“That just sounds like another Friday night man on the make to me.”

“Except he hasn’t been with a woman since he left his wife.”

Trish didn’t know which was more curious-that an able-bodied man in his twenties had willingly gone two years without sex, or that he had shared that fact with Joe.

“How do you know?”

“By beer number five, he was starting to get loose-lipped.” Joe shuddered. “Look, it was a really embarrassing conversation for me. I think I’m permanently scarred.”

Trish bent over to retrieve her shoe and tried really hard not to brush her hair against the sticky black lip of the bar counter. “Then why the hell are you telling me? I don’t want to know about his sex life any more than you do.” In fact, less. The only person’s sex life she cared about was her own, and how she could actually get one.

“So maybe if you go down there and talk to him, you’ll distract him and he’ll forget about it. He’s not in any shape to be picking up a woman. He’ll probably wind up married to a stripper by the morning if he doesn’t chill out on the beer.”

Why was it her job to save him? He was a big boy. Really big boy. He could take care of himself. Trish sipped her water, thinking. She blew her hair out of her eyes. She studied the guy, his arms as wide as porch pillars. He looked like he could pick up a building, all muscular and brawny.

She wanted to be alone in her sulk.

He looked over then. Sexy, deep-green eyes stared at her blankly, glazed with alcohol. Damn, he was cute.

She groaned, knowing she was going to regret this. “Dammit. Fine, I’ll talk to him.”