Monkey-boy nods. "Yeah . . ." Then he stops. "No, actually. Not really."

This is going to be harder than I thought. And the really scary thing? If Kate and I die together in a fiery collision? This dumba.s.s is third in line to raise my kid.

Forget global warming-that's the thought that keeps me up at night.

"You're thinking too much." I take a drink of my beer. "Forget the lines. Forget the G.o.dd.a.m.n jokes. Women aren't that complicated. You just have to figure out what they want to hear. Then, tell it to them. You do that, and even the hottest knees will part like the Red Sea."

He digests my words for a moment. "So I should tell a chick I'll listen to her demo tape? Maybe get her a recording contract?"

I shake my head. "No. Rule number one-don't make promises you can't or have no intention of keeping. Play it straight-anything else is just a sc.u.mbag move. And it's the easiest way to turn a semi-normal chick into a stalker. After the deal gets sealed, if you're in a jam and need an exit strategy, ask for her phone number-but don't actually say you're going to call. It'll be a.s.sumed, but that's not your problem." I take another drink of beer. "It's all about the moment-screw tomorrow. Decipher what she wants, right then and there. Some chicks actually want a d.i.c.khead-they get off on being treated like c.r.a.p."

Don't even think about telling me I'm wrong. Where do you think the whole "nice guys finish last" thing came from? Because deep down, some women live for drama.

"Some just want a shoulder to cry on, or a good time. Listen to what they say, watch how they say it, and show them that, at least for the night, you're exactly what they're looking for."

Matthew says, "He looks confused, Drew. Maybe a little demonstration is in order?"

"Good idea."

I scan the pool area and spot a waitress scurrying across the concrete. She's got dark, curly hair, pale skin with a hint of freckles. She fills out her uniform nicely-a white blouse tied in a knot at the waist, high and tight, black shorts that look as if they were stolen from Hooters, and black heels. Bingo.

I point her out. "What do you think of her?"

Jack comments, "I'd bang her."

Warren agrees, "Yeah. She's cute."

I wave my hand and call the waitress over. With pad and pen ready she asks, "Hey, guys, what can I do for you?"

I'll never understand why women set themselves up like that. Try to think like a man, for G.o.d's sake. When a red-blooded guy hears this question? He immediately thinks of at least eight different things you could "do" for him, in about ten different positions.

I give her my most charming smile. "Could you bring us a bottle of Jager, honey? And five shot gla.s.ses please. Take your time, you look busy. We're not in a rush."

"No problem. Coming right up."

She turns away and walks to the bar.

Jack stares. "I hate it when they leave, but I love to watch them go."

Warren's staring at her a.s.s too.

So I smack him. Slap. To get his attention . . . and . . . because it's fun.

"Focus. Look at her."

"I was looking at her!"

"Not just at her a.s.s-look at the whole package."

He glares at me, touching his cheek. Then he watches the waitress.

"See how she's rubbing her lower back? And wiping the sweat from her forehead? How she shifts her weight from one foot to the other? What do you think she needs right now?"

His face scrunches up with concentration.

After a minute, I can't resist. "Don't hurt yourself."

He sighs. "I don't know-she looks like she could use a nap."

I smile. "There's hope for you yet. A nap would be good, but you can't give that to her. What you can do is make her feel important. Valued. Show her that you appreciate her as a woman, not just a server. Chicks eat that s.h.i.t up."

Waitress girl starts to head back over, balancing a bottle and shot gla.s.ses on a tray one-handedly. Before she reaches us, I hiss a warning at Warren-just to be safe. "And don't even think about telling tales to Kate that I'm s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around. This is for purely educational purposes only. It means nothing to me."

That's the absolute truth. It's like . . . acting. I would have made a great actor. The Broadway kind. Because no matter what an actor feels for his leading lady in real life-when that curtain rises, he performs. Convincingly.

She arrives at our table. "Here we go, guys."

As she sets out the gla.s.ses, I ask, "Is it always this crazy around here?"

"Not always. There's a podiatrist convention in town this weekend, so we're swamped." She brushes a hair from her face. "The tips are good though, so I can't complain."

"Sure you can. Everyone deserves to b.i.t.c.h once in a while. I'm all ears."

She smiles and pours our drinks.

"Better yet-how about you sit down for a few minutes? Take a load off. Have a drink with us? You look like you could use one."

She's tempted. But then she glances over her shoulder at the balding, heavyset guy behind the bar. "It's sweet of you to ask-but I can't. My boss wouldn't like it."

"Sweet is my middle name." I jerk my thumb toward the bar, "He your boss?"

She frowns. "That's him. Harry's a total slave driver."

I stand and hold up a finger. "Don't go anywhere."

I jog over to Harry. "Hey, man, my friends and I are looking to have a quick drink with our waitress."

He looks over at our table. "With Felicia?"

"Yeah, Felicia"-or, whatever-"and we're willing to pay for her time. What's a ten-minute break gonna cost me?"

"Fifty bucks."

"Done." I slap the money on the bar and beat it back to the table quickly-before the price goes up. Then I put my s.e.xy face back on.

I pull out a chair and motion for the waitress to sit. "You're all set."

She looks surprised. "No kidding?" She looks at Harry, who gives her a nod, then she sits down gratefully. "Wow, you convinced Harry to give me a break? You must be very good."

I chuckle wickedly. "Baby, you have no idea."

I sit in my chair and raise my shot gla.s.s. Everyone follows suit and we down them together. Then I pour another for the waitress. We chat casually for a few minutes. She tells me about her dreams of becoming a showgirl, which were put on hold because of her mother's emphysema. I listen oh so attentively and nod at all the right times.

Then I dig a little deeper. "That's a lot for a lady to have on her shoulders. Does your husband help out?"

She drinks her second shot and shakes her head. "No husband."

"A boyfriend, then?"

"Not one of them, either. Who has the time?"

Then I go in for the kill. "A great girl like you doesn't have a boyfriend? That's a d.a.m.n shame. Still, you should make time to blow off a little steam. Let loose. Have a good time with a good guy."

She licks the alcohol off her lips. "I squeeze in a good time here and there. When it's worth it."

See her suggestive smirk? The invitation in her big, hazel eyes? That's her signal-telling me she thinks I'm worth it. That if I offer to help her blow off some steam in any fashion I can think of, she's up for it.

That also concludes our presentation for the day.

I glance at my watch. "Ten minutes are up. I wouldn't want you to get into trouble with your boss."

She blinks. "Oh-right."

Then she stands up-but doesn't leave right away. "I'm done here in a few hours. Are you guys going to stick around?" She asks all of us, but she's looking at me.

I let her down easy. Because that's the kind of gentleman I am. "Unfortunately, no. We'll be heading out soon and we're busy all night. But it was a pleasure talking to you."

Back in the day, I would have kissed her hand for good measure. But these days my lips are for Kate alone.

Her shoulders sag. "Okay . . . well . . . thanks for the drink."

"Anytime, honey. Don't work too hard."

She walks away, sneaking a peek back over at our table as she goes.

I turn my attention to Warren and spread my arms wide. "And that is how it's done."

I toss back a shot. My voice is strained after it burns down my throat. "If I was interested, I'd hang around awhile. And if no other opportunities presented themselves, I'd take her home, bang her for a few hours, and leave her smiling."

Warren suggests, with a hint of awe, "Yeah. Or you could bring her up to your room for a quickie."

Jack, Matthew, and I simultaneously exclaim, "Nooooo."

I correct him, "With the high-end women you're going to be scoring? You're gonna want to take your time. And-rule number two-always have an escape route. Never take a girl back to your home turf. It could take a forklift to get her the f.u.c.k out."

Jack shudders. "One time I had to call the cops. And when they dragged her out, the broad was still clinging to my bed-sheets. That's a mistake you only make once."

Warren nods. "You make it seem so easy."

"Getting laid is supposed to be easy," I tell him. "None of us would be here if it wasn't. G.o.d gave men instincts-even you. Just relax and let them lead you."

I slap him on the back. Harder than I have to. "Now, young Skywalker, your training is complete. Tonight-you become a Jedi."

He grins. "Cool. Thanks, man." Then he c.o.c.ks his thumb toward the restroom. "I gotta hit the john."

Jack stands. "And I see a new lucky lady. I'll be back."

After they leave, Matthew's eyes burn a hole in my face.

I return his stare. "What?"

"A few hours ago you could barely stand to be in the same room with the guy, and now you're giving him p.u.s.s.y pointers. Why are you really helping him, Drew?"

"I'm a helpful guy."

He continues to stare, waiting for me to elaborate.

"And . . . if Warren's occupied with his own s.n.a.t.c.h . . . he'll stay away from Kate."

Matthew's head rolls back with a groan. "Dude-you're still hung up on that? Let it go, man."

"Did you not hear the same song I did?"

His voice rises with exasperation. "So f.u.c.king what? It was a song. Kate is marrying you-you have a son together." He cups his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. "Get over it."

I rub the back of my neck. "I am. I am over it. But . . . when I see him . . . when I see them together-it drives me nuts."

"Why?"

"Because I still think he has feelings for Kate."

"Again-why?"

I grind my teeth. And clench my hands. When I open my mouth, the G.o.d's honest truth comes tumbling out. "Because I would never let her go, Matthew. Ever. No matter what happened-no matter what I did, I'd keep hoping, trying, until she came back to me."

Matthew nods compa.s.sionately. "And that is why you are marrying Kate, and Warren is not. Because he was able to let her go. It wasn't the forever kind of relationship, it was the for-right-now kind. And he did get over her. It's the same way for Kate. So stop torturing yourself-and the rest of us-and just f.u.c.king enjoy it. You won. She's yours."

I think about his words for a moment. And then I shrug. "Either way, no harm, no foul. I get peace of mind, Warren gets his pickup skills upgraded, and Kate will be pleasantly surprised that I'm not jumping at the chance to put him in a shallow grave. Everybody wins, right?"

Matthew nods thoughtfully and finishes his drink.

Over the speaker system, the lifeguard calls our team number, and we get ready to nail the game.

Chapter 8.