By the Book

by Nancy Warren

  Thinking about her conversation with Therese, she snorted. “Not if he’s a flesh-and-blood man.” She scanned the crowd, smiled a little at a couple slow dancing on the small square of parquet dance floor. “This place is getting busy.”

  “What did you mean?”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “More people are arriving than are leaving. Not so unusual for a Friday night.”

  He jerked his head in quick denial. “Not that. The thing you said before, about men not asking women what they want.”

  He appeared a bit huffy at her assertion, and she hid her smile behind her drink, sipping from the cool, salt-rimmed glass, thinking the bartender had known what she wanted.

  “I’m saying they don’t ask women what they want. Men make assumptions. A guy who calls himself Lance Flagstaff is a perfect example.”

  “A man can’t help his own name.” He was reddening, she could see it even in the dim light of the bar. He must have a really grim love life if he’d invested this heavily in the theories of some dumb book. And speaking of dumb…

  “Lance Flagstaff has to be a pseudonym. Any writer who’d choose it must be in love with his own lance.”

  “Maybe it’s a woman.”

  “What?” she asked on a surprised giggle.

  “If it’s a fake name, it could be a woman writing that book. Or a couple.”

  She thought for a second. “As a kind of joke, you mean?”

  “Why not?”

  She recalled seeing Mr. Flagstaff’s byline in a national women’s mag she sometimes purchased with her groceries. He gave the male perspective on dating and sex. He also answered questions from readers.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s a guy. That’s not a pen name a woman or a couple would choose.”

  “Want another drink?” He gestured to her nearly empty glass.

  Did she? She wasn’t sure. In fact, she wasn’t sure how she felt about this whole thing. Knowing he was following a book she hadn’t read left her feeling off-kilter. “What else is on tonight’s agenda?”

  “What agenda?” His eyes were focused on her lower lip.

  She waved her hands around to indicate the bar. “Do we stay here? Go somewhere else? Go home? What else does it say in chapter one?”

  His gaze never wavered. “Kissing is optional.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That’s what it says in chapter one. Kissing is optional.”

  “Oh.” She gulped, wondering how she felt about her options. And about this very strange date.

  But she had to remember she had her own agenda, which was the only reason she’d agreed to this crazy plan in the first place.

  “Do you want another?” she asked, stalling for time, trying to decide what she did want.

  “Another what?” She’d never known a man who could stay so focused on her, despite the noise of their surroundings, the comings and goings, the women strutting by them. He wasn’t glancing around every five minutes to see if there was someone he knew or someone he’d like to get to know. He made her feel that she was the most interesting woman in the room. And, whether or not he’d picked up the tip in some ridiculous book, she found it flattering. And unusual.

  “Drink.”

  “No. Let’s get out of here.”

  She nodded. “I kind of overdid my workout today. I think I need an early night.”

  When they hit the parking lot, the quiet struck her. Her ears still seemed to pulse with the sultry jazz and the talk and laughter of the Friday-night crowd.

  “Don’t overdo the workouts or you’ll hurt yourself,” Luke said.

  “I’m not in bad shape. I’m just toning a bit for the wedding,” she told him, feeling suddenly shy as she faced him and ridiculously intimate with just the two of them alone in an asphalt parking lot. What could be more romantic?

  A stray breeze lifted her hair and blew a few strands across her face. He lifted them off her cheek and tucked them behind her ear, making the gesture both friendly and more. “I’d like to see you again,” he said, and stepped closer.

  “You would?” She felt breathless. Option One was about half a step away and she found herself anticipating the feel of his mouth on hers.

  “Will you?”

  Maybe he needed a book for the really heavy stuff, but at light flirtation and conversation, Luke was terrific. She did want to spend more time with him. She felt the pull between them and wondered how his kisses were, prepared to be generous in her evaluation. “Yes,” she said, and her lips parted and her eyes drifted to half-mast.

  “Good.” He sounded matter-of-fact. “I’ll call you.”

  “Call me.” She heard her own words soft and sleepy and seeming to come from far away. What had happened to the kiss that hovered between them like the smell of rain just before it pours?

  Then it hit her that he’d been asking her about going out again. He must be reciting lines from the book, since they had a standing Friday night date. And she’d been mistaken. Imagining he meant… Damn, that book must be good.

  “Where’s your car?”

  Refusing to act like a stuttering fool for one more second, she pulled her thoughts together, snapped her eyelids open and her lips shut. “This way.”

  He waited at her side while she pushed the button on her key fob to unlock her car door, then he surprised her by opening it for her. As she went to slide in, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, so she turned to him.

  “I’ll call you,” he said again, then kissed her cheek.

  The gesture didn’t suit him somehow, and seemed almost deliberate. “Is that in the book?” she asked tartly.

  “Yep.”

  She nodded, thinking it was going to be a long and tedious four weeks, then turned to slide behind the wheel, wondering if she’d stop on the way home for a video so her Friday evening wasn’t a complete waste.

  Before she’d finished the thought, she felt him whirl her body ’round and slap his lips on hers, hot and demanding. Her pulse jumped and her heart started to race. His mouth soothed and demanded, offered and possessed, so she felt dizzy with conflicting sensations. She sighed softly and leaned into him. As she’d guessed, he tasted like cold beer, but there were hints of hot male there, too. Instinctively she responded, until he pulled away, leaving her aroused and unsatisfied.

  “Was that—” she began breathlessly.

  “My own interpretation.”

  She smiled. He was obviously a quick study. “Better.”

  5

  “YOU’RE JUST LIKE YOUR father.”

  The familiar mix of emotions jumbled in Luke’s belly at those oft-heard words. Pride first, then the guilt. Because when his mother repeated that line she’d been tossing at him since he was a kid, she didn’t mean it as a compliment.

  In all the years she’d thrown his likeness to his father in his face, he’d never come up with a response that would both satisfy his mother and prevent her from ever repeating the words.

  “Pass the jam,” was the best he could come up with at this Saturday-morning brunch at his mom’s. The family tried to get together every week or two and, since Stacy, the second youngest, had started working Sunday nights at the local cable company, they’d changed the customary Sunday night dinner to a weekend brunch. It was usually on Saturdays so his mom could attend church on Sunday.

  Roberta Lawson was still a beautiful woman, though she didn’t bother much with her appearance anymore. “What’s the point?” she’d say when one of the kids would put a makeup kit in her Christmas stocking or her daughters would suggest a girls’ day out shopping. “Nobody wants to look at me. And if you’re smart, you won’t want them looking at you, either. You know what looking leads to and that’s nothing but trouble.”

  “How can you be such a Jewish mother when we’re not even Jewish?” Deandra complained. The eldest of his three sisters, she was the one Luke was closest to, and the one most likely to jump to his defense when he, the only male in the family, came under attack for
all men. Or his father.

  His sisters were all gorgeous, but Deandra was cover-model stunning. All black, wavy hair, milk-white skin, big green eyes and bee-stung lips. She was also a brilliant scientist, which always gave him a kick when he’d watch yet another guy trip on his tongue as she walked by, totally oblivious to the havoc she caused.

  “Ha, Jewish mothers. How many Jewish mothers do you know whose husbands are getting married for the fifth time?”

  Luke caught Deandra’s eye and she grimaced. They’d tried to keep their dad’s most recent nuptials from their mom; obviously they hadn’t succeeded.

  “How did you find out?” Luke asked.

  “Not from any of you.” His mother sent a condemning glare around the table, skewering each of them as it passed.

  “Mom, we didn’t want you to be hurt,” Stacy mumbled. A younger, not quite so stunning version of Deandra, Stacy was the only one still living at home and remained closest to their mother.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore. I just feel sorry for him. I really do. I bet she’s younger than you, Deandra. She’ll want children. Mark my words. What does a fifty-three-year-old man want with babies? He should spend some time with the children he’s already got.”

  Since three of Henry Lawson’s marriages had produced kids, there were half brothers and sisters all over the place. They got together every summer at their dad’s cabin on Lummi Island, with the bunkhouse out back to contain all his offspring. Once again, Luke wondered how a basically decent man such as his father could screw up so badly again and again, leaving confused children scattered in his wake like so much flotsam and jetsam.

  His mom shook her head sadly. “Just wait till you get married.”

  None of them were showing the slightest indication of doing so. Luke had a feeling none of them wanted to re-create the circumstances of their own childhoods. Not that their memories were bad—his mom always did her best—but they weren’t all picnics and smiling family photos, either.

  Deandra jumped to her feet and started clearing dishes. Luke was only too happy to pitch in. The faster they got the kitchen cleaned, the sooner they could split. He loved his mom, and he’d already changed the washers in her sinks and the oil in her car before sitting down to omelettes and toast. But listening to her rant only made his belly burn. He couldn’t help her, and when she compared him to his father he was defenseless, because he knew she was right.

  He was just like his old man. He loved women. And when he got bored with the one he was with, he knew there’d be another just around the corner.

  Deandra and he made their escape together and he walked her to her car then paused as she unlocked it and opened the door. But she didn’t get in right away. She faced him with concern in her gorgeous eyes. “She doesn’t mean it, you know,” his sister said, laying a hand on his wrist.

  “Sure she does.” He took Deandra’s hand. “And she’s right. But there’s nothing I can do to change what Dad did to her—to all of us—any more than I can change my own genes.”

  She nodded and shook her hair back. “So, are you going to his latest wedding?”

  “Haven’t missed one yet. He asked me to be his best man.”

  Amusement flickered in her eyes. “The guy’s got nerve. Are you going to?”

  “Yeah. I guess. Are you going?”

  “I always tell myself I won’t, and then I go. I know he’s an ass and he’s hurt Mom, but…” She sighed and ran her index finger along the top of her car door. “He’s our father and I don’t think he meant to hurt anybody. It’s as though he can’t help himself.”

  Luke nodded. “You bringing a date?”

  “I’ll probably bring Sid.” Sid was a senior scientist in the lab where she worked. A brilliant man, but no party animal.

  Luke shuddered. “Every time I see Sid I get the feeling he’s planning to clone me or something.”

  His sister laughed. “Spoken like a true egomaniac. How about you? Are you bringing your latest?”

  “How do you know I have a latest?”

  “You always have a latest.”

  “I am sort of seeing someone. I might ask her. I’ll see.” He hadn’t even thought of taking a date to his father’s wedding until Deandra mentioned it, but all at once he imagined Shari there. She was warm and personable, and he might actually enjoy himself if there was a nice woman with him. In fact, he’d been thinking of her more than he should since they’d parted last night.

  That kiss he’d planted on her had been both spontaneous and quick. He’d stayed within the guidelines of chapter one, but only just. If he’d lingered and toyed with her mouth, given her a taste of what he’d like to do with her…well, that would have been cheating. So he’d kept the lip contact agonizingly brief. But oh, how he’d wanted to take his time exploring, teasing, exciting.

  He’d roared home and flipped through the book only to discover that nothing but frustration awaited him if he followed the book religiously, one chapter a week. He might not know all about the sex life of millipedes, which for some reason his sister was keen on, but he knew one thing—he couldn’t wait a month to make love to Shari.

  “Hello?” His sister’s voice brought him back from the fantasy that had bloomed in his head, a scenario from chapter fourteen—advanced lovemaking techniques. “Where did you go?”

  He blinked his eyes a few times. “Sorry. I think I’ve done a really stupid thing.”

  Seconds passed. “Well, I don’t seem to have fainted from shock. Tell me about it.”

  So he did. Deandra was his sister, but also one of his closest friends. And, apart from being as commitment-phobic as the rest of his sibs, she was smart about people. Well, she was smart about everything. He had a feeling it would take every neuron in her genius-size brain to find a way out of this one.

  She hooted with laughter when he described the scene where his book fell out in front of Shari. And while she never laughed out loud again during his recital, he had a feeling she was calling on all her willpower. By the time he got to the part where he’d smacked a closemouthed kiss on Shari and promised to call, his sister sounded as though she had a bad head cold, sniffing and making coughlike sounds in the back of her throat.

  “So what do you think?” he finished.

  “You are a total moron. That’s what I think.”

  “Come on. You’re a scientist. I thought you’d understand how much I wanted to verify my hypothesis.”

  She patted his cheek with a cool palm. “You want to have sex with your test subject. Very scientific.”

  He groaned out loud. “And I don’t want to wait four more weeks to do it.”

  “So call her.”

  “Huh?”

  “In the parking lot, after you kissed her like she was your ailing grandmother, you said you’d call her. So call her. Do two chapters a week if you’re so anxious to get your tongue in her mouth—”

  “Deandra, has anyone ever told you you’re brilliant?”

  Her green eyes tilted like a cat’s when she smiled. “Most everyone gets ’round to it eventually.”

  LUKE WHISTLED as he flipped through his how-to book. He was almost certain…ah, yes. Here it was, near the beginning of chapter two.

  The small gift, the token of regard, may be considered old-fashioned by some, and that’s fine by us because it gives us an advantage. Remember this—the florist is your friend. Nothing melts a woman’s heart like a box full of greenery. But do be creative…

  He’d been smart enough to include a list of what messages different flowers imparted. He scanned the list and decided that sometimes in-your-face obvious was the way to go. A red rose. For passion.

  Oh, yeah.

  He found the number of his favorite local florist on his Rolodex and then stood with the phone in his hand. How many? It was never easy. A dozen was overeager. One seemed chintzy. So he settled on half a dozen.

  The note for the card was easy. Thinking of you, it said. And she couldn’t possibly know how true t
hat was.

  He put the coffeepot on and settled at the computer desk in his bedroom to write his monthly column for Hey, Girl, a woman’s magazine in which he gave a guy’s perspective on sex and dating. He’d been having trouble coming up with a theme, and suddenly, there it was. “What he’s really trying to say when he sends you flowers.”

  He was editing the completed column when his phone rang. He checked the call display and grinned. Shari.

  “Thank you for the roses. They’re beautiful. You didn’t have to.” She sounded a little flustered. Embarrassed even.

  “They’re a small thank-you for helping me out.” And a step toward chapter five. But she didn’t have to know that.

  “You’re welcome,” she said primly.

  “How’s the fitness program?”

  She groaned. “I’m killing myself. The weights, the treadmill. And don’t get me started on the sit-ups.”

  He laughed. “The gym makes it seem too much like work. You should get outside for a bike ride or a hike.”

  “You’re probably right. But there’s a gym at school, plus the one in our building, so it’s easy.”

  On an impulse, he checked tomorrow’s weather on the Internet. The forecast was for sunshine, which had to be a sign. “Why don’t I take you on my favorite hiking trail tomorrow? The weather’s supposed to be good.”

  “Oh, um…I wasn’t expecting…I don’t know…I wasn’t expecting to see you until Friday.”

  He rolled his eyes. Couldn’t she cut him some slack? “I’m not inviting you as a date, but as your personal trainer. That’s close to a medical professional.”

  She chuckled. “Since when are you a personal trainer?”

  Since five seconds ago. “You should give me a try. No obligation. We’ll even split the supplies. You pack the lunch, I’ll bring the water.”

  Once more he was treated to a reluctant chuckle. “Don’t strain yourself over the water.” He waited, and could imagine her weighing pros and cons until, finally, she agreed. “All right. But this better be good for an inch off my hips.”

  An inch off her hips would be a crime against nature in his opinion, but he’d grown up with enough sisters to keep his mouth shut. “I’ll be at your door at eight tomorrow morning.”