Cade peered over his shoulder. “What are you two talking about? Is something happening?”
His eyes trained on the suspect, Vaughn watched as Black Shirt grabbed hold of his drink and turned around, leaning against the bar while fully checking out Sidney.
“Some guy is about to approach Sidney,” Huxley said.
Cade looked at Vaughn. “You’re not going to stand here and watch while another dude hits on her, are you?”
Vaughn thought about that. “That guy looks like a douchebag—she won’t want to talk to him. I mean, really . . . I suppose I’d be doing her a favor by going over there and intercepting this guy.”
Cade and Huxley exchanged looks.
“You do that,” Cade said, his lips twitching in a smile. “Be a hero.”
“Yes. Right.” Vaughn nodded. “Just so we’re all clear that I’m doing this for her.” Right then, he saw Black Shirt push away from the bar and head into the crowd in Sidney’s direction.
Enough of the chitchat—he had a douchebag to intercept.
Twenty-three
TRISH NUDGED SIDNEY, her tone sly. “Your friend is coming this way.”
Yes, Sidney was aware of this. Actually, she’d been plenty aware of Vaughn ever since he’d walked into the bar. And she wasn’t the only one: looking rakishly handsome in his suit jacket, pants, and open-necked shirt, he’d caught the eye of many a woman on that terrace—including Amanda, who’d been openly checking him out this whole time.
“Miss Sinclair,” he said as he approached.
Then he surprised her by stepping closer and kissing her on the cheek.
“Uh . . . hi,” she said, not exactly sure when they’d moved into the public kiss-hello phase.
“Hi, yourself,” he said with a charming smile, standing very close to her.
When he didn’t move away, Sidney lowered her voice. “What are you doing?” Her sister and his brother were standing close by. Yet here he was, quite obviously leaning in toward her.
He seemed amused by her question. “You’re always asking me that. I’m starting a conversation. Again.” He winked.
Okay . . . “And how much have you had to drink tonight, Agent Roberts?”
He laughed as if this was the funniest thing, and touched her chin. “Always busting my balls, Sinclair.”
Then he looked to his right, watching as some guy in a black shirt passed by them.
He waited until the guy was gone, then stepped back to an acceptable “just friends” distance. “So. Having fun tonight?” he asked both women, seeming normal now.
Sidney exchanged a look with Trish, who shrugged. No clue what any of that was all about. “You remember my friend Trish, from the shower?”
Trish shook Vaughn’s hand. “We met briefly outside, when you and Simon were saying good-bye to your mother.”
“Speaking of Simon, how is he holding up?” Sidney asked Vaughn.
“He’s in that phase where he’s telling everyone how much he loves them. And half the people, he actually knows.”
She laughed. “Simon, a happy drunk? No way.”
“How about Isabelle? Is she having a good time?” Vaughn asked.
“A great time, from what I can tell,” Sidney said.
“She’s been partying it up all night,” Trish said. “Honestly, I had no idea she could hold her liquor so well.” She finished off the last sip of her martini. “Which reminds me—it’s my turn to buy her a shot. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Or so,” she added, giving Sidney a pointed smile.
“Make sure you ask Dwayne to get it for you,” Sidney reminded her. “He’s giving us a discount on all of our drinks.”
“Got it.” Trish headed off to track down the waiter.
Vaughn moved next to Sidney along the railing. Not surprisingly, he raised a brow. “Your sister is doing shots?”
“I tipped the waiter an extra twenty percent to give her nonalcoholic versions of all her drinks.”
“Very sneaky,” he said approvingly. Then his look turned more familiar. “You look incredible tonight.”
She felt herself go warm at the compliment. “Thanks. We had a spa day earlier that included hair and makeup. I’m not sure about the lipstick, though. Too red?”
Belatedly, she realized that this question brought his attention to her mouth.
His eyes lingered as he gazed down at her lips. “I like the red.”
Drawn in by his look, she tried to think of something that could steer them back to normal ground. “I have another Man-Speak question for you.”
He frowned. “I just saw you yesterday. You’ve already been on another date?”
“Not another date. Just some guy who e-mailed me through the online dating service I signed up with,” she said. “And don’t act so scandalized. Do I even want to know how many women you’ve been texting and e-mailing as of late?”
He furrowed his brow, as if needing to think about that.
She’d take that as a no, she did not want to know. “So here’s my question: what does it mean when a guy says he’s ‘pretty much single’?”
“That’s easy. It means, ‘I have a girlfriend, but I’ve kept my dating profile active anyway, and you’re hot.’”
She shook her head. “I swear, Roberts, the more I learn about your gender, the more I think a sperm donor, a good handyman, and a great vibrator is the better way to go.”