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hair, big gray eyes, and a mouth so soft and pink it could have been candy. Her Wilde’s Bistro apron made it hard to tell, but he thought her rack was good.
    “I’m Rebecca,” she said. “If you like, I can tell you the specials.”
    “ Please ,” Trey said, like it was really important.
    Zane looked at him sharply. His roommate’s voice had dropped lower than normal.
    Rebecca rattled off the specials, then pushed her pencil eraser into her bottom lip. In spite of the situation, interest zinged along Zane’s nerves. She truly did have a stellar mouth. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but you really shouldn’t order the lobster.”
    “We shouldn’t,” Trey repeated.
    The short waitress shook her head. “There was a screw up with our purveyor. All we’ve got today is frozen.”
    Trey planted his elbow on the tablecloth and his chin in his hand. The position turned him toward Rebecca, silently declaring: I’m all yours, sweetheart . “Frozen lobster so close to Maine is blasphemy.”
    Flustered by his attention, Rebecca pulled her order pad to her cushy chest. “The striped bass is good. And the duck breast, though it’s not on special. One of the senior line cooks makes it. He’s got a knack.”
    Trey’s smile couldn’t have been more salacious if she’d been discussing sex. “You seem familiar with the kitchen.”
    He must have been giving her his best smolder, because the girl’s breath hitched. “I cook on the line for lunch. I serve dinner because the tips are good.”
    “People are more generous once they’ve survived a day at work.”
    Trey wasn’t simply playing his fellow wait staff card, he was crooning at her. The girl began to flush, but stopped herself with a laugh. “Alcohol doesn’t hurt either.”
    Trey smiled at her humor. For all the pair noticed, Zane could have been invisible. He’d watched his friend flirt before, but disappearing himself was a new experience.
    “We’ll take the duck to share,” he cut in. “And the smoked cod tartine to start.”
    “Oh.” The girl shifted her gaze to him, her smile faltering as she recalculated them being a couple. Recovering, she scribbled down what he’d said. “And you?” she asked Trey. “Would you like an appetizer?”
    “The terrine of foie gras.” After all these years of fine dining, the French pronunciation rolled off his tongue. “We’ll get back to you on the wine.” His tone was soft, his penetrating green eyes reclaiming their intimate hold on hers. The girl’s soft mouth parted, as if she saw something in his consideration that perplexed her. For a couple seconds, the pair stared at each other.
    “I’ll . . .” She cleared huskiness from her throat. “I’ll put your tickets in right away.”
    As she spun jerkily and walked off, Zane struggled with his shame. “She was cute,” he observed, some part of him unable to leave dogs sleeping.
    “She was,” Trey agreed, now perusing the wine list. His manicured index finger trailed as smoothly down the page as it could stroke an erection. He didn’t mention that Zane had effectively cock-blocked him.
    That meant Zane really was obliged to act mature.
    “You could probably get her number.”
    Trey looked up and smiled. He seemed to know what had just happened—even if Zane preferred not to sort it out. “What’s in the portfolio?”
    “Oh. It’s . . . a business proposal I wanted your feedback on it.”
    The weird exchange with the cute waitress seemed to be over. Trey traded the wine list for Zane’s zippered leather case. He opened it, pulled out the stack of bound pages, and flipped through them. Though his movements were swift, Zane knew his friend was reading.
    As he did, his expressive lips began curving. “You want to call your business The Bad Boys Club?”
    “It conveys a feeling. Exclusive but still fun.”
    “I agree.” Trey turned a few pages back and forth. “This is a big plan, Zane. A magazine. Luxury vacation properties.” His