“I tried not to look.”
She snorts. “Baloney.”
I lift an eyebrow in her direction.
“Give me a little credit,” she says. “You’re a man. Lauren’s a pretty woman.Lookingat her is programmed into your DNA.”
“Fine. I looked. Sheisvery pretty. But, Maggie May, I’m still not interested.”
“For heaven’s sake,why? You’re perfect boyfriend material, handsome and talented and nice.”
I preen like a show dog until she gets to the end. “What did I tell you about calling me nice?”
“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. “We’vegotto get you over this good-guy stigma so you can start using it to your advantage.”
“How ’bout you leave the matchmaking to Miss Bea’s deep-pocketed friends, huh? At least for tonight.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “I have to say, Iamlooking forward to seeing you up on that stage.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “There’s a stage?”
“Of course. You think Aunt Bea would skimp on an auction? A stage is a must. All the better to ogle you, my dear.”
“Oh God.”
“You’re going to cause a riot.” She snickers and claps her hands.
Visions of that Saturday tea (but raised to the power of ten) dance through my head. I should’ve worn football pads. And a helmet. And acup.
“At least promise me a dance.” I give her my most desperate look. “That way I’ll be assured a reprieve at some point during the evening.”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll save the firstandthe last dance for you. That way we can start out by introducing you slowly.”
“Like a lobster in a pot getting the heat turned up under its ass so it doesn’t realize it’s getting cooked?” I ask.
“Exactly.” Her giggle is devious. “And then, all night long, while your virility is being evaluated, you can look forward to ending it all in my nonjudgmental, non-ass-grabby hands.”
“Shake on it.” I take one hand off the wheel to offer it to her.
Her fingers are cool and delicate compared to mine. And obviously, I’m imagining things, but I swear she holds on longer than is necessary.
