Max smiled and she returned it, tilting her head slightly. Whoever this woman was, he had to meet her. Maybe he did know her. “Think,” he murmured.

If he walked over and introduced himself and they’d already met, she’d be insulted. But if he acted as if he knew her, then she might be put off. “Best to be upfront.” He took a step in her direction, finally picking a lane and hitting the Gas.

“Max!”

Max blinked and looked at his brother motioning him toward the bar. He glanced back and the connection was broken. A strange sensation came over him. It was déjà vu. This had happened once before.

When? Where had it been? He recalled the odd sense of loss he’d felt at the time.

Frustrated, Max approached the bar. Dave made the introductions, then handed Max a baseball from the stock they kept handy. “See that woman over there in the green dress? Send her a drink from me.”

“Champagne?”

“No,” Max said, as he scribbled his name the ball.

“Never mind. That’s too cheesy.” He handed the boy the baseball, then shook the liquor salesman’s hand.

“I’ll just go talk to her. Do I look all right? How’s my breath? Shit, I shouldn’t have had onions on that burger.”

“What is wrong with you? Since when do you worry about your appearance?” Dave looked over his shoulder. “That girl? She’s not your type.”

“What’s my type?” Max asked.

“There’s a ten sitting at the end of the bar. Fake hair, fake boobs, fake nails. She’s your type.”

“Shut up, Dave.”

Max walked away from his brother and circled the bar slowly. Keeping his gaze fixed on her. Since the connection between them had been broken, she’d gone back to chatting with her girlfriend, a petite dark-haired woman with trendy glasses perched on her nose.

When he finally reached them, Max slipped into a spot next to her at the bar. But the patrons standing around her thought he’d come to socialize with them, wanting to shake his hand and pose for pictures. When the celebrity posturing was finally finished, he turned back to her.