Flirts! 5 Romantic Short Stories (The Flirts! Collection) Read online

  Flirts!

  5 Romantic Short Stories

  By Lisa Scott

  Electronic Edition © 2011 Lisa Scott Macdonough

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Story 1: “The Hot Girl’s Friend”

  Story 2: “Wrong Place, Right Guy”

  Story 3: “Not You”

  Story 4: “Desperately Seeking Cupid”

  Story 5: “Never Been Dumped”

  About the Author

  Bonus content: Spouse Hunting: A Romantic Novella sample

  Can a plain Jane find love when her best friend is a curvy, blond man-magnet?

  “The Hot Girl’s Friend”

  By Lisa Scott

  A night out with Miranda always ended in one of two ways: either she found this week’s love of her life right off the bat and I caught an early cab home for a night of popcorn and bad cable reality shows; or I spent the entire evening fending off the smitten males whose pheromones went on high alert the moment her big toe entered the room.

  This night was going in the direction of option number two. I didn’t see any hot prospects at first glance. McGinty’s Bar was the place to be in Springfield, Massachusetts on a Saturday night. The place was packed with the crowd spilling onto the back patio to enjoy the warm summer night, and the music was thumping at a gotta-shout level. All eyes turned to the door when she walked in. A path cleared as six-foot-tall Miranda, platinum-blond hair hanging past her curvy hips, wiggled her way onto the dance floor.

  I followed, because she couldn’t get her groove on without me. I’m a better dancer than she is and she steals all her moves from me. It’s true. I’ve got that going for me, at least—not that anyone notices her five-foot-four, dark-haired friend with the thick ankles. Her shadow certainly swallows me whole, but hey, not everyone wants to be in the spotlight. Suits me just fine.

  We boogied to the hip song of the moment and soon enough, a few gutsy gals left the security of the scattered tables and joined us. Then the drunker of the men crowded the floor, probably wondering if they should shoot for the top and approach Miranda or pick one of us “lesser” girls—like they could flatter us into bed by flirting with us first. For the most part, men at bars are idiots. Newsflash, I know.

  “You with the hot chick?” a short, curly-haired guy asked, bumping his hip into mine in some pretense of a dance move.

  I bumped back hard enough that he had to catch his balance. “If you mean the tall blonde, yes, I am.”

  Out came another bad dance move, with him jiggling his hands like he was shaking a Martini. “She available?”

  I shook my head and gave him the bad news. “Not exactly. She starts her prison sentence tomorrow. This is kind of a last hurrah.”

  His bushy eyebrows scrunched as he recalculated his plan of attack, not quite ready to give up the chase. Perhaps prison stripes are a turn-on for some guys.

  I shrugged. “I suppose she could use a pen pal. Although her ex might be writing to her, too. He seems to have gotten over the whole stabbing thing. You really only need one testicle, right?” I boogied away from him and started getting my excuses ready for the string of men who would soon be lining up to meet the second most appealing woman in the bar—the hot chick’s best friend. Always a good girl to know when trying to make your move. At least, that’s what the men seemed to think.

  A group of college guys had separated me from Miranda, but she seemed to be enjoying herself between two of them, so I made my way over to the bar and collapsed on a stool.

  The bartender came over and I asked for a Coke. Bras dangled in a rainbow of hues and sizes from a crisscross of beams above him. We’d been there before and I was surprised Miranda hadn’t added to the collection. Not me, though. Bras are expensive, and with a good-sized chest myself, I didn’t usually go walking around without one. I’m classy like that.

  “Not drinking tonight?” the bartender asked.

  “I need to keep my wits about me.” I grinned at him. He was cute, with wavy brown hair tucked behind his ears and bright blue eyes. Then he smiled, revealing dimples I could take a bath in. That earned him an immediate upgrade to hot. I wished I were wearing something nicer than a black mini-skirt and a tank top.

  He nodded in Miranda’s direction. “You with the blonde? Does she want a drink?”

  I sighed. She’s man-nip even on the other side of the room. “Alcohol doesn’t mix well with her medication, and considering how contagious she is, we don’t want to mess with the meds.”

  He snapped his bar towel at me. “I’m not interested in your friend. I just thought I’d hook you both up with a drink since you’re sitting here and there’s no line.”

  I took my purse off my shoulder and set it on the bar. “That’s a new one. Not interested in Miranda. Never heard that one before.”

  Shaking his head, he left to get my soda. It didn’t take long for the first poor chap to find me. He was skinny and tall with shaggy blond hair covering his eyes. “Hey, that girl you’re with?” He shoved his hands in his pockets as I admired his highlights.

  I cocked my head as if confused. “Which girl?”

  He pointed to Miranda’s golden head sticking up above the crowd. “That one. The blonde. What’s her deal? She single?”

  I crossed my legs and looped my hands around my knee. “I guess you could say she’s single. But her court-ordered therapist has forbidden her from dating men for a while, otherwise, it’s back to county lockup.” I shrugged. “But you never know, she might bend the rules. Just don’t give her your real name. It’s really hard to change your identity if things don’t work out.”

  “Uh, thanks.” He scratched his head and walked to the opposite end of the bar, stealing a glance over his shoulder at Miranda.

  “I’m disappointed.”

  I jumped; surprised to find the bartender leaning towards me with my drink. I was so busted, but I could play innocent just as well as I could lie. I widened my eyes. “Disappointed? In the weather? Your stock portfolio?”

  He slid my glass to me. “His excuse was much more clever than mine.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Maybe if I knew you’d be eavesdropping tonight, I would have come up with something better for you.” I snagged a few cherries from the fruit tray in front of him and dropped them in my Coke.

  He gestured to the tray. “Do help yourself to the salad bar.”

  “That’s the plan. I like to be fancy.” I bounced my foot to the beat of the music.

  He bent down, reappeared with a pink drink umbrella, and stuck it in between the ice cubes. “There you go. You’re the fanciest girl in the bar. I just hope they provide your poor friend with her medication when she’s in county lockup.” He rubbed his chin in mock concern.

  “Oh, they do. Medical care in prison is much better than the plan I’ve got.” I twirled the umbrella between my fingers. “I think they even give her double doses.”

  He propped his elbows on the shiny, black bar top. “How do you know she wouldn’t have wanted to meet that nice young man? He might have lovely eyes under that hair.”

  I stabbed the umbrella back in between the ice cubes. “Don’t worry. Miranda finds the ones she’s interested in. I keep the re
st out of her way.”

  “How kind of you. And she wouldn’t object to these inspired excuses you’re using?” He ignored the two men standing next to me, waiting for a drink.

  I reached in my purse, fished out my favorite Mac lip gloss, and applied a coat. “She thinks it’s hilarious. I tell her all about them at the end of the night and she picks her favorite. We’ve been friends for a long time. If I didn’t love her so much, I’d hate her.” I rubbed my lips together, enjoying the cinnamon zing.

  “You two grow up together?”

  He was ruining my fun. “Not exactly.”

  He looked at me, waiting for an explanation.

  “That’s a long story for another night.”

  He held up his hands. “I’m here every weekend.”

  “I’ll jot that down in my planner.” Really, I will. “But let’s just say we both have very good reasons for my being her social director.”

  He frowned at the growing drink line, held up one finger in a just-a-second gesture, and got the guys their drinks. Then he came back to me. “What’s your name, guardian of the beautiful Miranda?”

  I laughed. “Jane Jameson.”

  He held out his hand. “Brady Flynn. Pleased to meet you.”

  I shook his hand and a shiver shot down to my toes. Damn, this guy was cute, and those strong hands were certainly capable of more interesting things than serving beer to clowns at a bar.

  Unfortunately, contestant number two approached before we could finish talking. I sighed dramatically. I should just hold up a sign that says, “She’s not available.”

  The guy leaned up against the bar next to me. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Oh, very nice—the old bait-and-switch routine. I’ll pretend I’m interested in you and then make a move on your friend. “Sure, I was just about to order a Johnny Walker Black. A double, straight up.” He was wearing Hollister jeans; he could afford it.

  His eyes bulged but he nodded to Brady, who turned around, stifling a laugh.

  “Thanks,” I told the guy. He was tall and well built, with a cute goatee, and might have had a shot with Miranda if not for the tongue piercing. There were certain body parts she considered sacred. The tongue was one of them so this guy was out of the running.

  Brady returned with my drink, which I let sit on the counter.

  Mr. Bait-and-Switch went in for the kill. “So, what can you tell me about your friend?”

  I blinked at him a few times. “Who?”

  He gave me a look. “Blondie out there. I saw you come in with her. What’s her deal?”

  I widened my eyes. “Oh, my gosh! Are you interested?”

  Trying to hold back a smile, he fingered his goatee. “Well, yeah. Sure.”

  “You’re just her type.” I clapped and squealed, bouncing my feet on the rungs of the barstool. “She is going to be so excited. They just let her out of the facility.” I reached for his arm. “She hasn’t been out in the general population for what, four years now? Be careful with her.”

  He pulled his arm away and stepped back. “Maybe it’s not the best time for her right now.”

  “Really?” I pouted. “Darn it.”

  He eyed the drink he’d bought me and then wandered away. Brady leaned over the bar; his mouth was right next to my ear. “Why not just say she has a boyfriend?” His breath was hot on my cheek.

  I turned to him, falling in love all over again. “Because then they try even harder.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Why not say she’s your girlfriend?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Then they’re even more interested.”

  He laughed. “Must be hard, coming up with so many reasons.”

  I plucked a cherry from my Coke and popped it in my mouth. “Not really. Sometimes I try to keep a theme to my excuses. Like tonight they might all have a criminal element. That’d be fun. Or maybe I’ll stick with the medical and mental excuses.” I rubbed my hands together as I tried to decide.

  He wiped down the bar, shaking his head. “A woman with a PhD in lying. Impressive. Need a refill, or will you be enjoying the top-shelf whiskey you stuck that poor chump with?”

  “Lying for a good cause doesn’t count as lying. It’s creative protection.” I patted the bar top. “And keep the whiskey there, it makes me look sophisticated, right?”

  “Next to the Coke with an umbrella and five cherries? Definitely.”

  “Thought so.” I looked for Miranda in the crowd. She had moved on from the college boys and was now dancing with a tall, redheaded guy. He didn’t stand a chance. She’d crossed redheaded guys off her list months ago. Currently, she was looking for someone Australian, since she’d never had the pleasure, or someone with yacht, since she had had that pleasure and wanted to enjoy it again. That’s when I saw another guy making a beeline for me. I swore under my breath.

  “Hey, how you doing?”

  I smiled. “I’m a little itchy, actually.” I scratched the back of my neck. “A bit sweaty, too. I have a terrible headache. And cramps.” I grimaced and set my hand on my tummy. “How are you?”

  He blinked at me a few times and then looked over at Miranda. “I’d be a lot better if I was leaving with her. You’re her friend, right? What’s her 411?”

  Brady leaned between us. “Isn’t she back together with Gino?”

  I looked backed at him, smiled and nodded. “Impressive,” I mouthed.

  Brady scanned the crowd. “I swear I saw him tonight. Hard to miss a two-hundred-fifty-pound guy.”

  I tapped my finger against my nose. “Are you sure he’s out of jail already?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  I shook my head. “It’s amazing how low bail is for breaking a guy’s arm—just for pinching his girlfriend’s ass.”

  The guy slowly backed away.

  “Give it a shot. I’m not sure if they’re back together or not,” I said.

  His Adam’s apple bounced in his throat. “Thanks. I’m all set.”

  I turned around and high-fived Brady. “Nice work.”

  “Thank you, thank you. I only hope she provides you the same courtesy when losers come looking for you.”

  That earned him a steely gaze. “You think I can only attract losers?’

  He groaned and looked up at the ceiling and all those bras. “You know what I mean. A guy with a lame line, like the yahoos here.”

  Frowning, I rolled my eyes. “It’s never really been a problem.”

  “Oh, only the A-plus specimens show up for you?”

  I looked away. “Knock it off.”

  “What?” He reached for my arm and I pulled it away.

  “Come on, I don’t look like Miranda.” I gestured to her waving her hands over her head in the middle of a group of hot Latino men. Only a girl as confident as her could do that in a strapless dress. “I don’t exactly have guys banging down the door.” Or knocking at all. It had been a while.

  Another guy interrupted us. “Hey, you friends with the hot chick?”

  I pointed at Brady. “That’s her boyfriend. He can tell you all about her.”

  The guy held up his hands and stepped back. “Sorry, dude.”

  “No problem. She’s a hot mess, anyway. You don’t want any of that action.”

  He was gone before Brady could finish.

  I flicked a cherry stem at him. “Stop it. Anybody would want her.”

  “Oh, my God.” He dropped his head back, frustrated. “You seriously believe that’s all guys are interested in? Looks?”

  I turned up my hands like, yeah duh.

  He let out a long sigh. “Come on, Jane. We’re not all Neanderthals.”

  “Yes, you are. I think your bra collection says it all.” I jerked my chin towards the lingerie.

  “I’ve never actually collected one myself. See? Not one of the bad guys.”

  I pressed my eyes closed before launching into my theory on men. “I just mean its hardwired into your brain, or chemistry, or whatever, to look for
the most attractive female mate. Haven’t you ever read those studies about men preferring a certain hip-to-waist ratio, which happens to be the most fertile ratio? Then there’s the clear skin and shiny hair that suggest good, healthy genes. You can’t help it. It’s in your nature to want the most attractive mate who will best allow you to spread your seed.” I took a long drink. “And for that reason, no man would ever pick me over Miranda. She is reproductive perfection.” A little drama always helped sell it, so I spread my arms wide. “It’s not your fault.”

  By this time, Brady was pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You are so wrong.”

  “And you must be drunk. I thought bartenders weren’t allowed to drink on the job.” I stood up and leaned over the bar, pretending to search for a contraband beverage.

  A giggling brunette wearing too much dark eye shadow sidled up next to me and waved to get Brady’s attention. “Excuse me, my friend over there was wondering if you’re single?” She pointed to a girl covering her face with both hands; but there was no question whether or not the short, chubby girl with frizzy red hair was a looker. Being a non-goddess myself, I was allowed to make such judgment calls.

  The brunette giggled a bit more. “She thinks you’re hot. If you want, she’ll give you her bra for your collection.” She pointed to the lingerie and slapped her hand over her mouth, totally overwhelmed with how audacious she was being.

  I tried to suppress my grin, watching how Brady would handle this one.

  He tilted his head and shrugged. “Man, sometimes it really sucks having a girlfriend.” He reached for a wine glass, and poured some Chardonnay. “But give her this and tell her thanks for the compliment; and that she should keep her bra for some other lucky fellow.”

  The girl pouted, but she took the wine and dashed over to her friend.

  “Very nicely done,” I said.

  He smiled and bowed, when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around “Yes?”

  “Ah, ‘allo love. I was wondering if you knew that lovely blond girl tearing about on the dance floor?” He had an accent that sounded British, but wasn’t exactly. Could it be the elusive Australian?

  Now this is an interesting development. “I do know her. Say, you aren’t Australian, are you?” Maybe I’d be getting out of here earlier than I expected.