Page 3 of Tanner

“I don’t care what people say about thirty being the new twenty. It’s not. Especially to a group of people who are barely twenty-one—or worse, using fake IDs to get in.”

She grabs my arm to get us walking again. “Oh, stop. People at my firm recommended this place. It’s more of the after-work hangout. I’m sure half the people will still be dressed in suits and ties.” She smirks, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, yes, because the last hot guy in a suit I went to bed with worked out so well.” I shake my head in disbelief.

“Exactly. You need revenge suit sex. When we walk in, I want you to find the hottest guy you can.”

“Then what?” I stop at the entrance before we enter.

“Flirt. Bat those ridiculous lashes of yours. Show off that ass. If you like him, let him take you home to do dirty things to you all night long.”

“I don’t go to strange men’s homes.”

“Then, take him to a hotel.” She opens the door. “After you, my dear.”

We walk inside, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the far wall that’s lined with an extra-long gas fireplace set high on display with a lounge area of white leather couches and high-top tables. On the opposite side is a long metal bar that spans the length of the space.

Every bottle of liquor imaginable sits on the glass shelves. Based on the labels taking up some prime real estate behind the bar, this is definitely not the Pabst Blue Ribbon crowd. These people drink whiskey. The good kind.

We walk through the joint, placing our hands on the backs of patrons as we work our way to the bar. It’s crowded but not packed.

April was right; this is definitely a place for the after-work crowd. Most of the men here are still dressed in their suits and ties, though some have already lost the jackets and are starting to roll up their sleeves. At this late hour, I can only assume they work long days.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, tapping on the bar top.

“Vodka Seven with a lime,” April orders.

“Pinot noir,” I say.

While he makes our drinks, April and I look around the room. From the way she bites her bottom lip, I can tell there are a few who have already caught her attention.

I’m not as lucky. I feel like such a creeper, standing by the bar, searching for a man to … what? Seduce? I haven’t done this in years, and to say I feel like a fish out of water is the understatement of the year.

This is ridiculous. I just wish I’d stayed home with my six fictional friends. At least they wouldn’t make me stand here like a wanton woman waiting to be picked up. I’m an elementary school teacher, for Christ’s sake. I’m not some floozy.

I’m also a virile young woman. I’ve already missed my life goal of being married before I’m thirty. I know it’s silly, but I’ve always set life goals for myself and succeeded. Until now.

I might not have the gumption to have a one-night stand, but I certainly could stand to meet a nice guy. Maybe my Mr. Right is in this room right now. I’d never know if I stayed home on the futon.

Harper Doyle, this is where the next chapter of your life begins.

2

TANNER

“Why are we coming here again?” I ask as we walk toward the bar on Third Avenue. It’s a far cry from my usual haunts on Broadway.

“Because we’re not college guys anymore,” Ryan says.

“Yes, we are,” I remind him.

Chris adjusts his tie with a smirk. “Dude, this here is where all the prime women in Manhattan are. They worked all day and are ready to kick up their heels and let off the workweek frustration.”

These two idiots put on their best interview suits just to come out tonight. I, on the other hand, kept to my signature style—jeans, a long-sleeved henley, and a beanie.

“You know, there are thousands of bars in the city that have single women,” I say. “The college bars are swimming with them.”

“Yeah, but Chris has royally pissed off every female on the Upper West Side.” Ryan gives Chris a shove with a laugh.