Jo Leigh - Arm Candy

“What’s what, huh? Well, I know one thing.”

“Go on.”

“I need a much stronger drink.”

Dan held his grin steady, and made sure not to look too satisfied. She was gonna go for it. A minute ago he’d thought all was lost, but now? She was intrigued. From what Glen had told him about her, he’d hoped she’d be curious. “What kind of stronger drink?”

“A whiskey sour, please. Make it a double.”

“Good choice.” He signaled the bartender again, and while he waited his turn he took his time looking her over. He’d been so busy studying her body language that he hadn’t properly appreciated her body.

She was little, but not girlish. In fact, if he’d had to describe her, the word that would fit the bill was vamp. Sort of a throwback to an older age, Rita Hayworth, say, or Veronica Lake. The red hair had something to do with it, maybe the soft way it curled on her neck, or the swoop over her right eyebrow. Her lips, too, seemed naturally full, not collagen-injected like so many of the tonier crowd. And if they had been helped? Who cares. She was lush and her skin seemed silky, and the intelligence so clear in those blue eyes made him want to start his week tonight.

Not that he was going to actively pursue more than his stated objective.

“What’ll it be?”

He started at the bartender’s voice, ordered her drink, and himself a single-malt scotch, neat. When he turned back to Jessica, she pushed her hair back behind her left ear. Her hand, neat, tiny, feminine, captured his gaze and held it. He watched as she put her fingers around her wineglass. Rubbed the rim lightly.

Okay, so maybe he would pursue something more. Hadn’t Glen said she’d been solo for quite some time? Hadn’t he himself been entirely too celibate for longer than was healthy?

“Dan?”

“Yes?”

“What are you going to do with this information, assuming you get it?”

“Use it.”

“For a book? A degree?”

He shook his head. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I wouldn’t rule out the idea. Actually, I’m doing this for my own personal edification.”

“Meaning you’re looking for a wife?”

“Wife, lover, significant other. Yeah.”

“I’d think women would be banging down your door.”

“Not the problem. Quality is the issue. I’m looking for what my parents had. Which, in my naiveté as a young man, I figured all parents had.”

“A good relationship?”

“Much more than that. My folks were, and you’ll pardon the cliché, two halves of the same whole. They were married thirty-nine years, and were more crazy about each other when my father died than the day they met. That’s what I want. A partner. A best friend. All of it.”

“Tall order.”

“Don’t I know it. Hence, the quest.”

She gave him a half smile. “I’ve never been part of anybody’s quest before.”

The drinks arrived right then, and Dan handed the whiskey to Jessica. “So you’ll do it?”

She took the glass, sipped, closed her eyes, opened them again. “I’ll do it.”

He toasted her, the clink ringing clearly against all the muddled noise around them. “Fantastic.” He brought his own drink to his lips, then hesitated. “So when do we begin?”

“Monday.”

“The Willows?”

She nodded.

“Great. I’ll check in that afternoon.”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “Whoa, cowboy. Check in?”

He downed his scotch, ready for this. “Well, sure.”

“No, no, no. You’re not staying there. Just appearing when needed.”

He gave Jessica his most innocent, sincere smile. “That would be a royal pain in the ass for both of us. Much simpler to be there. But don’t worry. You have nothing to fear. I know the suites there and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She gave him an “I don’t know” look.

“Check with Glen. He’ll tell you I’m harmless. Besides, I don’t want anything getting in the way of the research. And sleeping together would really screw things up.”

Her eyes softened. The internal debate went on a few more seconds, then she sighed. “It would keep Owen off my back.”

He nodded. “This is gonna be great.”

“That is highly unlikely. I’ll be happy if it’s survivable.”

“Come on. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

Jessica shook her head, causing her hair to shimmer in the lights. He hadn’t lied when he’d said sleeping with her would screw things up. But maybe he could ask all his questions real fast.

Five things you’ll NEVER hear one guy say to another guy:

1. Does my butt look fat in this?

2. I’m tired of beer.

3. Yours is bigger than mine.

4. You know what always makes me cry? Those long-distance commercials.

5. Our team lost 10-1. But we tried our best, and after all, that’s the important thing.

Source: Thompson, Dave “Things You’ll Never Hear”

http://www.ijmc.com/archives/

“DANIEL, HONEY, I love you, but isn’t this just a bit nutso, even for you?”

Dan smiled up at his mother. “Probably. But then, it’s your fault.”

Colleen Crawford put down her mug of coffee and gave him a look. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“If you’d just talk to me, I wouldn’t have to hire myself out to strange women.”

“We’re talking right now.”

“But not about what I want to know.”

She took another sip and leaned back in her beat-up old director’s chair. They were on her balcony, looking out over her garden, the pride and joy of her life. Aside from him, of course. She grew all her own vegetables, flowers, anything she took a fancy to. For the most stubborn, there was a small greenhouse. The rest just gave in and grew, somehow knowing his mother wouldn’t let up until they sprouted. HGTV had done a profile on her green thumb. Of course, it hadn’t hurt that she was so well-known for her books, but still. The show had been about the garden.

“We’ve discussed this,” she said. “Some things have to be discovered. Not taught.”

“Even when I’ve got the inside track on one of the world’s leading experts right here?”

“There are no experts on relationships, pumpkin. Only wild-ass guesses.”

“I suppose that’s what you teach at NYU?”

“Precisely.”

“So if there are no answers, what’s the use of searching?”

“Because the only answer is the search.”

“Right.”

“You’ll see. Eventually, you’re going to meet someone who will turn your world upside down, and then you’ll understand.”

He leaned forward, so frustrated he could spit. “Understand what?”

“That you don’t need to understand.”

He raised his hands as if to go for her throat and growled at her. “You are the most obstinate woman.”

“I’m a cupcake, and you know it.”

“Fine. You’re a cupcake. I just hope you know that when I end up old and alone, a bitter, senile octogenarian, you’ll be to blame.”

“Yes, dear. So tell me about her.”

He smiled, remembering his meeting with Jessica, the look of her. “She’s a fine-looking woman. Kind of exotic, but in an old-fashioned way. Like a Renaissance painting.”

“Reubens?”

He shook his head. “No, more like a Botticelli. Complete with red hair, pale skin. Damn.”

“Okay, so we know you like that part of her, now what about the part above the neck?”

“That part’s just as intriguing.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Really?”

He reached over to the little hand-painted table where, next to the fruit bowl, he found a lemon muffin. Homemade, of course. His mother loved to cook what she grew. After an enormous bite and some coffee, he said, “She’s bright. Running a media campaign for a major new cosmetics firm. She’s all career, and determined to top out at CEO.”