Keenan lurched forward and nearly spit out his drink as the voices of a group of women at another table floated over a wall of fake foliage at Las Brisas restaurant in downtown Los Angeles.

"Girl, you ain't never lied." Another woman chimed in. "The last time I had a man do right by me, I was wearing a training bra."

A chorus of giggles followed while Keenan dabbed water from the front of his shirt. Normally he didn't make a habit of eavesdropping, but as it was he'd been anxiously waiting for his afternoon appointment for more than forty-five minutes, and the women's conversation had him cracking up.

"I don't know, girls," the one with the sexiest voice spoke up. "I'm not ready to give up on men just yet. Despite all the drama they've put me through I still want that pie in the sky. The ring, the house, the children—"

"The heartbreak, the drama, the divorce, the custody battle," another woman cut in. "Jalila, your problem is that you don't recognize the world has changed. There's no more Mr. Rights out there. There's only Mr. Right-Nows."

"And your problem, Martina, is that you keep choosing to listen to your body and not your heart."

"You damn right. I'm all about the pleasure and satisfaction. Wham-bam, thank you, sir. And if he's real good, I'll leave him a tip on the nightstand."

"You're incorrigible," the voice he recognized as Jalila's chided.

"Whatever. Deep down you girls know I'm right," Martina continued. "Especially you, Jalila. All that pining away you do on the Internet. You just need to face facts. Men ain't no good. Particularly in this town. You either use or get used."

"Jal