darted out to lick the salt from the corner of her mouth.

      To his amazement, his body reacted to the simple gesture, and he shifted in his seat. Sabrina showed up just in time to take Emily’s order, which took a couple of minutes because Emily had half a dozen questions about the different flavors the bar offered and how the drinks were made.