2.1

“You know, if you’re in the market—” Pam began, but Ashley was already tugging me away from the table.

I shoved the business card in my tiny purse, trying not to stumble in my wedges as she pulled us into the mass of bodies closer to the dance floor. “That was so rude. She might offer me a job!”

“That’s wonderful, but we came here for a man. You don’t have one of those already, so that’s what we need to focus on.” Ashley scanned the crowd.

“You don’t have one either, but you don’t see me trying to set you up,” I pouted.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s been complaining about being single, not me.” Ashley’s gaze snagged on something behind me. Or should I say someone.

“Hey, champ. Come dance with my friend.” Ashley grabbed a tall blond-haired guy by the bicep.

He didn’t seem perturbed by a random girl grabbing him. He smiled at me, right before his gaze slid down to my chest. Sigh. Well, he didn’t have boat shoes. And he had actual hair on his legs. Not too much. Not too little. Okay, this could work.

“It’s actually Chad,” he yelled back over the loud music with a wink. One for Ashley and one for me. Impressive. All that blinking would have had me dizzy if I tried it.

Ashley’s nose twitched and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. It was an inside joke. Anytime I went on a bad date and came home to tell her the story, we labeled the guy as a Chad. And now she was setting me up with an actual Chad. What could possibly go wrong?

“Yeah, okay, let’s just go with Champ.” Ashley spun him around and literally pushed him at me.

He finished putting something in his pocket and put his hands on my hips. “I guess we’re dancing, babe.”

I winced, but put my hands on his very broad and muscled shoulders. “It’s El, actually.”

He shrugged and pulled me into his body. Oh my. The boy definitely worked out. “I prefer babe.”

Of course he did. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and right then I was one step away from begging for some action in the romance department. “So, you must love wine, huh?” I said loudly, trying to make myself heard as he steered us into the middle of the crowded dance floor.

His grin was lopsided and quite cute in a mischievous boy kind of way. “Nah. I prefer beer or whiskey, but free wine isn’t so bad.” His hands slid a little further south, now resting on the top slope of my considerable junk in the trunk. I’d been “blessed” with curves and while the booty was in fashion right now, I could have done with a little less volume all around. Especially when Chad’s gaze slid back down to where my boobs were exploding out of my sundress.

“How about you? Here for the free wine or the music?” he asked my chest.

“Honestly?” Thinking of Pam, I let it fly. “I’m here for the guys.”

His gaze flew to my face and his eyes did some weird smoldery thing that reminded me of Aladdin. Probably worked on a lot of girls, but it was making me want to quote Disney movies.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, was why I was currently single. The flirt gene had passed me by.

“Oh, really,” Chad said right as he held me so tight I wasn’t sure if breathing would be an option. He twirled me around and then his face was in my neck.

“Oh!” I wasn’t sure if that shiver was because whatever he was doing felt good or if it was because I was insanely ticklish.

He sloppily kissed behind my ear. Both hands slid down to grab my backside and I was pretty sure he had just licked my neck. With a jolt, I put my hands on his chest and pushed him away. “Sorry, gotta find the restrooms. Be right back.”

And then I spun and walked away, not sure where Ashley was or where the bathrooms were either. I just knew I needed a second to catch my breath and pep-talk myself into more flirting with Chad. If I called it quits now, Ashley would just find me another Chad, and he might not be as cute as this one—even if the guy had licked me. I saw the green porta-potties and made a beeline for them. Thankfully there wasn’t a line yet. I hoped that meant the stench wasn’t deadly yet either.

I didn’t actually need to relieve myself, but I did use the toilet paper to blot the sweat happening under my arms. I’d tried every deodorant under the sun and not one lived up to its antiperspirant claims. I’d learned to blot a lot and never, ever wear gray. Oh, and breezes were lifegiving.

“Come on, El. Time to put the girls out there and reel him in. You got this,” I muttered to myself as I stepped out of the porta-potty, now moisture- free and ready to flirt even if it killed me.

I saw Chad’s bouncing blond head as he danced to a fast song by himself. He looked a little crazy, but I had to hand it to him for having the confidence to be out there on the dance floor without a partner. Pushing between couples, I made my way over. Right before I got to him, Ashley caught my attention, dancing with a guy I’d never seen before. She mimed writing something down and then putting a phone to her ear.

Ah man, she wanted me to get his number, and I knew she’d dog me until I did. The moisture was back.

“Hey!” I waited for the timing to be just right and touched Chad’s arm when it wasn’t flailing through the air.

“Oh, hey, babe,” he said with a smile aimed at my face, then my boobs, then my face. Oh, nope. Back to the boobs. “You’re back.”

I nodded. “Yep, I’m back. Hey, so I was wondering if I could get your phone number?” I mean, I wasn’t sure I wanted it, but it would get Ashley

off my back, so I’d go along with this sham.

He licked his lips. “For sure. Got your phone in that bag of yours?” He gestured to the tiny purse strapped across my chest, reminding me it was there.

I fumbled with the zipper, trying to get my phone out. Come on, fingers, cooperate. “Ready.”

He gave it to me and I typed it in under Chad the Neck Licker. “Awesome. I’ll text you later, but I’ve gotta go.”

He bobbed his head. “Okay, yeah, cool.” For some reason I felt like we both knew in that moment that I wouldn’t be texting him.

I walked away, dodging the other dancers and wiggling my phone in the air to Ashley so she knew I got his number. Phew. Now the pressure was off. I could enjoy my afternoon without feeling like a failure in the man department. I was no closer to that white picket fence and two-point-five children, but at least I might have found a new job.

Wandering through the first row of tents, I had a gut-wrenching memory of the oldest Cunningham brother informing me that I lacked a general sense of professionalism when I’d interviewed for a sales position at West Wines a few months back. That had hands-down been the most humiliating moment of my life. He’d sat there in his designer suit with his perfect hair and Rolex watch that cost more than my beater of a car, and told me I needed more polish. Sure, I’d been sweating like a pig just to get up the nerve to interview for the position, but I didn’t need him to be so specific with his criticism. Not my fault the donuts he’d brought in that morning for the company had been jelly filled. It was the white shirt curse. You wear a white shirt, you’re going to spill something on it. Everyone knew that was a law of the universe. Again, not my fault I came into the interview wearing my donut.

But that was in the past. Today, the sun was shining, the music was perfect, and I had a sweet lady willing to consider giving me my dream job—assuming it paid well. Life was pretty darn good, even if I never actually texted Chad the Neck Licker.

I felt an evil grin light my face. Daydreaming about telling my boss to shove his “professionalism” where the sun didn’t shine brightened up my day considerably.