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daiquiri and set it back down. The ice was melting. It was too watery for my tastes.
    “Divorce. Scrapes with the law.”
    “A celebrity criminal defense lawyer.” I spit the words out like the anathema they were.
    Van looked startled by my outburst, but Jim laughed.
    “Don’t hold back,” Jim said. “Tell me what you really think.”
    “Sorry,” I said, covering. “But if the Bruno Mali fits…”
    Jim laughed again. “I can see it’s going to take some work to convince you we’re not all bad.”
    Huff got another call. He looked at the number and gave the table a thump to get our attention. “Hey, I’ve got business to attend to. I’m calling it a night. See you all in the morning. Seven sharp. And you”—he pointed at me—“owe me a change-up.”
    “Find me a softball,” I said, disappointed by his sudden departure.
    He winked. “You got it.”
    As it so often goes, once someone leaves the party, everyone else follows. Steve, Peewee, Cliff, and Jim took Huff’s lead and begged off, leaving just Van and me. I would have headed out myself, but it seemed rude to leave a hot guy like Van hanging alone.
    There was a moment of awkward silence after the others had gone. As was my nature, I had to say something. Only I was trying to steer clear of questions about Van’s line of work. When we’d all first introduced ourselves, he’d mentioned that he was a professor of mathematics.
    I’ve always been pretty good at math, but that didn’t mean I wanted to waste precious getting-to-know-you time discussing imaginary numbers, polar coordinates, and negative infinity.
    So instead of discussing math’s imponderables, I said, “Van. Is that short for something?”
    “Van-Rex.”
    “Unusual name. I bet you don’t find it on toothbrushes and key chains.”
    “Not all that often, no,” he said. I liked his smile. “It’s a family name.”
    “So you’re Van the second, third, fifteenth?”
    “None of the above. Dad lucked out and dodged the name. I’m named after my great-great-grandfather or something. He was a war hero.”
    I nodded. “Well, I like it. Reminds me of a dinosaur. Very powerful.”
    He looked bemused by my comment, so I explained. “You know, T-rex? Van-Rex?”
    “Ah, now I see the correlation. What about Reilly? You probably have to order special from Lillian Vernon to get that on a toothbrush.”
    “Lillian Vernon! You shop there often?”
    “It’s Grandma’s favorite store.”
    I laughed. “Reilly’s my grandmother’s maiden name. Mom thought she was having another boy. I have two older brothers.”
    We made more small talk in which Van revealed very little about himself.
    “You’re a softball player?” he said, referring to Huff’s comment about my change-up.
    “I was. I pitched for the University of Washington.” I downplayed my ball career in case he wasn’t a big fan of lady jocks.
    “I like softball players,” he said and I couldn’t really tell if he was flirting or not. “Jenny Finch. Cat Osterman. Hot.” He grinned. “I’ve always liked tall girls.”
    “So you’re a pitcher, first baseman kind of guy?” I asked, flirting back. Hey, if mark number one bails, it’s off to mark number two. Not that Van was necessarily my second choice.
    “Give me a girl in a ponytail any day.”
    At that outrageous comment, I had to laugh. “We use them for intimidation, you know,” I said. “Stretched out to my full five ten with a high ponytail giving me several inches I can really psych out a batter.”
    “It’s all those crazy ribbons in the ponytails you softball girls wear that distract me. They turn me on.” He grinned like a bad boy, but I could tell he was teasing about the ribbons.
    “You have a thing for schoolgirls?”
    “No, I like the grown-up kind of girl. And for the record—bet you couldn’t psych me out.”
    Bet I’d like to try.
    “I’ll rise to that challenge. If Huff finds me a softball, I’ll make you eat your