Travis had been a year ahead of Luke in school, and back in high school, girls hadn’t quite figured out that he had exactly zero respect for females or fidelity.
By the time he graduated, his reputation as a sleaze was well known, and smart women avoided him.
But the man was clever, in a dirty, conniving kind of way. He knew that his best shots at a hookup were with women who didn’t know better—either because they’d had a drink or two and were maybe inclined to forget that he was a jerk behind all the skilled compliments…
Or because they were newcomers.
Jordan was leaning against the pool table, glass of wine in hand, laughing at something Travis said. Clearly nobody had warned her whom she was dealing with, but she looked happy. Not threatened in the least.
Luke turned back to the bar. The last time he’d rescued a sexy newcomer from the attentions of Travis Olander, he’d ended up engaged to the woman.
And look how that had turned out.
Luke took a sip of beer and willed some other Good Samaritan to step in and rescue Jordan. He glanced over his shoulder.
Shit.
Jordan was still against the pool table, and Travis had moved closer, his hands just inches from Jordan’s hip. He was making his move.
Luke moved off his barstool before his brain could start to list all the reasons why he didn’t like Jordan Carpenter and why, if she wasn’t smart enough to see that Travis Olander was a one-night stand, probably with a side of herpes, that wasn’t his problem.
“Jordan,” Luke said in a low voice, when he was within hearing range.
She looked over, pretty blue eyes blinking in surprise that he was acknowledging her. “Hey, Luke.”
“Got a minute? Need to talk to you.”
Luke didn’t acknowledge Travis. The two men hadn’t bothered to pretend to like each other since Luke had snagged the starting-QB position from under Travis’s nose. Travis had retaliated by unsuccessfully attempting to seduce Luke’s then-girlfriend, and they’d more or less ignored each other ever since.
“Um, sure,” Jordan said with a smile. “It was really nice to meet you, Trevor.”
“Travis,” the other man corrected in a slightly irritable tone.
“Right, so sorry,” Jordan said.
Luke had to hide his smile, because he’d bet serious money that Jordan knew exactly what Travis’s name was all along. Perhaps she hadn’t needed rescuing after all.
He gestured for her to precede him to the bar. Told himself that it was to prevent Travis from checking out her perfect, denim-clad ass, then hypocritically checked it out himself.
She turned toward him in question as they reached the bar, and Luke unceremoniously pulled out the barstool next to his and pushed her down onto it, before reclaiming his own seat and beer.
“So—”
“Shut up,” he muttered. “Just shut up.”
She didn’t, of course, instead leaning forward. “So here’s something I’m wondering….”
Luke reached across the bar and grabbed one of the plain, no-fuss white square napkins. “Got a pen in your purse? Write your thoughts there.”
“And then you’ll read it?”
Luke stared straight ahead, sipped his beer. “Then I’ll burn it.”
She merely laughed. “Says the firefighter. But, okay, here’s what I’m wondering: how you got three different women to be interested in you much less agree to marry you.”
Luke was surprised to hear himself laugh. “This is the thanks I get, huh?”
“Thanks for what? Dragging me away from a decent conversation to a nonexistent one?”