Susan Phillips - Match Me If You Can

He massaged her arch. "I definitely wouldn't lose too much sleep over that."

"Just in case. You will give me all your worldly goods, shave your head, and leave the country."

"Deal."

"Plus, you have to hand over your Sox tickets so I can burn them in front of your eyes."

"Only if I get something in exchange."

"What?"

"Unlimited sex. How I want it, when I want it, where I want it. The backseat of your shiny new car, on top of my desk…"

"Definite deal."

"And kids."

Just like that, she choked up. "Yes. Oh, yes."

Her show of emotion left him unmoved as his eyes narrowed and he dived in for the kill. "We take at least six trips a year to see your family."

She slammed down the notepad. "That is so not going to happen."

"Five trips, and I'll beat up your brothers."

"One."

He dropped her foot. "Damn it, Annabelle, I'll compromise at four trips until the baby's born, then we see them every other month, and that's not negotiable." He grabbed the notepad and pencil and began to write.

"Fine," she retorted. "I'll go to a spa while all of you sit around and complain about the limitations of the sixty-hour workweek."

He laughed. "You are so full of it. You know you can't wait to dangle our firstborn in front of Candace's nose."

"Well, there's that." She paused, took back the notepad, but she couldn't see a word she'd written. As much as she hated letting reality intrude, it was time to get serious. "Heath, how do you plan to be a father to these children we want while you're working that sixty-hour week?" She spoke carefully, wanting to get this right. "With Perfect for You, my hours are flexible, but… I know how much you love what you do, and I'd never want you to give it up. On the other hand, I won't raise a family by myself."

"You won't have to," he said smugly. "I have a plan."

"Care to share?"

He reached for her arm, pulled her down next to him, and told her what he had in mind.

"I like your plan." She grinned and curled into his chest. "Bodie deserves to be a full partner."

"I couldn't agree more."

They were both so pleased they started kissing again, which led to a lovely-and very successful-testing of her powers as a dominatrix. As a result, it took a while to get back to their negotiations. They covered sleepwear (none), TV remote control (shared), children's names (no motor vehicles), and baseball (irreconcilable differences). When they finished, Heath remembered there was one question he'd forgotten to ask.

Gazing into her eyes, he drew her fingers to his lips. "I love you, Annabelle Granger. Will you marry me?"

"Harley Davidson Campione, you have got yourself a wife."

"The best deal I've ever made," he replied with a smile.

Pippi lifted the tape recorder to her lips and shouted. "Testing! Testing! Testing!"

"It works," Heath exclaimed from the couch on the other side of his media room. "Do you think you could be a little quieter?"

"My name is Victoria Phoebe Tucker…" she whispered. And then back to her normal volume. "I am five years old, and I live at the Plaza Hotel." She sneaked a look at Heath, but he'd watched the Eloise movie with her, and all he did was smile. "This is Prince's tape recorder that he says I have to give back ."

"Darned right, you do." She was supposed to be watching the Sox game with him while the book club met upstairs, but she'd gotten bored.

"Prince is still mad 'bout all the phones I took when I was only three ," she said into the tape recorder. "But I was just a baby, and Mommy found most of them and gave them back."

"Not all of them."

"Because I can't remember where I put them!" she exclaimed, shooting him her miniquarterback's glare. "I told you that about a million times." Dismissing him, she returned her attention to what she was doing. "These are the things I love.

I love Mommy and Daddy and Danny and Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Dan and all my cousins and Prince when he doesn't talk about phones and Belle and everybody in the book club except Portia, because she wouldn't let me be a flower girl when she married Bodie because they went to Vegas in a envelope."

Heath laughed. "They eloped ."

"They eloped," she repeated. "And Belle didn't want Portia in the book club, but Aunt Phoebe en-sisted because she said Portia needed…" She couldn't remember, and she looked over at Heath.

"Noncompetitive female friendships," he said with a smile. "And, as usual, Aunt Phoebe was right. Which is why I, in my brilliance, convinced Aunt Phoebe to become Portia's mentor."

Pippi nodded and kept chatting. "Prince likes Portia. Portia used to be a matchmaker, but now she works for him, and Prince say she's the best dam' sports agent he's ever seed, and, because of her, their new ladies' sports dibision is getting bigger all the time."

"She's the third best sports agent," he said. "After Bodie and me. And don't say damn ."

She sank deeper into the big recliner, crossing her ankles just like him. "Prince paid a lot of money to Portia for Belle's wedding present. Mommy said it was a dumb present, but Belle said Prince couldn't have gived her anything she liked more, and now Portia gives Belle advice on how to be a matchmaker." She scrunched her forehead. "What was that thing you gived Belle for her wedding present?"

"Portia's database from her old business."

"You should have gave her a puppy."

Heath laughed, then scowled at the television. "Don't swing at everything, you idiot!"

"I don't love the Sox," Pippi said emphatically. "But I love Dr. Adam and Delaney because they let me be a flower girl in their wedding, and Belle's mommy cried and said Belle is the best matchmaker in the world. And I love Rosemary 'cause she tells me stories and does makeup. Rosemary's in the book club now. Belle told Aunt Phoebe that if Portia got to be in the book club then Rosemary did, too, 'cause Rosemary needed friends just as much as Portia, and then Belle said she was too happy to hold on to old biddiness."

"Bitterness."

"Here's what I don't love." She shot another dark look at Heath. "I don't love Trevor Granger Champion. Who is a big poopy diaper."

"Here we go again." Heath shifted the bundle in his arms to his shoulder.

She set down the tape recorder, crawled out of the recliner, and climbed on the couch next to him, where she peered with displeasure at the sleeping baby. "Trevor told me he hates it when you carry him around all the time. He says he wants you to put… him… down!"

Since Trevor was only six months old, Heath doubted his language skills were that advanced, but he muted the volume and turned his attention to the jealous five-year-old. "I thought we talked about this."

She leaned against him. "Talk to me again."

He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. Pip wasn't content unless she had every male in the free world at her beck and call, which she pretty much did. "Trev is just a baby. He's boring. He can't play with me like you do."

"And he's a big crybaby."

Heath felt a paternal need to defend his son's masculinity. "Only when he's hungry."

Pippi lifted her head. "I hear them moving around upstairs. I think it's time for dessert."

"You sure you don't want to watch the rest of the game with me?"

"Get real." It was her newest expression, and she used it whenever her parents weren't around.

Heath kissed Trevor Granger Champion on his fuzzy head and followed her upstairs.

Annabelle had put her stamp on his house right from the beginning. As he stepped into the living room, he took in the big, cozy furniture, the warm rugs and fresh flowers. A splashy abstract painting they'd bought in a Seattle gallery one rainy afternoon occupied the spot over the fireplace. Afterward, they'd celebrated the purchase with an afternoon of lovemaking they both believed had given them their son.