“Funny, I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”

“Ouch, again,” he said softly, even though she was dead right. He’d never been any woman’s good friend or confidant.

“You strike me as more of a playboy.”

“Shows you how wrong you can be.” He glanced away, taking a sip of the martini. Not a lot of taste to it.

“And you left the party because…”

“I wasn’t in the mood for dancing, either,” he admitted.

“Oh…” She let her tone turn the word into a question.

He swiveled on the stool so he was facing her. “I’m a jet pilot,” he told her instead of explaining his mood. Time had proven it one of his more successful pickup lines. Sure, she’d asked him not to hit on her, but if, in the course of their conversation, she decided she was interested, well, he had no control over that, did he?

“For an airline?” she asked.

“For Ryder International. A corporate jet.”

Her glass was empty, so he drained his own and signaled the bartender for another round.

“Getting me drunk won’t work,” she told him.

“Who says I’m getting you drunk? I’m drowning my own sorrows. I’m only including you to be polite.”

She smiled again and seemed to relax. “You don’t strike me as a man with sorrows, Mr. ‘I’m a Jet Pilot’ Best Man.”

“Shows you how wrong you can be,” he repeated. “I’m here celebrating my last night of freedom.” He raised his skewer of olives to his mouth, sliding one off the end.

“Are you getting married, too?”

He nearly choked on the olive. “No.”

“Going to jail?” she tried.

He resisted the temptation to nod. “Going to Montana.”

She smiled at his answer. “There’s something wrong with Montana?”

“There is when you were planning to be in Dubai and Monaco.”

Her voice turned melodic, and she shook her head in mock sympathy. “You poor, poor man.”

He grunted his agreement. “I’ll be babysitting the family ranch. Our manager broke his leg, and Jared’s off on his honeymoon.”