Likely, Hunt thought. “Beer night is always a go, and make sure you bring Hayden this time. That woman works too much.”
“Tell me about it.” Adam shook Hunt’s hand and took off.
A few minutes later, Hunt leaned against plush gray cushions inside the lounge filled to the brim with beautiful vacationers and the fashionable elite of Lake Tahoe. Chris had found them an optimal location—perfect for viewing the bar and dance floor. Hunt sipped his gin and tonic, relaxing for the first time all day.
“Bar. Four o’clock,” Chris said, and gulped his beer.
Hunt glanced in the direction his friend indicated, though “friend” might be a strong word for the partnership he and Chris had formed.
Chris worked at Club Tahoe as a doorman, and he was always up for going out. Though Hunt suspected it had something to do with the comps Hunt’s connections afforded them all over town. But their wingman partnership was mutually beneficial. It was easier to approach women in pairs. And as Hunt got older, most of his friends had dropped off to be in relationships.
More fools them.
Hunt had already noticed the two women sitting at the bar. “Which one?”
One of the women wore a short metallic dress and five-inch heels. She had long, dark hair and heavy makeup, and she looked like an Instagram model. The woman next to her, however, was a bit of an oddball in this environment. She wore fitted jeans and a sexy top, which both worked. What threw him were the shoes. She had on those rubber shoes nurses wore. Glogs? Clogs? It was a strange choice for a high-end club.
“The sexy one,” Chris said.
Hunt scanned both women. Their styles were different, but they were both pretty. Clog woman simply had a more natural look. Then again, Hunt could find something beautiful in any woman.
“I’m game.” Hunt picked up his drink and they strode over.
Clog woman caught sight of them first. She ducked her head and whispered something to her friend.
“Having a good evening, ladies?” Chris said to the dark-haired woman.
Not exactly original, Hunt thought, but in a place like this, people weren’t looking for poetry. They were looking for a hookup.
“We are, actually.” The dark-haired woman nudged her friend, and the other woman murmured something that sounded like a choked assent.
Now that Hunt was up close, he caught the golden highlights in clog woman’s long, wavy, light brown hair. Pretty hair that fell in waves and looked soft to the touch. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her eyes yet, but her full, pillowy mouth was definitely kissable.
She swiped the side of a chilled glass of beer and avoided his gaze.
It could be shyness, but Hunt had been around long enough to detect the signs of someone who wasn’t here to be social. Which always confused the hell out of him. Why go to a club if you weren’t interested in socializing?
Rarely did Hunt run into a woman who wasn’t interested in talking—or more—but when he did, he walked away. He was here for mutual flirtation.
Leave it to Chris to target a pair of women with one-half not interested.
The last thing Hunt wanted was to make the woman uncomfortable. Still, he had to try talking to her for Chris’s sake. It was a part of his wingman duties.
Chris chatted with the Instagram model lookalike, and Hunt turned to her friend. “I’m Hunt. What’s your name?”
She set her beer down and shook his outstretched hand. “Abby.”
Soft hands and a pretty voice. “You come here often?” She didn’t. He’d know, because he was here almost every night.
“Not at all.”
“Are you from out of town?” he asked. She was a conundrum inside this place.
“I live here,” she said. “I just don’t get out much.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, adding a flirtatious depth to his tone.
She finally looked up, long enough that he glimpsed her eyes. Light brown, or blond, if there was such a thing. A shade of brown so pale he’d never seen the likes before.
