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back to New York several times since then, but somehow never ran into her. She’s unforgettable, though: the yellow flecks against the bright green backdrop of her eyes, her hair like black silk, not to mention the woman has curves. Jesus does she ever.
    Caleb coughs loudly and I realize he’s waiting for an introduction.
    “Oh, sorry. Caleb, this is Fran Heller, Brad’s fiancée Gabby’s best friend, and Peyton of course. Ladies, this is Caleb Brody.” I smack him on the chest. “My oldest friend.”
    Caleb reaches for Fran’s hand first, kissing the back of it like the gentleman that he isn’t, and then moves on to do the same with Peyton. “Nice to meet you two lovely ladies. Can we buy you drinks?”
    “Sure,” Peyton replies, and Caleb takes the opportunity to sidle up next to her at the bar while Fran and I continue staring at one another.
    “What are the chances?” she murmurs quietly, shaking her head and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
    “I know, right?” I’m trying to think of something witty to say, but failing miserably. I barely know her and I’m already off balance. It makes me uncomfortable so I cross my arms over my chest to protect myself…from what I have no idea.
    Caleb hands us each a drink, then goes back to his conversation with Peyton. I look to Fran who almost seems as unsure as I am about what to do next.
    “You want to sit?” I ask her, motioning with my hand to a table by the window. The view is pretty amazing, so if we can’t find anything to say we can always just stare out at the lights of the city.
    “Sure,” she responds, and I let her go ahead of me, still shaking my head at the bizarre nature of this situation and at the same time catching a quick glimpse of her ass.
    We take a seat at the table, both of us still reeling from the strangeness of it all. Fran twirls a strand of her hair around her finger absentmindedly, while I take a sip of my drink, eyeing her over the rim of my glass.
    “So, Fran,” I say, placing my drink on the table and settling back in the chair.
    “So, Matt,” she follows, continuing the lazy twirl of her locks.
    “What are you doing here?” I ask her, lacing my hands behind my head and shifting my feet under the table.
    “I could ask you the same thing,” she replies, raising a brow and smiling mischievously.
    “I’m here for the conference. It’s my company who sponsored it.” I lean forward and grab a couple of peanuts from the bowl as I wait for her response.
    “No shit?” she comes back with, and for some reason it makes me chuckle. She’s got quite the mouth on her, and I let my eyes drift to it momentarily.
    She catches my gaze and grins at me, resting her elbow on the table and her head in the palm of her hand. Her tongue sneaks out to drag across her bottom lip. “Something appeal to you?”
    Well, she’s either drunk or very forward. Not really my style either way. I’ve had my share of drunken women and I can’t stand women that are overtly flirtatious like they’re trying too hard. She’s gotta be plastered, because to look at her, you wouldn’t think she’d have to try hard at all.
    “No, not particularly,” I reply with an abrupt smile, scraping my hands down the front of my jeans, not knowing why the hell I’m reacting to her this way.
    “Geez, kill me with kindness, why don’t you?” She smirks. “So I guess it’s safe to say you’re not as sweet as your brother.” Her laughter rings out, and I can’t tell whether she’s serious or not but I’m immediately taken aback. She doesn’t even know me.
    I narrow my eyes, my lips forming a hard line. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
    She flicks the ice in her glass with her finger before looking back at me, assessing me a little too heavily for my liking. “You seem…uptight. Like you need to dislodge the stick that’s up your ass.” She lets out a hearty, and I think, drunken laugh. “I’d give you some help with that, but