Crowded, though not overly so. It was Monday night, not Friday night. A group of three waved us over to a table in the corner.

“Hey, guys,” Paul said. “This is my neighbor, Lacey Ward. Lace, meet Jon Gregory, Lena Thomas, and Fox Monroe.”

I smiled. “Fox? As in Mulder?”

He laughed. “I was named after him, actually.”

Whoa. Young, then. No more than twenty-five at the most, and I’d put him younger. He had to be at least twenty-one to be here. I was suddenly feeling very ancient at thirty-one. He was gorgeous, though. They all were, including the woman. And dressed for a night out, which I so very wasn’t.

“Have a seat.” Fox patted the chair beside him.

What the heck? Paul took the spot on my other side, and our table was complete.

Fox signaled a server. When she arrived, he asked, “What would you like?”

I had no idea. Then I thought of Rock. “Bourbon. On the rocks.”

“Any particular bourbon?” the woman asked.

“The first one the bartender can get his hands on works for me,” I said, mimicking Rock’s statement at the restaurant.

“Now there’s a woman after my own heart,” Fox said, laughing. “Bring me the same.”

The others placed their orders, and Fox turned back to me.

“What do you do, Lacey?”

“I’m an attorney. What do you do?”

“I’m a model.”

Of course he was. His face was finely chiseled, not a single flaw, and his jawline sported a few days’ growth of sandy brown hair. His eyes were clear and blue. Really beautiful and sparkling and very focused on me.

I squirmed a little. Why was this making me so uncomfortable? His age? Nah. I wasn’t ageist or any -ist. Another time, I’d be loving his attention.

Why was he looking at me, anyway? My hair was no doubt a mess, my lipstick non-existent, and I was wearing clothes more suitable for a courtroom than a night out.

He continued staring at me, the silence becoming unbearable.

“A model?” That was intelligent, Lacey.

“Yup.”

“I have a friend who’s a model. Maybe you know her. Riley Wolfe?”

Riley was hardly my friend, but I had to say something.

“Oh, sure. I know Riley. She’s gorgeous. Very talented. No one can navigate the runway quite like she can. She’s as close as we have to an old-school supermodel these days. The way she moves is like a reincarnation of Cindy Crawford or Naomi Campbell, except with her own twist. She’ll be one of the classics. Amazing.”

I nodded. Why did I bring up a gorgeous woman again?

“How is she doing?”

“Fine.” As far as I could tell. Though I did think she was hiding something that she’d wanted to tell me but chickened out.

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad she’s doing better.”