Hope checked out her reflection in a building front's window while her girlfriends continued jauntily down darkening Main Street in Dallas's Deep Ellum. The jazzy, upscale area of the city's entertainment district was hours away from revving itself up into full party mode. Hope's cousin Lacy had wanted to get out—and home again—early, tomorrow being her wedding. For Hope it was a chance to have a respite from her usual Friday night routine: feeding her fish, filing her nails, yawning at the television.
Her reflection was one of a twenty-three year old business major who had somehow ended up in a bland desk job. She knew what her job was...taking piles of papers and checking numbers against a computer screen...but she wasn't sure what to call it if the need arose. The pay was mediocre as well, and she was still living with her parents while she paid off college loans. Of average height and build, with wavy shoulder-length espresso brown hair and blue eyes, she knew she hadn't the "hotness" that most guys were looking for. She was just...well, average. But like every other warm-blooded woman she longed to hear those words, to have a man hold her close and tell her she was the hottest thing he'd ever seen.
"Come on, you skank!" her cousin Lacy teased, dragging Hope away from the building window's reflection.
"I wouldn't look like a skank if you hadn't made me wear this skirt," Hope complained. The miniskirt and spandex tank top had been Lacy's idea...she and her friends were dressed similarly. But unlike Lacy and the other girls, Hope wasn't petite and thin. She was average, and the skirt barely covered her ass. That meant she had to pull the skirt down to her hips, which meant, of course, that her midriff was revealed from the top of the skirt to the bottom of the very tight tank top. Good thing for Hope that she worked out regularly at the local Y. At least her belly was hard and flat.
For the next few hours the girls barhopped. Hope drank a little, not a lot. She didn't want to be hung over for the wedding the next day. Lacy, who had started out having cautious plans for the evening, became wilder with each appletini she consumed. At the time they should have been leaving to return to the suburbs, Lacy whined and guilted the other girls into going into a jazz bar. Reluctantly Hope followed, not wanting to be the party-pooper.
The bar was jammed and they found a table in the back to sit around. Professional types swarmed around them; the crowd was a little older, more affluent and sophisticated than the girls. Hope felt out of place. There seemed to be no waiter and she wanted to leave. The group on stage had just finished their set and Hope saw no reason for them to stay. But Lacy was loudly vying for service, flagging down a cute waiter and blatantly flirting with him in order to procure drinks quickly.
After another few minutes the music started again. Hope leaned against the wall, bored. The waiter hadn't yet brought their drinks. The music coming from the solo guitar was somewhat tentative. Strains of the melody seemed to speak to her and she glanced at the stage. The man's head was dipped towards his instrument. Hope sat up and squinted her eyes over the heads of the people between her and the stage. Something about the man was vaguely familiar.
At that moment the waiter put a drink in front of her. Hope wanted to grab his arm and ask him who the guitarist was, but her nerve failed her. She tasted her drink, wanting it to be lousy to go along with her general surliness, but discovered it was the best she'd had all night.
Lacy and her friends giggled as they flirted with an adjoining table of young men, but Hope was mesmerized by the man on the stage.
The music he elicited from his guitar was languid and sensual, one moment playful, the next teasing, the next seductive. Hope longed to stand up and sway her hips to the sound. She sipped her drink again, watching, watching, watching, for that moment when he would finally look up.
The moment came when he ended the song and raised his head to gratefully acknowledge the audience's applause. Hope's breath froze in her throat.
"Mr. Robbins," she said in awe.
His head quickly bent and he began another song.
Her cousin and friends were unaware of the name that had spilled from her lips. But Hope knew it well. Kent Robbins owned Rinmovest, the insurance and mortgage company where Hope worked. His grandfather had actually started the small insurance company but it had been Kent's father and then Kent who had grown Rinmovest into a thriving corporation. His presence at the office was mostly erratic, centering on the occasional board meeting. She had met him only once before, at the retirement party of a longtime employee.
Enigmatic was the word she most associated with Kent Robbins. He was thirty-something, with long dark brown hair that he wore in a ponytail at the back of his head, piercing brown eyes under arching black brows, and an amazing face with long dimples in his hollow cheeks when he smiled. Tall and slender, with the build of an athlete and the grace of a dancer, he'd addressed the retiree and others in a voice that sent butterflies swirling in her stomach. His deep voice had a timbre that played her like his fingers played the strings on his guitar, stirring her in a way no man ever had. Throughout the rest of the retiree's party Hope had watched him, wanting to catch his eye, wanting to know everything there was to know about him.
But he was a mystery. She had gone online and googled his name and found tidbits about his life: his college (University of Texas), his birth date (he was a Pisces), his favorite charities (green and global). But as far as the rest of his life was concerned there was a big blank. She knew for certain that he wasn't married and hadn't any kids, but if he were dating anyone currently...well, who was she going to ask without raising suspicions? Anyway, it didn't matter. He wasn't very likely going to be attracted to an average, ordinary girl like her. Men like that wanted the cream, and she was more like the cheese.
The song he played was fast, racy, wild. A few of the women were starting to stand and sway. One girl put her hands over her head and gyrated her hips, to the delight of the men around her. As the clock inched past twelve, a few of the older crowd left, making room for dancers. An audacious woman with Latin looks pushed back a few tables and dragged her partner up to make him dance with her. This set off a domino effect of couples beating a path down to the makeshift dance floor. Among them were Lacy and her new male friend, who hadn't yet gotten in on the fact that tonight was Lacy's last night as a free woman.
The guitarist continued, this time joined by a man on conga drums. The beat was slow and seductive, and Hope could just imagine two lovers on a tropical island making love in the sand by the light of the full moon. Every now and again, Kent Robbins glanced up to watch the dancers. He seemed especially drawn to the Latino woman with the long wavy dark hair down her back, who rubbed her body suggestively against her partner's, making it clear to everyone what she wanted. Kent smiled as he watched her. His eyes roamed up and down her curvaceous body. His smile broadened when she came into contact with her partner, simulating the sex act on the dance floor.
Hope found it hard to breath. So...Kent Robbins was a bit of a voyeur. She watched him watching the Latina, who was wholly and completely watching her own partner, who was totally into her. When the song ended the Latina stepped up on the stage and gave Kent a quick peck on the check, then returned to the encircling arms of her lover as the two of them left in a hurry.
The man on the conga drums stayed while another guitarist joined Kent. It was a rousing duet of dueling guitars. Lacy and her friends danced with their new guy friends near the front of the stage. Kent didn't seem to notice them; he was concentrating on the song, which was by far the most intense so far. Hope marveled at his musicianship. No wonder he spent so few hours in the office. He had an amazing talent to cultivate.
The song ended to loud applause and the second guitarist continued with the drummer. Kent leaned his guitar against a stand and headed for the bar. Hope watched as he ordered and received a drink—but didn't pay—and started across the room to a group of friends who waved at him. Hope didn't recognize any of them from work. An older woman stopped him on the way, flirting shamelessly with him as she pressed her body against his. He politely but firmly dismissed her advances and continued to where his friends were waiting with an empty chair.
One of the women, a tall blonde with the kind of long, pencil-straight hair women would kill for, stood up and hugged him and kissed him on the mouth. Hope felt a pang of disappointment. They all sat down together and talked quietly amongst themselves. After about a minute, Kent stood up and started towards the men's room. The hallway was right there next to Hope. She felt rather foolish sitting by herself and thought of hiding her face, but by then he was looking straight at her.
"Hello," he said and smiled.
Hope had to smile back. "Hi," she said, feigning surprise at seeing him.
He disappeared into the men's room but when he came out a minute later, he walked directly up to her and leaned against her table. "Okay, I know we've met before but I'm really shitty with names," he confessed. "I'm thinking it was at a party a few months ago but the details are fuzzy. And if you tell me we slept together, I'm going to feel really bad about it."
Hope stared at him, her mouth falling open. Would he actually sleep with someone as ordinary as her?
"I'm Hope," she said, putting out her hand. "We met at work, Mr. Robbins. Well, not really met...it was at Julie Bicker's retirement party and I was there."
He was holding her hand and looking at her as though her words carried no meaning. "Work," he drawled. "You mean you work at Rinmovest?"
"Yes, sir."
