Page 3 of Five Alarm Kiss
“Did you get his number?” Skye asked.
“No.” That was laughable. No way she’d ask him for his number. It would be humiliating, not to mention pointless. Guys like him didn’t date grade school teachers. They dated supermodels.
“Why not?” Skye scolded. “He was checking you out.”
“Get real. He was not.”
“He was when you walked away,” Britt said. “He was totally staring at your ass.”
“You guys are delusional.” Laurel shrugged off her coat. She stood up for a moment to lay it over her stool, since there wasn’t anywhere else to put it, before sitting back down. The place was so packed, the other half of their table was occupied by a couple of girls they didn’t know.
Laurel guessed them to be in their early twenties, and both were dressed—or rather, barely dressed—in lingerie tops. At least, they looked like lingerie tops. One wore a strapless red bustier with black boning and the other a tank top so thin you could see her bra through it. Didn’t they know it was in the forties outside?
Glancing around the bar, she realized most of the women were dressed similarly, like they were on the prowl… which they obviously were. Even her friends’ outfits were a little sexy, albeit in a classy way. Britt had on a light blue wrap-around dress that showcased her perfect, lithe figure, and Skye was wearing a deep purple shirt that matched the color of her hair, topped with a flowy boho-chic embroidered blouse, and black yoga pants.
Looking down at her own bulky tan sweater, faded jeans, and tennis shoes, Laurel felt completely out of place—which she was.The bar scene had never been her style. Neither was wearing next to nothing to snag a guy.
As if on cue, Skye plucked at the sleeve of Laurel’s sweater. “Why did you wear this?”
“It’s warm.”
Skye cocked her head and gave her “that look” she’d perfected. “It’s May, not January.”
“I still get cold.”
“You look like a schoolmarm.”
“Iama schoolmarm.”
“No,” Skye countered. “You’re a hot teacher. You just hide it under stuff like this.”
“Why didn’t you wear the red dress I lent you?” Britt asked.
“I never asked to borrow it,” Laurel pointed out. She couldn’t wear it in public, anyway. It was stunning, but skin tight. She’d never be able to pull off that outfit without looking ridiculous. Just the thought made her queasy.
“And what the hell is this?” Skye asked.
“No!” Laurel desperately grabbed for her baseball hat, but Skye beat her to it, snatching it off her head. The canary yellow mess that used to be her naturally brown hair spilled out.
Skye’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
The girls sitting next to them looked over and snickered.
“Oh, darlin’,” Britt drawled—her southern accent always became more prominent when she drank. She touched her fingers to her lips, a you-poor-thing expression in her eyes.
Mortified, Laurel yanked the hat away from Skye and quickly put it back on.
“What the hell did you do?” Skye asked, pulling Laurel’s hair out from underneath her sweater to study. Even though it was only shoulder-length, it was too thick to stuff it all in the hat.
“It’s your fault.” Laurel pushed Skye’s hand away, and tried to tuck her hair back into the neck of her sweater. “You made me do it. If it wasn’t for that stupid list?—”
“You were supposed to bleach it blonde, not yellow.”
“Well, clearly it didn’t work,” Laurel fired back. She didn’t usually lose her temper, but embarrassment had frayed her typically controlled demeanor. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden burn of welling tears.
Don’t you dare cry in the middle of a bar full of people!
Skye inspected the hair on the sides of Laurel’s head where the hat didn’t reach low enough to cover. “How long did you leave on the bleach?”