I’ll know her.

The hostess strolls over and asks me if I’m meeting someone. I survey the tables and the bar, hunting for caramel hair, green eyes, pink lips. There’s a sign by the taps that says: Lollipops for good boys and girls.

My gaze drifts past the sign, and a smile tugs at my lips.

Damn, I’ve got it bad already.

“Yeah,” I say, and my voice sounds a little dreamy, a little dopey when my eyes land on a woman wearing a polka-dot skirt. I zero in on her hair, a warm shade of brown.

The woman whose underwear is in my pocket.

The woman whose scent has been in my head for the last twenty-four hours.

It’s like a blind date fantasy come true.

She’s even prettier now that I can look at all of her.

The problem is, she doesn’t smile when she sees me.

12

Flynn

If I were offered ten emotions and asked to point to the one for her expression, it wouldn’t be excited, angry, annoyed, or thanking-her-lucky-stars-that-I’m-a-handsome-devil.

Too bad.

The word I’d pick would be vexed.

Like she doesn’t remember me. Her brow narrows and she studies me. It’s like the moment when a record scratches and all the good vibrations come to a halt. This wasn’t entirely the greeting I imagined—honestly, I was hoping she’d saunter over, wrap her arms around my neck, and kiss the hell out of me—but I tell myself to go with the moment.

I head to the bar.

“Hi,” I say, tapping the wooden sign on the taps. “I think I deserve a lollipop. Do you?”

Her lips part, but no sound comes. She blinks. Shit. She doesn’t like me in person. What the hell? I’m damn cute. I’m a hottie.

“I didn’t think we were meeting yet.” There it is, that voice from last night. Sexy and throaty, with honey notes.

But she’s talking nonsense. She’s supposed to say, “Hi, Duke. May I have another?”

Or something like that.

“You didn’t think we were getting together?” I rub my ear. Maybe I’m hearing things.

She narrows her brow. “I thought our meeting was tomorrow?”

Did I get the location wrong? The date wrong? I thought we were damn clear on both, but I’ve been preoccupied. “I thought it was tonight. Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

She shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure we’re meeting tomorrow. I just set it up.” She peers around me, looking for something, or someone. “I’m waiting for someone else now, but . . .”

My brain sputters, trying to make sense of her flummoxed face. Did she make another date tonight? “Who are you waiting for?”

She laughs, an embarrassed sound. “Just someone.” She waves a hand across her face. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be unprofessional. I’m really looking forward to interviewing you tomorrow.” She takes a beat and licks her lips. “And I can’t shake how much you look like someone else I know.” Standing up from the stool, she extends a hand and says, “I apologize for my confusion. I’m Sabrina Granger. Nice to meet you, Flynn. I can’t wait to chat with you for the story.”