They’d debated who would need alcohol the most, to handle whatever might come, and who’d abstain in the name of driving. The answer was that the both of them would probably need a couple of drinks. But it was a special night and they could afford it, so they splashed out and called for a taxi.

While they waited, they got a plan in place, in case things became too intense for either of them. If Mike got uncomfortable, he’d simply sidle up to the bar and pretend to study the liquor bottles before heading for the men’s room. That was Sam’s cue to wrap up her conversation, tell Bern it wasn’t working for her, and politely pay the tab. If Sam got spooked, all she had to do was excuse herself and go to Mike.

Only time would tell if either escape route was necessary.

At seven thirty they climbed into the cab, and the click of Sam’s seat belt sounded absolute. Strap yourself in, kiddo. Who knows where the fuck you’ll end up.

As the driver wound them through the dusky streets, Mike took Sam’s hand across the backseat and squeezed it.

“Was that a nervous squeeze or an excited squeeze?” she asked.

“That was a thank-you squeeze.”

She smiled at that, and they settled into their own thoughts for the rest of the journey. When they reached their destination, Sam lingered as planned, taking her time counting out bills for the fare. It gave Mike a chance to enter the bar first and find himself a seat, so they could both warm up to the game and their roles, their separateness in this charade.

She thanked the driver and headed for the entrance, straightening the hem of her top and smoothing her hair. All those first-date jitters came back to her, and she was twenty-five again, thrilled and scared and hopeful.

An energetic Saturday din welcomed her as she pushed in the door – chatter and laughter, music. The bar felt like a sort of upscale dive – no frills, but lively and friendly, not too meat-markety. The crowd was mostly thirty- and fortysomethings, and Sam’s worries about feeling like an old lady among college students evaporated.

She caught the briefest glimpse of Mike, who’d found a seat at a small table near the door. It took all her willpower not to flash him a smile. Their game had begun, and the impulse was selfish – she was supposed to be getting “caught,” oblivious to his presence. As if she’d be able to forget for a second that his eyes were on her every move.

She headed for the bustling bar, and oh fuck, there he was.

Bern.

He’d told her what he’d be wearing, but it was his face she recognized. Funny how accurate her mental picture had been, based on only that one snapshot. She slowed to a halt, her stomach plummeting to her feet, the room feeling like an elevator with a snapped cable.

Be cool, kid. You’re a shameless slut tonight, and don’t you forget it.

She blew out a tense breath and kept on walking.

Bern’s picture had attracted her, but he was so much… more, in three dimensions. Even seated on a stool, she could tell he was big. Big and substantial, with long legs and a strong, handsome profile. His hair was as messy as in the photo, tucked behind his ears, black in the low light of the bar. That picture must have been taken at the height of summer, as his complexion was fairer than she’d expected. A modest beard covered his jaw, neither wild nor fussy. He looked rugged and capable, as though he’d just come from the woods, doing something obscenely manly. Or that was what Sam’s libido decided.

She swallowed, throat feeling thick. He was as sexy as any guy she’d covertly checked out during the girls-only cocktail dates, casting her fake flings. Sexier. A pang of pleasurable guilt warmed her skin.

Sexy and punctual.

Move aside, Nick.

Bern turned as she approached, and she thrilled at the recognition that flashed across his face. His smile was the perfect mix of mischief and shyness, so exactly what she felt, herself.

There were no free stools, giving Bern a chance to bank some chivalry points and kick off his role as smooth-talking, seductive stranger. He stood as she reached the bar. Sam kept her attention on the taps as though she were deliberating.

“Here,” he said, patting the stool.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.” He grabbed his half-drunk glass of beer and stepped back so she could have a seat. She sat with her back to the bar, crossing her legs. Just as her single self might’ve done if a handsome, actual stranger approached her, she kept her purse in her lap to camouflage any unflattering business her snug jeans might be doing to her belly. Huh. Twenty-five again, indeed. She hadn’t felt this self-conscious in years.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” Oh, he was tall. Taller than her husband, perhaps six-two to Mike’s five-eleven, meeting one point of his criteria. As promised, he wore a plain gray T-shirt, and beneath it she could make out the contours of his chest and shoulders, trim and powerful as his bare arms. She liked the soft-looking hair there, the shapes of the fingers wrapped around his glass.

I could totally bang this guy if I wanted. Crazy. And did she want that? For herself, as much as for Mike…?

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“Sure. Cabernet, please.”

He came close, leaning between her and the next seat to get the bartender’s attention. She studied the silver streaked at his temples and peppering his facial hair and nearly swooned right off her perch. His eyes were blue, but not bright like Mike’s. More a stormy sea than a summer sky. Breathing him in, she found no cologne, just the faint but distinct smell of a new man, a scent you couldn’t buy at Sephora. He ordered her wine and told the bartender to add it to his tab, his voice twice as rich and deep and thrilling as it had been on the phone.

For a split second Sam felt busted, realizing Mike was watching her checking Bern out. But busted was the name of the game.

Bern passed her a dangerously large glass of red and stepped back, tucking a thumb in his front pocket and sipping his beer. His thigh was only a couple of inches from her crossed knees, and she wondered how warm he’d feel through their two pairs of jeans.

“On your own tonight?” he asked.

She nodded. “You, too?”

“Yeah. My name’s Bern.” He freed his hand to shake hers. And what a shake – firm and warm and solid. She wished Mike could have felt it, too. Meet the man I might just want to fuck while you watch.

“I’m Samira. Sam’s fine.” And she stalled.

Oh shit, what were they going to talk about? But wait, they had plenty to talk about. It wasn’t as though Mike could read lips. They were free to drop the act and he’d still get to pretend they were just meeting.

She offered Bern a familiar smile. “Are you nervous?”

His posture changed, visibly relaxing, and he smiled back. The gesture made him an entirely different kind of sexy. The warm and easy kind of man that you wanted sitting across from you at a diner, versus the wicked one you wanted to take you home from a bar. “A little nervous,” he admitted. “How about you?”

She nodded. “I was terrified, up until I saw you.”

“Worried that photo was from the seventies and I was really some retiree with no teeth and overgrown fingernails?”

“Well, no, but you know… Anyway. You’re a very pleasant surprise.” A very, very, very pleasant surprise.

“So are you. You’re even cuter when you’re not blurry.”

She laughed. “I hope you hadn’t worried I was trying to hide anything. I just didn’t want to use a photo that anyone could pick me out of a lineup from.”

“Of course.”

He stepped closer so they could talk without being overheard in the din, and his leg brushed hers, sending a bolt of energy up her thigh to settle in her belly.

“I’m guessing you’re not from Pittsburgh any more than I am,” she said.