“Another time, love. I have a companion for the evening.”

The blonde’s gaze flicked to Daisy, and she all but wrinkled her nose. Daisy gave a polite smile, the woman’s disdain not bothering her in the least. Even without the fancy bridesmaid dress, Daisy knew she didn’t belong here. For starters, she was over the age of thirty, and most of the patrons were easily under twenty-five. Some were even under twenty-one and armed with a fake ID, she was guessing.

But it was more than that. These women—no, these girls—they were a different breed entirely. She doubted they’d spent the first twenty years of their lives playing the role of perfect daughter, and the next five or so playing the role of perfect wife. Only to realize that while she was a passably dutiful daughter, she’d downright failed at being married.

Although, to be fair, she didn’t know these women. Perhaps they too held dark secrets and damaging insecurities, and had just been able to move on in a way that Daisy hadn’t. In a way she didn’t even want to.

The blonde’s attention was back on Lincoln. “Well, if you change your mind…” The girl flicked a tongue over the tip of her beer bottle, her gaze locked on Lincoln’s as she slowly backed away.

Lincoln missed the blatant sexual invitation, though, glancing over his shoulder at Daisy with a quick wink as he continued his path toward the still vacant table.

The bar having little more than a random scattering of mismatched furniture, there was only one tall, teetering bar stool at the table.

Lincoln gestured toward it. “Because I’m a gentleman, and because those shoes look lethal, sit.”

“Haven’t you heard, stilettos make fabulous self-defense weapons,” she retorted as she accepted Lincoln’s extended palm, maneuvering herself onto the wobbling stool.

“Speaking from experience?”

Lincoln’s voice was teasing, but Daisy tensed all the same, her gaze snapping up to his as she tried to tug her hand free.

A moment ago, she’d absently registered the warm strength of his hand in the way a woman registered the touch of a good-looking man.

But though he couldn’t have known it, they’d waded into dangerous conversational waters, and she suddenly felt short of breath, desperate to get away. Desperate not to be touched.

Lincoln’s gaze narrowed slightly, his thumb pressing gently against the back of her hand as though reluctant to let her go without answers. She watched warily as his own ghosts seemed to get the better of him, and he reluctantly let her hand slide away from his before he reached for his drink.

For a second he looked like he wanted to knock it back in one swallow, chasing away demons, but instead he shook his head slightly and took a moderate sip. She did the same, enjoying the way the mixture of sweet and spicy gave her something to think about other than bad memories—of times when she very much wished she would have had a four-inch heel for self-defense.

Daisy caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A petite girl with shiny black hair was giving Lincoln the Look.

She leaned toward him slightly and grinned. “Brace yourself.”

To his credit, he didn’t play coy. Instead he turned just as the girl approached, and Daisy took another sip of her drink at the sight of that increasingly familiar hey girl smile. The girl blinked, dazed by the effect, and Daisy wanted to ask if nobody else understood that those smiles were a dime a dozen. And fake as heck. Sure, he was friendly, sure he probably was the kind of nice guy to return someone’s smile, but those smiles were also a shield, and one that was damn more effective than any surly scowl.

“What’s your name, love?” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink and watching as the other woman recovered her composure.

“Hailey.”

He extended a hand. “Lincoln.”

Hailey’s smile was straight and white and slightly predatory despite the fact that Daisy was pretty sure Lincoln had close to a decade on the girl.

“Coming from a party?” Hailey asked, sliding closer, and lifting a hand to the bow tie that women couldn’t seem to keep their hands off.

“I am,” Lincoln said. “Me and Daisy here.”

Hailey’s gaze cut over to Daisy, and Daisy gave her a cheerful little finger wiggle as she took another sip of her drink. Really, what was with these girls? What sort of female hit on a man who was so obviously with another woman?

Was the fact that she and Lincoln were strictly platonic going off like a beacon or something? Did she have “strictly friend zone” tattooed across her forehead? Was she giving off sisterly vibes?

Or, Daisy thought, as she glanced at Lincoln’s profile, maybe it really was that the guy was just good-looking enough that ladies felt they had to take a shot, girl-code violation or not.

Hailey moved away with a gratifyingly sheepish smile, and Lincoln turned back to Daisy. “Where were we?”

“I don’t think we were anywhere,” Daisy said. “Is it always like that with you?”

He lifted a broad shoulder. “It’s like I tried to tell your sister. I’m like the stamen.”

“A flower penis?”

He laughed, low and sexy. “Someone knows their flower parts.”

“More like, someone has too much time on her hands after her divorce and watches too much TV,” she admitted. “Somehow I feel less guilty if I watch the Discovery Channel while eating carrots than if I was watching a reality show while eating ice cream.”

“Sounds logical to me,” he said, spinning the tumbler of whiskey around idly, watching the golden brown liquid swish along the sides.