Cindi Myers - It's A Guy Thing!

Still, it would take everything he had to keep his hands to himself this weekend. He’d have to find something safe for them to do. Something that would keep his mind off of sex.

CASSIE LOOKED OVER her shoulder to where Guy stood in the condo’s kitchen alcove. He hummed to himself as he sliced cheese, moving with fluid grace. Dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt, he could have been a model in a Ralph Lauren ad—tousled hair, broad shoulders, flat stomach and the most perfect male rear end in existence.

She pinched herself. Yep, she was awake, all right, though Guy had starred in more than one erotic dream in the years since she’d first met him.

She turned back toward the fire, hoping he wouldn’t see her infatuation written on her face. It was one thing to fantasize about a man from a distance, quite another to be face-to-face with that man at a small, secluded resort.

Her heart thudded and she had to set aside her empty glass for fear of dropping it from her suddenly shaking hands. It didn’t matter how small this condo was or how alone they were. Men like Guy weren’t interested in quiet women like her. Her fantasies would have to stay fantasies, and that was all there was to it.

“Looks like you need a refill.” He returned with the champagne bottle and a plate of cheese, fruit and crackers. He refilled her glass and she thought he’d sit back down on the sofa. Instead, he settled on the floor at her feet. “Is the fire warm enough for you?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to answer, but no sound emerged. Warm was not the word for what she was feeling. The closer he got, the higher her temperature rose.

Unfortunately, the feeling obviously wasn’t mutual. “It’s still a little chilly in here,” he said. “I’ll put some more wood on the fire.”

He stood and fetched a log from a washtub on the hearth for the fire, then sat back at her feet and offered the plate of food. She bit into a strawberry and sipped more champagne. The bubbly was making her light-headed. Or was that Guy?

She pulled her gaze away from him, toward the table beside her and a picture resting there. Six young men, dressed for the slopes, posed with a variety of snowboards and skis, clowning for the camera. “The Boulder Bandidos,” Guy said, looking over her shoulder. “Up to their usual mischief.”

“I recognize you.” She put her finger on a thinner, gawkier version of the man beside her. Even then, he’d been handsome, though still more boy than man. “And the others look familiar from school, but I’m not sure I remember all their names.”

“That’s Steve.” He pointed to the tallest of the group. “He’s married now, with two kids. He works for one of the big eight accounting firms. That’s Jake next to him. His wife is expecting their first baby any day now. The dude making the peace sign is Victor. He has his own business, doing something with the Internet. He and his wife, Daria, live in Denver with their little girl. The short, stocky guy is Paul. He married a girl named Sheila who already had two kids and they run a restaurant in Colorado Springs. And that’s Dave.” He pointed to a blonde standing next to him. “He’s getting married in a couple of months to a woman from Boulder.”

“Was that the invitation you were looking at the other morning?”

He nodded. “That’s the one.”

“You didn’t seem too happy about it.”

“It showed that much, huh?”

She smiled into her champagne glass, but didn’t answer. Most people wouldn’t have seen it, but she’d noticed everything about Guy for years.

“The invitation caught me off guard. I’d figured Dave was a confirmed bachelor.”

“Like you?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

He shook his head. “I’m not a confirmed anything. I just haven’t found the right woman.” He turned away, to stir up the fire.

The words sent a quiver through her stomach. Guy had been her fantasy man all these years, her unobtainable ideal. Did he have a fantasy woman in his mind? And was she even a little bit like her? “Are you looking?”

She wanted to take the words back as soon as she spoke. But she wanted to know the answer more.

He didn’t say anything right away, and when she mustered up the courage to look at him, she was startled to find him watching her. His gaze caught and held her, going past the surface to see deeper. Her face heated and she fought the urge to look away. What was Guy looking for in her? Did she dare hope he would find it?

“Let’s say I’m open to possibilities.” He drained his glass and set it aside. “When I find the right woman, I’d like to settle down, have a family. What about you? What do you want to do with your life?”

Ugh. The million-dollar question and she didn’t even have a ten-dollar answer. She forced a laugh, as if this was all such a fun game, instead of a depressing dilemma. “I haven’t decided yet. There are so many possibilities.”

“I think Amy mentioned you quit school.”

She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her champagne glass. Quit was such as ugly word. “When I changed my major I needed a bunch of new courses for a degree. It would have meant an extra year of college. I was running out of money, so I left and enrolled in secretarial school instead.”

His puzzled frown told her he was trying to make the connection between secretarial school and Java Jive, so she rushed forward with the rest of her explanation. He might as well know the worst. “I quit that, too. Then I tried a few other things. The job at the coffee shop isn’t great, I know, but it pays the bills while I’m in massage therapy school.”

“Now that’s interesting work.”

She leaned toward him, studying his face for any hint of condescension. Either Guy was a great actor, or he really was interested. “Uh, yeah. I think it’s interesting,” she said. At least she’d stuck with it longer than anything to date. “I was thinking of going into sports medicine. I’d like to do something to help people.”

He smiled, his eyes still fixed on her. Why was he staring at her? She ran her tongue over her teeth, checking for strawberry seeds, and fought the urge to comb her fingers through her hair. Enough about her. She wanted to know about him. “So…I hear your store is a real success.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I can’t believe how fast it’s taken off. I think I really found a niche and filled it.”

She glanced at the photo of the Boulder Bandidos again. “It probably helped that you’re such an outdoorsman yourself. You know the kinds of equipment hikers and climbers and fishermen want.”

“Don’t forget skiing.” He leaned toward her again, close enough she could make out the shadow of his beard beneath the skin along his jaw. “I remember you were pretty hot stuff on skis when you and Amy were on the racing team at CU.”

His praise, not to mention his choice of words, sent a rush of warmth through her. Guy Walters thought she was hot stuff.

“Do you still race?”

The question banished the warm fuzzy feeling like a bucket of cold water on a campfire. “No.” She picked at a thread on her sweater. “I gave it up a couple of years ago.”

“Too bad. You were really good. Why’d you quit?”

There was that word again. She looked away. Why had she given up something she’d loved so much? “I guess I got interested in other things.” It sounded lame, but then, excuses usually were.

“I know Amy really misses it.”

The words jerked her from the brink of her self-pity pool. Amy Walters had torn ligaments in both knees after a spectacular fall during a race shortly before Cassie left the team. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, remembering how her friend had laughed with joy as she flew down the slopes. Cassie had always admired Amy’s daring, and her sense of humor. She had a little green troll doll she pinned to her jumpsuit for good luck. She loved to play practical jokes of people, and had once filled an opponent’s ski boots with shaving cream. “Is she able to ski at all anymore?”