She’d been outvoted by everyone, and short of telling them she didn’t want to be anywhere near Bash and then having to explain why, she’d agreed to meet them all at the bar at seven thirty.

Which probably wasn’t a big deal anyway. It was Saturday night and the bar would be crowded. Bash would be busy and she’d barely even see him. Plus, it sounded like a lot of people were coming and it was going to be a big group, so she intended to get lost in that crowd.

She deliberately showed up at seven forty-five to make sure she wasn’t the first one there, which meant she had to park in the farthest part of the lot.

And it was still early for bar standards. Was he giving stuff away tonight or what? There wasn’t even a championship game on tonight, at least not that she was aware of.

Wishing she’d worn her canvas shoes instead of heels, she trudged the distance through the gravel part of the lot until she hit the asphalt. Her hair was blowing in a million directions because it was late April and windy as hell, and a storm was brewing. She hoped it wasn’t pouring rain by the time she left the bar tonight.

She made her way through the front door, her eyes trying to focus in the darkness of the bar. The televisions were on, the music was loud, and she scanned the room to try to find her friends.

She spotted them at a large table in the center of the room, pausing midway there when Lou scurried over to greet her. She crouched down to scoop up the dog.

“Well, hi there, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

Lou wriggled in her arms and tried to lick her face.

“Not a chance, punkin. It takes a while to get this makeup on, and only seconds for you to lick it off.” She carried Lou to the table with her, running her hands over the dog’s back.

“You finally made it,” Emma said. “I thought you were going to stand us up.”

“Would I do that?” She set Lou down, and the dog scampered off. Chelsea took the seat Emma offered. “Sorry, I had a last-minute phone call.”

Which was a total lie, but she didn’t want to tell them she’d deliberately delayed her arrival for no good reason.

“Oh, yeah? Hopefully with a hot new boyfriend,” Jane said.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“What about Dell?” Molly asked. “He said he had a great time with you last week.”

“We did. He’s such a great guy, Molly. Thanks for setting us up.”

“Are you going out with him again?”

It would be a waste of time. “Maybe.”

Emma studied her, then leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Obviously there’s something you’re not saying.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.” Emma stood. “Bathroom break.”

“But I just sat—”

Emma grabbed her hand and hauled her out of her chair.

“I guess I’ll be right back. Someone order me a martini.”

She was dragged along to the ladies’ room, where Emma shut the door.

“Okay, spill.”

Chelsea leaned against the bathroom counter. “Nothing to spill. Dell was a great guy. We had a nice date.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

Emma crossed her arms. “But you’re not going to see him again.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know you. Now I want to know why.”

Chelsea sighed. “I don’t know, Em. He was perfect. He ticked off so many items on my list. He was funny and charming. He works a nine-to-five job. He likes good wine and takes great vacations. We talked about goals for the future. He wants to settle down and raise a family.”

“Okay, so far so good, as far as your list.”

“I know, right? We had a wonderful time and we really clicked. And then he took me home and kissed me good night—a really awesome kiss.”

“And?”

“And … nothing. No sparks.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Oh. There kinda have to be sparks.”

“Yeah, there does. I was so disappointed. I mean, he’s fantastic-looking, and he has everything I want in a guy. But there’s just no chemistry.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Emma laid her hand on Chelsea’s arm. “It’ll happen for you, Chelsea. I know it will.”

“Sure it will.”

They left the restroom, and Chelsea started to follow Emma back to her table.

“Ms. Burnett?”

She stopped and turned around. No one called her Ms. Burnett except her students, and none of her students should be at a bar.

She frowned. “Yes?”

The guy towered over her, and she didn’t recognize him.

“You probably don’t remember me. Aaron Goodwin. I had you for three math classes my sophomore through senior years. That was like … five years ago, though.”

Oh, shit. Former student. And Aaron had to be a college graduate now. “Of course. Hi, Aaron. It’s so nice to see you again.”

He was standing at a table with four of his friends, who all looked to be either in college or recent graduates. All very nice-looking young men, too. She might have taught some of them as well.

“So … how are you doing?” he asked, leaning casually against the table.

“I’m great. And you? Are you finished with school now?”

“Yeah. Got my degree in business and I’m working for my dad.”