He’d been on edge over it all day, and now that he was here, waiting outside for her like they’d arranged, his concern had doubled. He watched several cars pull into the dark parking lot, lit only occasionally with light posts. People drifted past him on their way inside, talking back and forth in quiet tones. He recognized most of them. At last Meg’s Mercedes pulled into the lot. His instincts honed in on the car, and he pushed away from where he’d been leaning against his truck. When Meg stepped out into the night air, his mood nose-dived. She reminded him of Sandy in the final scene of Grease. She had on a pair of jeans that should have been illegal, a black top under a black leather jacket that clung to her curves, and a fifteen-hundred-dollar pair of boots. He guessed she’d spent even more time than usual on her appearance because her eye makeup was darker. Hair bigger. She looked powerfully, almost painfully, beautiful and every man in the place would surely notice.
