“There may have been a hot guy involved.”
“Oooh,” she gasps. “Not a stripper?” she teases.
“Nope.” I duck my head close to her. “And don’t tell anyone else.” I love all my friends, but I don’t want everyone knowing I think Lance is hot. Then Sadie would get excited and try to hook us up on double dates or something, and I’m not about to go out with the guy. Lance is not part of The Big Plan.
“Secret’s safe with me. What’s he like?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s a player. I can tell. Like every fly-boy on base growing up.” I push my martini away. “But he wants in my pants, and I definitely considered it for a minute.”
The waitress comes by, and Adele orders a bottle of wine for the table before turning back to me. “So? Why not jump him?”
I gape at her. I’d expect Tabitha, our hippie friend with no real job and a strict laissez faire code, to advocate free love and one-night stands, but not Adele. We all look up to Adele, not because she’s a year older, but because she’s so responsible and put together. She runs her own business and spends every waking minute in full make up and tasteful high heels, looking ready for a photo shoot in Paris. She’s the only person I know who regularly accessorizes with scarves.
“It’s not part of The Big Plan,” I say.
“Right.” Adele loosens her pretty cream-colored neck scarf and smooths back a perfect brown curl. “What’s the plan again?”
I take a deep breath. “Marry by thirty, have two point five kids. Raise them in Taos, but travel and hike a different national park each summer. Retire at fifty.”
“Hmmm.” Adele narrows her green eyes at me.
“Once I’m retired, I might do something crazy,” I add, so I don’t seem too boring. “Like start a cactus farm. Or crossbreed different varietials of ficus.”
The waitress delivers the wine. Adele pours a glass and takes a healthy sip. “All right, you want my advice?” She sets the glass down with a thump. “Forget the plan. You spend your whole life working for something, only to have it fail. You might as well set it on fire and toast marshmallows.”
My jaw drops to my lap. “Okay, what is going on with you? Did something happen? Is it the shop?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” There are grooves around her mouth I’ve never noticed before. “Not on your birthday. Today is about you. And I think you should do it. Sleep with him, whoever he is. Not as part of the plan; just to enjoy a hot man. Get it out of your system.”
The rest of our friends arrive, and Adele sits back with a placid smile, no sign of her earlier stress. I let her deflect attention onto me, but make a mental note to check on her later.
As for her advice, well… maybe I can add a one-night-stand addendum to The Big Plan. One night doing the horizontal tango to get Lance out of my system. Wham, bam, thank you, military man. Then he’ll move on, and I’ll get back to searching for someone with long term potential. Someone who’s husband material. Maybe I can find someone with an accounting background, so every year he can do our taxes.
My plan is perfect. What could go wrong?
Lance
Working in intelligence has its perks. Without resorting to asking Deke—which would show my hand—I find out everything I can about Miss Charlie. Where she works—the U.S. Post Office; where she lives—her own little adobe house in town; and, most importantly for tonight’s plan—the make, model of her car. How else will I be able to casually bump into her on her birthday?
She has to be going out with her friends.
It doesn’t take me long to do a drive-by of the restaurants in the Taos area, and I finally spot her Subaru Forester beside Sadie’s white Hyundai in front of the nicest restaurant in Arroyo Seco.
I don’t go in. She’s with her friends. It would be awkward. Instead I go full recon, parking my bike across the street under a tree, slouching down in my seat and watching through tinted windows. A full blown stakeout. Something I’ve done many times, but never, ever for a woman.
But Charlie’s different. My wolf assures me she’s special. And I’m going to find out why.
When the pack of females emerge, I get out, stealthily cross the street, and then seem to appear from the side street, casually passing near Charlie’s car. “Hey, birthday girl.”
She draws in her breath and swivels her hip to lean against her car. “Lance.”
Oh fuck. I like the way my name sounds on her lips. I catch her peach-pine scent—her full scent this time without the water to wash it away—and it hits me square in the nuts. My jeans get way too tight.