Heather Macallister - Tempted In Texas

“Won’t charge you, either.”

Oh no, not that smile, not the one he knew charmed women. She gave him a look to let him know she wasn’t charmed. “Don’t you have any plans? What about your friends? Have they abandoned you?”

Instantly, the smile faded and he looked down at his pizza. “They’re all going to the Uptown Women’s Center benefit ‘gala.’” He used his fingers to make quote marks. “My girlfriend is on the steering committee. It’s occupied her every waking moment since October.”

Girlfriend? Girlfriend? Alec had a girlfriend? Not that it mattered to Gwen. It shouldn’t matter to her. Wouldn’t. Didn’t.

“Have you noticed how nobody just throws a party for the sake of a good time anymore?” Alec was speaking rhetorically, which was a good thing since Gwen had frozen beside him. He hadn’t noticed, which was also a good thing.

“It always has to benefit some organization. Why should we justify wanting to have a good time?”

“The Women’s Center is a very worthy cause,” Gwen managed. She also managed to sound tight-lipped. She wrapped her tight lips around the beer bottle and swallowed.

“Of course it is,” Alec grumbled. “That’s not the point here. The point is guilt-free partying.”

“And so, what? You’re boycotting?”

He mumbled something.

“What?” Gwen cupped her hand around her ear. “Is that a tiny tantrum I hear?”

“No.” He shifted until his head was resting on the back of the sofa. “Stephanie—”

“That would be your girlfriend.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Who knows anymore?”

“Well…this is just a thought…but if I spent hours and hours working on one of those charity things, I might be the teensiest bit put out if my boyfriend refused to go.”

Still leaning against the sofa, he rolled his head to face her. “I can’t afford to. My tux is back at my town house, along with my car, and I don’t have the money to rent either. So no gala-going for me this New Year’s.”

“Wait a minute—you mean you own a car and you have a town—”

Alec held up a hand. “Technically, yes—”

“Is there any other way?”

“My grandfather didn’t have a fancy place to live or his own—”

“It’s fancy?”

“Well…it’s…my cousin’s wife is a decorator and she did the place for me, so it’s okay.”

“It’s just okay.”

“Okay, better than okay.”

“Wood floors?”

“Yeah.”

“Fireplace?”

“Yeah.”

“Dining room?”

“I gotta eat someplace.”

“Whirlpool tub?”

“Aren’t those standard these days?”

“BMW or Mercedes?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Beemer. Gwen, it doesn’t matter. My grandfather wouldn’t have had any of that stuff, so I can’t either right now. That’s why I traded places with the guy who used to live in the apartment here. Brad’s living it up at my place, and I’m here with his damn cat.” Apparently thoughts of the cat were worth two swallows of beer.

“I see.” She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. In her line of sight was a framed poster—Alec was no doubt used to original art—and put-it-together-yourself shelving displaying her Scooby-Doo memorabilia, which up to this point she’d thought was charmingly quirky. But now it looked kitschy and cheap.

“Gwen?” There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, no doubt carefully calculated to elicit the most sympathy. “You understand about all that, don’t you?”

“I’m feeling used,” she declared. “Before, I felt used, but it was for a good cause.”

“I’m still a good cause.”

“You’re a hopeless cause.”

“And you’re as bad as Stephanie.”

Gwen bolted upright and gasped. “What a vile thing to say!”

Alec’s lips quivered and then he started laughing.

She hadn’t been serious, but he shouldn’t have figured it out so quickly. Shaking her head, Gwen cleared away their plates. “At least that explains the cat. You have never struck me as a cat person.”

“Armageddon is not a cat. Armageddon is demon spawn from hell.”

“Poor kitty. With a name like Armageddon, what do you expect?”

“He earned the name. Thirty seconds at my place and he’d sprayed a white silk sofa.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “No real person has a white silk sofa.”

“I do, or I do if the cleaners did their job. But Army came to the apartment with me that day and has avoided me ever since. He lives under the bed until I go into the bedroom. The rest of the time, he plots his escape.”

Gwen rinsed their plates and put them in the dishwasher. “From what I remember, he’s had a couple of successes.”

“Yeah. Brad comes over and lures him back, though.”

“The poor little thing.”

“Don’t feel sorry for Brad.”

“I was talking about the cat and you know it. He just doesn’t understand.”

“He’s not the only one,” Alec muttered darkly.

Gwen returned to the sofa. “Is that an oblique reference to Stephanie and New Year’s?”

He nodded.

“She doesn’t quite see why you have to maintain the purity of the quest.”

“Or words to that effect.”

“I’ll bet.” Gwen stared at her Scooby-Doo slippers. They stared back. “Your grandfather could have shopped at secondhand stores, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Wearing clothes from the church’s charity box is always a featured part of the story. But if you think—”

“Buy your tux from Brad.”

“What?”

“Offer him five or ten bucks for it. He’s not going to be wearing it and you know it fits.”

“That’s…” Gwen could see the possibilities occur to Alec.

He gave her a slow, admiring smile. “That’s brilliant.”

“I thought so. And if you give me a ride over to my parents’ house, then you can borrow my car.” Sometimes she was too brilliant for her own good.

Alec kissed his fingers toward her. “Gwen, you are a prince among women.”

“Is that anything like being a queen among men?”

He hesitated briefly, but tellingly. Very, very tellingly. “I didn’t mean it to be.” He laughed. If a forced chuckle could be called a laugh.

Gwen could attribute the hesitation to him being slow on the uptake, but Alec wasn’t slow. No, for just a moment there, he’d considered the possibility that they were both sexually oriented in the same direction.

Was this what she was going to have to face? If a woman didn’t want to be with a man, then…then… And just because she wasn’t Alec’s type didn’t mean she wasn’t somebody’s type.

She’d show him. She’d…she’d go put on the skirt, that’s what she’d do. Gwen jumped up. “Hey—I got a new skirt I was thinking of wearing on New Year’s. How about a man’s opinion?”

“Danger. Warning. Woman requesting clothing opinion. Alert, alert.”

“Oh, stop.” She headed for the bedroom. “I just want to know what you think.”

“What I think is that nothing I say will be right,” Alec called after her.

Gwen grabbed the skirt, hanger and all, and went back to her living room. She unsnapped the clamps, then held up the skirt. “I’ll be with Laurie, so…you know.” She hoped he’d fill in the blanks about at least holding her own beside Laurie.

And speaking of blanks—Alec stared at the skirt, then met her eyes. “It’s…it’s just a black skirt. It doesn’t look all that short or tight.”

“So you’re saying that to appeal to a man, a skirt has to be short and tight?”

“Not…yes. Yes, it does.”

She walked closer so he could see how the light made it shimmer, maybe even feel the fabric.

He was clearly unimpressed by shimmer. “Well, Gwen, it’s a nice skirt.”