Chapter 3: Papa Needs a New Pair of Shoes

  When judging a man’s sense of fashion, I often look at the way his pants hit his waist. Repeat after me: “If there are pleats in the pants, he never had a chance.” But pants, while important, are not the guy fashion deal-breaker, that would be shoes.

  It was ladies’ night, and my best friend Audrey and I were out looking for trouble. Audrey is a curvaceous redhead with a quick sense of humor and a talent for consuming tequila. The Spot was a regular hangout, but this night Audrey and I were on fire, with some of the usual barflies enticed by the blaze. Eager to keep this blaze alight, willing suitors offered tequila shots and other tasty libations. In all the excitement, I barely noticed Audrey slipping out for a “moonlight beach stroll” with one of the more jovial bartenders.

  Suddenly I looked up, and there he was. It had been more than a year since last we met, and he looked different. He looked . . . single.