Between Sisters

It was him . . . or loneliness.

She went to his table, stood beside him. “May I sit down?”

He didn’t look up from his beer. “What am I, your lucky fifth choice?”

“You’re counting?”

“It isn’t hard, lady. You’re clearing out the place faster than a cop at a frat party. ”

She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. The song “Lookin’ for Love” came on the jukebox. In all the wrong places . . .

Finally, he looked up. Beneath the silvery fringe of hair that must have been trimmed with a pocket knife, a pair of blue eyes stared at her. With a start, she realized that he wasn’t much older than she was, and he was almost handsome, in a Sam Elliott stranger-in-town kind of way. He looked like the kind of man who’d walked down a few dark alleys in his time.

“Whatever you’re looking for,” he said, “you won’t find it here. ”

She started to flirt, to say something funny and impersonal, but before her tongue had even formed the first word, she paused. There was something about him. . . .

“Have we met?” she asked, frowning. She prided herself on her memory. Faces, she rarely forgot. Unless they belonged to the men she sometimes picked up; those she forgot immediately. Please God, tell me I haven’t screwed him already.

“People say that all the time. ” He sighed. “Just an ordinary face, I guess. ”

No, that wasn’t it. She was sure she’d seen him before, but it didn’t matter, really. Besides, anonymity was her goal here, not making friends. “It’s far from ordinary. Are you from around here?”

“I am now. ”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Do I look like I make a living? I get by, that’s all. ”

“That’s all any of us do, really. ”

“Look, lady—”

“Meghann. Friends call me Meg. ”

“Meghann. I’m not going to take you home. Is that clear enough for you?”

That made her smile. “I don’t remember asking to be taken

home. I asked if I could sit down. You’re making quite an assumption. ”

He pulled back a little, looked uncomfortable. “Sorry. I’ve been . . . alone for a while. Makes a man poor company. ”

Poor company. It had the ring of education to it.

She leaned closer, studying him. Though the light was dim in here, and the air clogged with cigarette smoke, she liked his face. Enough for one night, at least.

“What if I did want to go home with you?”

When he looked up again, she would have sworn that he’d gone pale. His eyes were swimming-pool blue.

It was an eternity before he answered. “I’d say it wouldn’t mean anything. ” His voice sounded tight. He looked scared.

She frowned. “The sex?”

He nodded.

She felt it suddenly, the thrill of the chase, the revving up of her heart. She reached out, pressed her forefinger along the back of his hand. “What if I said that was okay? That I didn’t want it to mean anything?”