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more like haughty. Eureka! That’s it. Haughtiness. Never in a million years, would I admit this to him but damn any man that looks like him has good reason to be arrogant along with haughty. It’s his stance- hands tucked into his pockets, jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened, legs crossed at his feet, and topping it off were those piercing eyes peering at me over his black aviator sunglasses. There is only one word to describe him, HOT.
    Slightly nodding his head, “Ms. Jensen, Ladies.” The way he just said my name drips sex. I could throw him down, and devour him in the middle of this street.
    “Mr. Donovan,” I say without showing any emotion. The girls are looking back and forth between the two of us. I will absolutely kill them if either one of them says a word or makes a sound.
    “May I have a word?”
    I shake my head slightly, turn away and begin walking. I try to gracefully stomp (can you stomp gracefully?) past the girls leaving them behind hustling to catch up. I can’t believe him.
    “Ah, Charli what would a “word” hurt?”
    If looks could kill, I think my best friend would at least be falling to the ground with a death pallor consuming her.
    “Lana who the hell says that? Just tell me?”
    She stops, looks back, looks at me and mumbles with just a hint of a smile, “Ah, apparently Mr. Donovan?”
    “Lana, you aren’t going to shut up are you?”
    Joan pipes in with a “If she shuts up, I’ll start in.”
    I close my eyes, take a deep breath and turn around. Lord, he is delicious. Retracing my steps back to stand in front of him, he gives me that smile. If I didn’ t know any better, I would swear my panties just melted away.
    “Yes, Mr. Donovan?
    “Houston.”
    “Mr. Donovan, is that the word you wanted to have with me? Let me see if I understand this, all the time we have been texting, all you really wanted to discuss is how I should address you? Ok, we’ve established that so I’ll be off.”
    Turning, he gently touches my arm, “I really don’t think so.”
    follow his gaze as he looks down the sidewalk beyond Lana and Joan. What’s he looking at?
    “Where were the three of you off to?”
    “Chester’s Bar and Grill. Why?”
    Walking the ten or so steps over to the girls, he has a brief word and the three of them return.
    “We’ll give the three of you a lift to Chester’s.”
    Giving them my wrinkled nose face, all three of them could interpret its meaning. Sheepishly, Lana explained, “I didn’t want to tell you but my feet are hurting. The thoughts of walking three blocks was making them hurt even more. Mr. Donovan has offered us a ride. I agreed.”
    Looking over at Joan, “I agreed also, Charli.”
    I would feel silly walking by myself so I give in.
    Before Joan can open the front door, the driver comes around getting it for her.
    “Nash, we’ll drop the ladies at the Chester’s Bar and Grill just down the street.”

Chapter 7
    Arriving at Chester’s in what seemed five minutes or less, (This man sure drove as if he was a native Miamian.) I suggest they go on in. Both Joan and Lana seemed a little unsure about getting out. “It’s ok, go on. I’ll be inside in a few minutes.”
    As Lana is opening her door I reach over, touching her arm saying “Hey, wait about 10 minutes, then order me a Sidecar instead of a Margarita.”
    Lana looks at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head, “Sure. I’ll wait 10 minutes and order you a Sidecar.”
    Looking out the window, I watch them as they are talking to Nash. Sometime during my 32 years, I’ve finally learned to trust my instincts. They are telling me I was the topic of discussion out there in the middle of Chester’s parking lot. My instincts are also telling me that I’m not going inside. The realization hits me, it was never meant for me to have drinks with them.
    Looking toward him with questioning eyes, “I’m not going inside am I?” I ask even though the question didn’t need answering.
    He turns in his