Jo Leigh - Seduce Me

Natalie turned the card over, hoping that she hadn’t had some kind of neurological episode. “Librarian,” she said. “Wants to get married. And he wants a Lilypad to go with his Marshall.”

Her friend snatched the card out of Natalie’s hand. “No. He. Did. Not. This is someone’s idea of a joke. Oh, my God, who submitted him?” Denise continued to stare at Max Zimm’s picture as she shouted, “Is Tracy Jackson here?”

Natalie gaped. Denise was the very picture of a demure librarian in her cardigan and cat-eye glasses, even though there was nothing else stereotypical about her. And now Natalie could add “bellows like a longshoreman” to the list of her friend’s abilities.

No one responded, so Natalie turned her attention back where it belonged. “How could a librarian who looks like him live in Manhattan without us knowing about it?”

“I don’t know.” Denise shook her head. “Although we haven’t met every one.”

“But he’d be talked about. He’d go to conferences. We can’t be that many degrees of separation from any librarian in this state. It doesn’t make sense.”

Denise lifted an arched eyebrow. “It does if he works for a think tank.”

Natalie chewed on that for a moment. “Huh.”

“He’s probably some amazing genius who works for a top-secret government agency.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Natalie said. “He works for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is fictitious,” Denise said. “He’s not one of the Avengers.”

Plucking the card back from her drooling pal’s hand, Natalie shrugged. “Then a S.H.I.E.L.D.-like agency. It could happen.”

“Nat, he’s already got the ability to stun with his looks. What else do you want?”

“Okay, true. Maybe he’s new to the area. He could have been working anywhere. Europe, even.”

“Who is that?” Iris Corcoran, a friend who was brand-new to Hot Guys Trading Cards, shouldered her way between Denise and Natalie. “And does he have a twin brother?”

Natalie just smiled and gripped the card more tightly.

“I thought you didn’t care about looks,” Iris said.

“It’s not the front of the card that has me dazzled. It’s the back.”

Denise snorted.

“Fine, it’s the front, too, but I would have chosen him anyway, no matter what he looked like.”

“It sure doesn’t hurt that he could be on the cover of Gorgeous Guy Monthly,” Iris quipped.

“He may look like a movie star, but don’t let it go to your head. There are all kinds of guys here.” Denise held up the card she’d picked. The man was pleasant-looking, slightly balding, with a very nice smile. “He plays the clarinet for the American Symphony Orchestra.”

“He’s cute,” Iris said. “Frankly, I’m just thrilled that every single guy on a card has been personally submitted by someone in the group.”

“I know, right?” For Natalie, the trading cards were truly a godsend, especially for a woman like her, who wasn’t gorgeous, cared more about her work than her social life and tended to be a homebody. “Now that Oliver’s out of the picture—”

“Oh, my God,” Iris said, wincing. “I meant to call when I heard you guys broke up.”

Natalie waved the wince away. “I’m fine about it. Better than fine. I had a feeling he was going to propose and instead of being happy, I was dreading it. When it finally happened, he didn’t even bother with a ring. Said I should go pick one out myself. As long as it didn’t cost more than forty-two hundred dollars. Talk about a major wake-up call. I don’t know how I let it go on so long, really.” She smiled at the too-good-to-be-true card she’d picked. “Max may be stunning, but if he’s not the right man for me, I’ll put the card straight back in the pile.”

Iris squeezed Natalie’s forearm. “Great attitude. One I intend to adopt as soon as I’m eligible. Don’t get me wrong, I like that members have to submit men they know before they can select cards, but I can’t wait! I already know three guys who want to be Hot Guys.”

Denise leaned toward Natalie. “You decide to put that card back into the pot, I want to know about it first.”

Just as she was going to respond, a woman she’d seen but not met leaned into their small huddle. “Someone asked about Tracy Jackson?”

“You’re Tracy?” Denise asked.

“No, but she’s a friend.”

“She’s not a practical joker, is she?”

“Tracy?” the woman asked as if the question itself was nuts. “No. She’s... No. She’s really straightforward. She would have been here, but she’s at a meeting in Toronto. She submitted two of her friends, though. I haven’t met either one, but if Tracy likes them, they’re bound to be top-notch.”

Natalie relaxed. Not all the way. She would still call Tracy and get more information before she called Max. That would give her time to build up her courage.

“I’m Sandy, by the way. You’re Denise, right? You work at the Columbia University library?”

Introductions were made, which was a good thing. It pulled Natalie back down to earth. Almost. She still couldn’t get over Max’s looks, but looks only went so far. He still needed to live up to the back of the card, which was no mean feat.

* * *

HE SHOULD GET UP, get showered, dressed, call someone, do something. According to the TV weather woman, anyone who wasn’t outside frolicking under the clear blue sky was an idiot. It was day three of Max’s three-week vacation, so he could do whatever the hell he wanted. After three years of operating on adrenaline, frolicking wasn’t anywhere on his list. But he was hungry.

Max sighed as he gazed upon his best companion and constant source of succor: his 56-inch LED high-definition television. He couldn’t remember what baseball teams were currently playing. After slipping in and out of sleep ever since he’d crawled onto the couch following a full nine hours in his bed, that wasn’t a big surprise. Actually, he had no idea what the standings were, who was on the injury list, or if the Mets had any chance for glory. There’d been no fantasy baseball this year, or last year. Not for him, anyway. It was tragic. Some fan he was.

Again, he thought about going out. A simple proposition at face value, but, in fact, it would require him to make a series of decisions. What to wear, where to go, how to get there, whether to go alone? Try to hook up? He was exhausted just thinking about it. After such a long stretch of the hardest, most consuming work he’d ever faced, he didn’t want to make another decision for the rest of his life. With one very big exception: what to do about his future.

It wasn’t rhetorical. He really had to decide, and soon. Huh, he’d meant to call his dad again, get his advice this time instead of just saying a quick hey, but seeing as it was the middle of a workday, he figured he’d wait until that night to phone him.

The tort case had devoured his life, and that included not checking in regularly with his folks. They’d told him not to worry about it, but he missed them. And his brother. Mike was busy, too, with his newest art gallery. At least they texted from time to time.

Reaching behind him, Max adjusted his pillow and an unfortunate turn of his head made him realize he should have made the effort to shower several days ago. His sloth was all Manhattan’s fault. The only exercise he’d gotten since he’d come home to rest was walking to the door to get his deliveries. Takeout, groceries, fluff-and-fold laundry. A person could get anything in this city, any day, any time. He loved the hell out of it.

What he also loved was burgers. His stomach gurgled and he snatched his cell phone from the coffee table. When he caught the actual time, his stomach made another loud protest and he hit speed dial fourteen. After ordering an Alpine Burger and fries from Paul’s Da Burger Joint, his hand dropped to his side like a dead weight. It wasn’t possible to be this tired for so long. Maybe he was sick or something.