“Thai Express,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “Pick-up or delivery?”

“Shit,” he muttered.

“May I help you?”

“Sorry,” Max said. “Wrong number.” He checked the call against her number. He’d dialed the digits she’d given him. Either he’d messed up entering it on his phone or she’d deliberately given him a bad number.

He got out of the car and walked through the back door of the bar. The kitchen had closed an hour before and a few members of the staff were still cleaning up. When he entered the bar, there was still a crowd, but it wasn’t nearly as busy as it had been earlier. He noticed Caroline, one of their best bartenders, behind the bar. “Is Dave still here?”

“In the office,” she said. “Can you tell him we’re running low on rimming salt. I used the last container to make the rim mix for the Bloody Marys.”

“No problem,” Max said. A few people caught him on the way to the office but he still managed to get through the crowd pretty quickly. When he shut the door behind him, he found Dave on the computer, clicking through the liquor inventory.

“Caroline says you need more rimming salt. She used the last of it for the Bloody Mary stuff. Why don’t you just order Bloody Mary salt?”

“Because we mix our own,” Dave murmured. “We’re known for our Bloody Marys. We sell a ton of them on Bloody Sundays. Ten bucks a pop.”

“For tomato juice and vodka?” Max asked.

“Not just that. It’s the garbage we add. A special salt on the rim, a shot of stuff that packs a punch, and a skewer that includes all kinds of pickled veggies. You should try one.”

“I could use one right now,” Max said, flopping down in a nearby chair.

Dave grabbed the phone and buzzed the bar. “Carrie, can you bring Max one of our Bloodies. Make it a good one.” He hung up the phone, then turned to face his brother. “What are you doing back here?”

“I thought I’d come back and help you close.”

His brother’s eyebrow shot up and he gave Max a dubious look. “You left with a woman. I figured you’d be busy for the rest of the evening.”

“I don’t sleep with every woman I meet,” Max said.

“Yes, you do. All the magazines say you do.”

“Screw the magazines,” Max muttered. “They said I was Madonna’s new boytoy. I’ve never even met the woman. Don’t believe everything you read.”

“It didn’t work out with the girl?” Dave asked.

“No, the girl was great. We made a date for tomorrow night-I guess that would be tonight.”

“So, you two didn’t…”

“No. This girl is…different. I don’t know what it is. She’s really sweet and kind of shy. But she sees right through me. I mean, she doesn’t fall for my bullshit. And I feel like I know her.” He paused. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“You think you shared a past life?”

“No. But it’s like that.” He sighed. “The only problem is, I don’t have her phone number. I must have entered it wrong in my phone. I tried calling and I got a Thai restaurant.”

“She gave you a bad number,” Dave said, chuckling. “Oh, isn’t that sweet. You finally meet a girl worth dating and she doesn’t want you. Max Morgan has lost his mojo.”

“It was probably just an innocent mistake.”

“You think?” Dave asked.

“I’ll just look her up in the book.”

“What’s her name?” Dave asked, turning back to the computer. “I’ll look her up online.”

“Angela Weatherly. Or maybe it’s Weatherby.” He groaned. “Shit. It’s Weather-something.” As Dave was searching the online phone book, Caroline came in with a huge glass, filled with Dave’s version of a Bloody Mary. “Jeez, this thing is a meal,” Max muttered.

“There isn’t an A. Weatherby listed. There is an A. Weatherly listed.”

“That must be it,” Max said. “What’s the address?”

“Looks like Lakeview,” he said.

“She said she lives in Wicker Park,” Max said. “You think I should try that one?”

“At two in the morning? No.” Dave paused. “Give me her number. The one she gave you.”

Max read off the number and Dave dialed it into his phone. When he got an answer on the other end, he grinned. “Hi there. This is kind of an odd request, but do you have a regular customer named Angela Weatherly?” He waited. “Weatherby. Yeah, that’s it. Well, I want to send her dinner. She’s not feeling well and could really use some hot soup.” Dave ordered the soup, then gave them his credit card number. “And can I double-check the address on that?” He grabbed a pen and scribbled the address on a notepad. “Thanks. Don’t tell her who it’s from. It’s a surprise.”

When he hung up the phone, he spun around in his chair and tossed the notepad at Max, grinning triumphantly. “She lives on Ashland Avenue in Wicker Park. They deliver to her all the time. You want her phone number, you’re going to have to get it on your own.”

“You should have been a detective,” Max said.

“I know. I’ve missed my calling. And you owe me fifteen bucks for the soup.”

Max stared at the address. He’d stop by tomorrow morning with breakfast, maybe a latte and a Danish. And this time, he’d make sure he got the right number. He raked his hand through his hair. “I should go.”

“I thought you were going to help me clean up,” Dave said.

“Another time,” Max said. “I have things to do.”

“You’re going to drive by her place, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. If the light is on, maybe I’ll ring the bell and get this all straightened out tonight.”

“Man, you must have it really bad for this girl.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “Maybe I do.” He started to the door, but Dave’s voice stopped him.

“Lauren called earlier. She said Mom and Dad are throwing a barbecue a week from Saturday and Mom wants you there. They’ve invited all their friends. I’m not supposed to tell you, but I think she has a girl she wants you to meet. She’s the daughter of one of her tennis partners.”

“No,” Max said. “I don’t need my mother finding dates for me. I’m perfectly capable.”

“She’s not looking for dates, she’s looking for a wife for you. If you marry a Chicago girl, then you’ll be sure to come back to Chicago when you retire.”

“You have to tell her to stop this,” Max said. “The last time I was there, she was showing me pictures of her hairdresser’s daughter. She had pink hair.”

“You’re her baby boy. She wants to see you happy.”

“I’m happy. At least for now.”

“You’ve got one shot with this girl,” Dave warned.

“You better not mess it up. Court her. Woo her. Take your time and do it right.”

“That’s easier said than done. When I’m with her, all I can think about is dragging her to bed.” He stepped out of the office and headed right for the door, his gaze fixed on the address Dave had given him.

When he got to his car, he punched the address into his GPS, then pulled out onto the street. He’d just cruise by and see where she lived. He’d be able to scope out a Starbucks in the neighborhood and make a plan for the next morning.

When he reached Ashland Avenue, he watched the GPS as it counted down the distance. Right on cue, he found the address and pulled up to the curb in front of the building. But it wasn’t a house or an apartment building.

“Wicker Park Tech Centre,” he read from the sign over the front entrance. This must be where she worked. It made sense. She’d work late and send out for Thai. Unfortunately, the delivery guy was going to end up taking the soup back to the restaurant.

Still fifteen dollars was a small price to pay for locating the girl of his dreams. And tomorrow morning, he’d be waiting for her.

“I JUST THOUGHT, what the hell. Why not turn those old fantasies into reality. And everything was moving along. And then he just-stopped.”

“Stopped what?” Ceci asked.

“Stopped seducing me. He just stopped. He tried to make it seem like the chivalrous thing to do. He said he didn’t want to ruin things between us. It was so humiliating,” Angela said. “I couldn’t have made what I wanted any clearer if I’d sent him an engraved invitation. Angela Weatherby cordially invites you to rip her clothes off, ravage her body and leave her gasping for more.”

Angela and Ceci paused and waited to cross the street, the morning rush hour alive around them. Horns honked, brakes squealed and a bus rolled to a stop near the intersection. They walked to work most mornings. Ceci and Will’s flat was only five blocks from Angela’s, so they used the walk to get a bit of exercise before starting the workday.

“It’s better that everything turned out this way. I couldn’t maintain my journalistic integrity after sleeping with him. And, considering his frustration with the press, he wouldn’t be happy to learn that I’m one of the people intruding into his private life.”

“That’s different,” Ceci said. “You’re not seeking these women out. You’re not making up these stories. You’re just giving them a place to vent.”

“I don’t think Max Morgan would see it that way,” Angela countered. She took a deep breath and smiled. “So, I’m going to move on. I’ll revise the chapter, choose a new subject to interview and forget I ever met Max Morgan.”

It was time to put her childish fantasies behind her. After all, in sixteen months, she’d celebrate her thirtieth birthday. How pathetic would it be if she were still carrying a torch for her high school crush?

Although… Angela was certain she hadn’t misread the signals. He’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him. Something wasn’t right, but she didn’t know him well enough to figure it out.

“It wasn’t like I have some deformity he discovered. Everything was in the right place and it looked good.” She glanced down at her chest. “Maybe it was my boobs. He’s probably used to really big ones.”

“You have nice boobs,” Ceci said. “You didn’t have anything hanging from your nose or stuck in your teeth, did you? ’Cause that can really wreck the mood.”

“No! I looked at myself in the mirror and I thought I looked really good. And I know I was turning him on. I mean, that much was evident. He’s very well-endowed, from what I could see.”

“Really,” Ceci said. “You saw him naked?”

“No. He was wearing those silky basketball shorts with nothing underneath. You could see everything. And I looked-a few times-but I didn’t get a chance to touch.” A shiver skittered down her spine. Just the thought of Max naked was enough to set her heart racing.

This was crazy. She’d gone into this ready to finally put Max Morgan in the past, to prove that all her fantasies were just that, silly dreams about a man who didn’t exist. How was she supposed to stop thinking about him now? She hadn’t slept last night at all and since she’d crawled out of bed, he’d been the only thing on her mind.

“I feel like I’m moving backward. Like I’m going back to that time when he just consumed my life. I’d lay on my bed and make up long, elaborate stories about our dream life together.”

“Stop thinking about him!” Ceci said.

“Easier said than done.”

“So where did you leave it?”

“He asked me out for tonight, but after what happened, I knew he wasn’t going to call. If he was really interested, he wouldn’t have stopped when he did.”

Angela smiled weakly. “And now, I can finally put him behind me, for good.”

If she said it enough times, maybe that would make it true. Except, there were all sorts of beautiful memories she had of their night together. And even though it ended badly, the beginning and middle was pure heaven.

“Maybe it’s better that he did stop. I mean, how would you have felt this morning if you’d slept with him last night?”

“If we’d had sex, it probably would have been in credible. Then when he dumped me, I would have been left a lot angrier than I am now.”

“So what are you going to do if he calls you? What are you going to say?”

“He won’t call,” Angela said. “He can’t. I gave him a bad number.”

Ceci stopped short with a little gasp. “You what?”

“I gave him the number for the Thai place down the block from our office. See, this way, it’s kind of like I dumped him. It’s finally over. I’ve put my obsession with Max Morgan in the past and I can go on with my life.”

“Well, you had one night,” Ceci said in a bright tone. “That’s better than nothing.”

Angela’s cell phone rang and her heart skipped a beat. But when she flipped it open, she noticed her mother’s number. She glanced up at Ceci. “My mother. She wants me to come to Evanston for a barbecue next weekend. One of her tennis ladies is throwing it and I guess she has a son she wants me to meet. We’d be perfect for each other, she says.”

Angela turned the phone on. “Hi, Mom. You’re up early.” She listened patiently as her mother laid out a very logical case for meeting this man, reminding Angela that the prospects for marriage were diminishing with each year that passed. It had always been a point of conflict between the two of them. Her two sisters were already married, but Angela didn’t see anything in their marriages that she envied.