I laugh at that notion. Dean is a self-educated, self-made stockbroker. He inherited a ton of money from his grandfather, and rather than invest some of it into a college education, he bought a bunch of books and learned everything he could about buying and selling on the stock market. He risked it all on the exchange, and it paid off in a big way. He’s forgotten what it’s like to be broke.
“Dean…first of all, you and I don’t really talk about money. And secondly, I don’t have the kind of cash you’re used to working with. I basically have no cash. I haven’t had a job in three years, so how could I possibly have rent money?”
“Well, I still could have helped you,” he growls. “I can’t believe you might have to move.”
I shrug and rub his back in soothing motions. “It’s fine, Dean. I’m not upset. If I have to move, I have to move. I love my grandma’s place, but I knew it was probably temporary.”
Dean scowls into his beer and puts his glasses back on. “First, Kate moves, and now you.”
“Aww,” I coo, and lean in to press my fingertip into the dimple on his cheek. “Is someone getting attached to his two non-girlfriends?”
He shakes his head, and a smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. “I’m not attached. Honestly, I’ll be glad to be rid of you. I’m sick of being your handyman, especially when I keep telling you guys I’m not handy.”
“I love you too.” I smile at him, and he fights his returning grin. “Let’s order a charcuterie platter. I think you’re hangry.”
“Get the one with the fig jam,” Dean mopes and glances down the bar to try to get the bartender’s attention, who’s currently deep in conversation with a busty blonde. Even with sprinkle tits, I’m invisible to the hipster bartender.
Out of the corner of my eye, Dean’s focus shifts from me to something behind me.
“Oh, shit,” he mumbles under his breath as he stares toward the doorway.
“What is it?”
“Shiiiit,” he hisses and quickly takes another drink of his beer, straightening the tie around his neck.
“Who do you see?” I turn to look over my shoulder.
“Don’t look now because it’ll be obvious,” Dean growls and grabs my arms, twirling me on my stool to face him. “My biggest client just walked in the door.”
“Oh, someone rich then,” I state knowingly.
Dean mostly just works with his own investments, but after news of his Rain Man skills got out, a couple of the bigger business executives in Boulder hired him to work for them independently. I’ve only seen him with clients twice, and I absolutely hate it. He turns into a robotic ass-kisser, and Kate and I tease him mercilessly for it.
“Please, be good, Lynsey. Please, please, please.” Dean leans close and whispers into my ear, “It’s Max Fletcher. He owns like half of Boulder and is worth over a hundred million. He’s not even forty!”
“A hundred million?” I whisper shout, the number even higher than what I imagined. “Is his shit fourteen karat gold or something?”
“Shhh.” Dean’s eyes fly wide at the volume of my voice.
“I wonder if his boxers are diamond encrusted.” I giggle, knowing the alcohol has me thinking more like Kate.
“Stop laughing, Lynsey!” In a panic, Dean grabs a handful of popcorn and stuffs it into my mouth before standing up.
“Mr. Fletcher, so nice to see you,” he says in that horrifying haughty tone he gets when he’s schmoozing.
I attempt to chew the popcorn gag Dean just stuffed into my mouth, but a kernel gets sucked into the back of my throat. I hack over the bar—my hands splayed wide as I brace myself for impending death. Dean absentmindedly pats my back because let’s face it, I’m coughing so I’m breathing, but his swats are not helping. I beat my chest to try to prevent myself from asphyxiating as I grapple for my drink, which is woefully empty.
I grab Dean’s draft beer, but as soon as the golden liquid hits my tongue, I dry heave from the horrid taste. Holy shit! Kate’s right, IPA beer tastes like poison! My face screws up in disgust as I force the liquid down my throat and suck in a big breath of cleansing air. With a pathetic whimper, I wave my hands in front of my face and search for a cocktail napkin. Mr. Mustache bartender is still balls deep in the blonde, so I’m forced to use the back of my hand to wipe the dribble off my chin.
When I finally regain some semblance of composure, I turn around to glower at Dean. “Your beer tastes like a skunk’s ass.”
Dean releases a painfully fake laugh as he looks at his client and replies with an eye roll. “Forgive my friend. She doesn’t appreciate the delicacies of a fine IPA. I try to tell her that hops are an acquired taste, but you know how it is.” He shakes his head and offers a self-deprecating smile while spinning my stool to face the man he’s talking to. “Mr. Fletcher, this is my good friend, Lynsey Jones. Lynsey…meet Mr. Fletcher.”
“Call me Max,” the man says with a good ole boy smile as he reaches to shake my hand. He’s a tall, slender guy with blond hair and friendly blue eyes. He’s a Ken doll, complete with a golden tan and a swimmer’s body. Concern flutters over his face. “You alright? It sounded like you were dying.”
My smile is rueful. “It was touch and go for a moment.”
Dean barks out another forced laugh, and I frown up at him. He’s laughing so hard his molars are showing.
“This is my friend, Josh,” Max says, drawing my attention to the enormous man standing in my peripheral.
When I turn toward him, my face contorts into some weird, painful sneer, partly because I’ve still not recovered from my brush with death, but mostly because I’m looking into the stormy eyes of Dr. Dick.
Cue the ominous tones from Jaws.
Max releases my hand, and before I can pull it back, it’s being gripped by the angry doctor apparently named Josh? That name is too human to belong to the likes of him. It would be better suited to a lifeguard who enjoys surfing in his free time. Not some arrogant asshat who walks around being angry with people for eating pie.
His large hand dwarfs mine. His warm palm and long fingers send an anxious shiver rolling through my body all the way to my toes. When my gaze returns to his face, he’s eyeing me from head to toe.
Maybe he doesn’t recognize me.
But the moment he opens his mouth, I realize I’m dead wrong.
“Have a lot of experience tasting a skunk’s ass I take it?” Josh’s deep voice rolls like thunder.
Dean and Max chuckle at the jerk’s attempt at a joke while I narrow my gaze up at him. “You taste one ass, you’ve tasted them all,” I snap.
Wait. What the fuck did I just say?
I blink rapidly, and stammer, “I mean, I didn’t say, not that I taste ass—”
“I understand,” Josh interrupts coolly, his face showing zero amusement. “You’re an expert ass-taster.”
“I’m not an expert ass-taster!” I sputter as my face heats with embarrassment. “That’s not even a thing.”
“Seems like, if it were a thing, you’d be exceptional at it.” Mirth dances in the hot doc’s eyes as he looms over me in all his intimidating, ridiculous-perfectly-proportioned glory.