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“What about that game plan?”
“Arlene, you’ve already sent your niece over,” Nita said, glancing at her reflection in the mirror and fluffing her Lucille Ball red hair. “It’s my turn next.”
Arlene accused, “Tanya said you’d already bagged him, which isn’t true at all, is it?”
Betty raised her hand. “I was the second one to bring him a casserole, so Denise is next!”
Frieda made a snorting sound. “I brought him the first casserole, so I get next dibs on him.”
“But Breanna’s already married!” Betty objected.
“So? He’s a loser. Do you know what the man does for a living?”
In unison, they all answered, “Nothing.”
“And he beats her all the time,” Frieda added.
“At poker!” Stacy interjected. “That’s different.”
Frieda sniffed. “Is not. She’s into hock to him for thousands. He keeps a tab going.”
“Well, I guess we’re not going to agree on who the best woman is for this man,” Nita said. “So it’s going to be a free-for-all.”
As they all stormed toward the door, Stacy yelled, “He’s gay! Really, he’s gay!”
The only person who heard her was Ricky, who was standing in the doorway with a perplexed look on his face.
“YOU HAVE a big problem,” Stacy announced when Barrett opened the door.
As if in response, a hank of his blond hair fell over his forehead. He pushed it back and stepped aside to let her in. “I do?” She was wearing white leggings and a red tank top that revealed an interesting slice of flesh at abdomen level.
Weasel Boy walked in with her and strained at his leash to get to Barrett. After he made some choking sounds, Stacy let go of the leash. He made a beeline to Barrett.
Her nose wrinkled. “What is that smell?”
He referenced the index card with heating instructions on it. “The Tater Tot casserole.”
“I remember it. Ground beef, cream of mushroom soup, onion-flavored Tater Tots, all thrown in a dish and topped with cheese. Grossville. It was a good side benefit of the canned-food party, no casseroles.”
Barrett realized he was paying way too much attention to her mouth and shifted his gaze to her eyes. Chocolate syrup eyes. He loved chocolate syrup. “Canned-food party?”
Stacy sauntered into the kitchen and opened the oven door. She quickly closed it with a grimace. “We’re having one this Saturday at lunch. Granny started the monthly potluck parties to foster community spirit. So, do you want to know why you’re in trouble or not?”
He could think of a few reasons, like his preoccupation with her mouth and her spandex. “Maybe you’d better tell me.”
“The women around here seem to think you need a lady in your life.”
He surveyed her, from the way the tip of her ear peeked out of her brown hair down the skintight workout outfit and her sneakers with the little red balls at the ends of the laces. “Tree snails,” he said. “I mean, I have to study the tree snails.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Definitely not.”
She was tracing her finger along the edge of a plate, following the curves of the flowers. “Is the reason you’re afraid—don’t feel comfortable with romance because of your parents?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “How did you know about—”
“There are no secrets in Sunset City.”
“That’s right, you did mention that. That’s not the singular reason, though it was painful to watch them try to communicate. I just haven’t met a woman who makes me want to understand…well, women. And relationships. I’ve come to the conclusion that I never will. The women I work with share my interests but don’t inspire me. Whenever I’m physically attracted to a woman outside my peer group, I tend to send her into sporadic boredom when I talk about my work. I have, in fact, sent you into a near comatose state twice already.”
She waved that away. “But only for a few seconds. Otherwise, I’ve been quite aroused—aware—I haven’t been bored,” she finished quickly.
He found himself smiling at the news that he hadn’t bored her. “I’m glad I’ve aroused you.”
She started coughing, then cleared her throat. “So, any moment now a flock of women is going to descend on you. They think you need a woman in your life. And they also think they know best. We need a game plan, a defensive position.”
He cleared enough of the paperwork off the table to set down plates. “Defensive?”
“Football speak. Go Miami Dolphins! I don’t suppose you…” She shook her head. “Nah, you don’t look like much of a football fan.”
“I’ve seen fans in hotel lounges before, groaning and yelling at the players on the television. It seems like a lot of energy to expend on something you can’t influence.”
“But it’s fun.”
“They seem to be in agony.”
“Well, yeah, but we’re also in ecstasy. When a running back sweeps around the end, breaking beastly tackles along the way to the end zone. When a wide receiver catches a pass while he’s sprinting down the sidelines and beats the last tackle, he’s going for the touchdown, he’s going for the touchdown…and score!” She blinked. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a good pass. Ah, so, anyway, we need a defensive position. What you need is a girlfriend.”
“But I thought the whole point was that I don’t need a girlfriend.”
“Ah, but the point is you need a fake girlfriend. If they think you’re otherwise engaged, they’ll leave you alone so you can get your project done. I’m willing to step in and help you out.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Sure.”
“That’s awfully nice of you.”
“I’m a nice person. And I know how important your project is.”
The prospect had him smiling for some reason. It must be because he’d get some peace and quiet. “Thank you.”
The oven timer dinged, and he took out the steaming casserole dish and set it on a hot pad on the counter. She poured two glasses of water. Then she spooned a bit of the casserole onto a smaller plate and set it on the floor.
“Here you go, Weasel Boy.”
“So he’s staying the night with you?” he asked as he scooped the aromatic food onto their plates.
She batted her eyelashes at him. “Unless you’d like to keep him.”
“Er, no.”
She pointed to the dog, who had already slurped up the food and was sitting next to Barrett’s bare feet. “You can’t tell me you’re afraid of that?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“All right, you can’t tell me you’re uncomfortable with that harmless little thing.”
“A dog isn’t an option. I’m off on research trips, sometimes for a year or more at a time. My next project is working with the Wildlife Conservation Society in the Madidi National Park in Bolivia for two years.”
Elmo laid his chin on Barrett’s foot but never moved his buggy-eyed gaze from him. He let out a throaty sigh.
“He’s small. He could go with you. Having a dog is a lot easier than having a girlfriend,” she said. “Even a smart girlfriend.”
“That’s another thing. I’ve never had an actual girlfriend before. Observing it has always been enough for me. ‘I’m fine,’ she says, but sounds angry. He accepts this as fact, and then she blows. Or she gets mad because he’s forgotten the anniversary of their first kiss. We won’t have to do any of that, will we?”
“Uh, no.”
“Good. Tell me what’s involved.”
Her forkful of Tater Tots paused midway to her mouth. “The truth is…I haven’t really had a boyfriend before, either. I mean, I’ve dated guys, of course, but no one long enough to be legally considered a boyfriend.” She ate the casserole and washed it down with water.
“I’d think you would have had a lot of boyfriends.”
“Really?”
“You have nice attributes.”
She blinked. “Thanks. I think.”
“So why don’t you have a boyfriend?”
She speared a Tater Tot covered in cream gravy and studied it. “I don’t get to meet a lot of men my age here in Sunset City, as you can imagine. Some of the men I meet, well, they’re not comfortable with where I live. One guy had a phobia about older people. He wouldn’t even drive into the community to pick me up. He made me walk to the entrance. And the others…well, maybe they all had phobias about older people. As soon as I brought them here, they disappeared. Poof.”
“Spontaneous combustion?”
“No, nothing as exciting as that.” She gave a sigh that sounded a bit like Elmo’s, only not so throaty. “It was usually preempted by some lame excuse.”
Before he could contemplate that, the doorbell rang.
“Uh-oh. The offense is moving in.” She shoved away her plate and smoothed her hair. “We’re on.”
“Wait a minute. What am I supposed to do?”
She glanced at Weasel Boy. “See how he looks at you in that adoring I-can’t-live-without-you way? Take his lead.”
5
BARRETT TILTED his head and looked at Stacy. “How is this?”
His blue eyes looking at her with something sort of close to adoration was a bit too much to handle, even if it wasn’t real. Just the fact that this hunky, broad-shouldered man was trying to look adoring sent a tickle right through her belly.
“Why don’t we hold hands?” she said, reaching to take his hand in hers.
“Why?”
The doorbell rang again, but she could only stare at Barrett, who was totally serious. And then she realized she didn’t know how to answer his simple question. “Because that’s what people do when they’re dating.”
She expected a soft handhold, considering he hadn’t a clue, but when he grasped her hand, it was firm and solid and felt all kinds of good.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Oh, right. I knew that.”
She tugged him toward the door. “Couples hold hands because it feels good. It connects them. It’s romantic.” She gave him a wry smile. “But you knew that.”
He was looking at their linked hands as she opened the door to find Nita standing there wearing a tank top and a pair of tight-fitting jeans. Her red hair was teased wanton-woman style. Her blue eyes smoldered with a come-hither look. For a retired woman, Nita was one hot mama. But she was in no way the right hot mama for Barrett.
Nita’s smile faded when she saw Stacy. It crumpled completely when she spotted their linked hands. “You?”
Stacy nodded, wishing for one slightly—okay, really—insane moment it was true.
Barrett was still staring at their linked hands, a look of wonder on his face. He’d clearly taken the adoration thing a bit too far. Stacy squeezed his hand, and he finally looked at Nita.
“Hello,” he said with a genuine smile.
Nita looked again at their hands, as though she still couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and said, “I…just wanted to see how you liked my Tater Tot casserole.”
“We’re eating it right now,” he said. “It’s interesting.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” she said in a distracted tone, still taking the two of them in. “Well, guess I’ll cruise and leave you two to it. I…”
The buzzing sound coming from down the street drew their attention. Barrett leaned out the door and scoped out the otherwise peaceful community.
“It’s the Power Squadron,” Stacy explained.
They came into view, a group of women power walking—Stacy would never tell them they looked like ducks—and power talking—the buzzing sound. They wore matching pink T-shirts—made by Stacy, of course—with flamingos in bomber gear. Arlene, as usual, was pushing a triplet’s baby stroller filled with her blue poodles. The group all glanced at the house at different times, and each stopped when they saw Stacy and Barrett standing in the doorway holding hands. To cover their blundering and stumbling, they waved, said hello in too-high voices and pushed onward.
Nita gave a long-suffering sigh. “Might as well join ’em, since there doesn’t seem to be any other interesting ways to increase my heart rate tonight.”
The buzzing grew louder when Nita joined the squadron. They couldn’t believe Stacy had snagged the smart guy. Well, phooey on them. It was okay if she didn’t believe she could snag a guy like Barrett, but they didn’t have to look so darned surprised.
“That ought to hold them,” she said, noticing he hadn’t released her hand yet, enjoying the feel of smooth palms and pencil calluses and hoping he’d hold it for a while longer.
He was studying their hands again. “This holding hands thing is interesting.”
She tried not to sound too horrified when she said, “Interesting like Nita’s Tater Tot casserole?”
He turned their hands at an angle. “Interesting in a different way.” He met her gaze and said, “Arousing.”
