How to Hunt a Husband

by Jacobs, Holly

  “Uh,” Nate’s mom said. “Dinner is ready, so why don’t we all go in and sit down.”

  Nate took Shannon’s arm and they followed his parents into the dining room.

  “You’re doing great,” he whispered.

  “Yeah, I am,” she whispered back and shot him a grin.

  Yes, Nate could see his mother’s immediate baby plans fading fast. She would never want a stripper for her grandchild’s mother. Yep, Shannon was doing a great job, playing the stripper to the hilt.

  But as the meal went on, Nate realized things weren’t going quite the way he planned.

  Shannon went on talking about the strip club, about Candy and her two kids, about Marcy, the exotic dancer who was working her way through grad school. She wove intricate tales that had the entire family hanging on her every word.

  Nate hardly noticed the charbroiled nature of the roast his mother served or the huge lumps in the mashed potatoes. He was as caught up in Shannon’s stories as his parents were.

  “Why,” she said, leaning across the table, exposing cleavage Nate hadn’t noticed at the bar the night they met—and he was man enough to always notice cleavage, so how had the fact that Shannon had some escaped his notice?

  “One night,” she said, “I was up doing my number and was down to just panties and tassels, when this guy comes in and jumps up on stage. Now, my boss, he doesn’t let anyone mess with us, and no one is allowed on stage, so Bruno—he’s our bouncer. I asked once and his name really is Bruno, which seems a bit to stereotypical to me, but it’s his last name, not his first. His first name is Kyle, which isn’t bouncer-ish at all. Anyway, Bruno—he’d kill me if I called him Kyle—he jumped up and grabbed the guy before he could touch me. And the guy lunges forward and makes a grab anyway, but all he grabs is a hand full of tassel, which means I was left there exposed …”

  She paused for a moment, and if Nate didn’t know it was an act, he’d have sworn she was truly embarrassed by the incident, as if it had really happened.

  “Oh, dear, what did you do?” his mom asked.

  “Well, of course, I covered myself. I mean, I strip, but only to tassels and panties—we don’t strip all the way—and here I was one tassel shy of a complete outfit. And then, this guy he tosses me up his jacket, and before you know it, there was a pile of jackets and shirts at my feet. Why I just picked one up, slipped it on and finished the dance. You should have seen my tips that night.”

  “Why, the men were gentlemen,” his mom said, a note of approval in her voice.

  If Nate didn’t know better, he’d have thought his mom was almost impressed.

  “Most of the guys who come in are gentlemen. Sort of lonely. Part of the job is going out between sets and visiting them. Most of them are just happy to have us there, talking to them. I feel sort of bad for them.”

  Man, she was playing this as the stripper-with-a-heart, not the heartless stripper.

  Nate glanced at his mom. She’d always been a soft touch, and one look at her face told him that she’d fallen for Shannon—aka Roxy’s—story.

  “Why, dear, I never thought of it that way. Why else would a man go to someplace like that? Of course he goes because he’s lonely.”

  Nate could swear he heard his mother sniff.

  Shannon had his mother believing that not only was she a stripper, but that she was a stripper with a heart-of-gold, dancing to help a bunch of lonely, sweet gentlemen.

  “Not all the guys go there because they’re lonely, Mom,” he felt obliged to point out.

  “Of course that’s why they go,” his mother said.

  “The poor men just don’t know how to interact with women,” Shannon, the arm-chair-psychiatrist, said.

  “Why, maybe we should start some sort of support group. Men who visit strippers—”

  “Exotic dancers,” Shannon corrected.

  “Exotic dancers,” his mother agreed. “We could see if we could find a therapist, and you could take brochures to work and hand them out to the men. Why, we could teach them how to deal with women in the real world. How to meet nice girls.”

  “Hey, we’re nice girls,” Shannon said.

  “Why, of course you are, dear. But you’re already dating Nathan, and the one girl’s in grad school—between that and work, she doesn’t have time for a relationship—and the other one has young children and a nasty ex. The gentlemen at the club have problems. We need to introduce your friends to men who don’t have too much emotional baggage of their own—someone who can help them deal with theirs. We can—”

  “Mom, you’ll put the club out of business if you reform all its customers and save all its dancers,” Nate said. He gave Shannon a little kick under the table.

  “Nate’s got a point,” she said. “My boss is a nice guy and runs a clean club, but I don’t think he’s nice enough to let us lose all his business for him. I’m sure he wouldn’t allow me to pass out brochures.”

  “I guess you’re right,” his mom said with a sigh. “But I think I’ll talk to some people in town about setting up a support group, anyway. We won’t target just your club, that should work, shouldn’t it?”

  “I—”

  “Honey,” Nate’s dad said, “I think you’re putting Shannon on the spot. This is her first dinner with us, after all. They’ll be more.”

  “You’re right, Paul. Shannon, we’ll talk about this later, next time you come. Right now, let’s talk about dessert. I made Nate’s favorite, Key Lime Pie.”

  Nate forced himself to smile as his mother looked at him expectantly. “Great.”

  Great. Just great.

  His mother had implied she expected to see Shannon at dinner again, which meant she liked her.

  His mother liked Shannon in spite of the fact she thought she was Roxy, the exotic dancer.

  And, in addition, they were having his favorite, Key Lime Pie, for dessert.

  Nate hated Key Lime Pie.

  “… Yes, Mother.” Shannon sighed heavily, on purpose, so that the sound would carry over the telephone wires.

  “I heard that, young lady.”

  “Heard what?” she asked, though she knew the answer. It was better to play this out. After all, her mother had to believe she was reluctant to bring Nate over to the house.

  “That sigh,” her mom said, right on cue. “Is it so much to ask that I meet this man? You said you’d talk to him about stopping in.”

  “Talk to him. I said I’d talk to him. I didn’t say we’d stop in for sure. If you just wanted to meet him that would be one thing, but you want a wedding and you’re assessing his ability to play the groom—that’s another thing entirely.”

  “Now, Shannon, you know that I only want what’s best for you and—”

  “Have you talked to Kate this week?” she asked.

  If she were really trying to get out of bringing a man to meet her mother, she’d try to sidetrack her.

  “You’re changing the subject,” Brigit accused.

  Shannon was glad her mother couldn’t see her broad smile. It was useful to know someone so well, especially when trying to put one over on them.

  “No, no I’m not,” she denied. “I just wondered if you’d talked to her.”

  “No.” Her mother’s voice was laced with suspicion. “I was going to call her after I talked to you.”

  Shannon smiled. Her strategy was to keep her mother off-balance and she had a bombshell all ready to drop and topple her. She fired. “It seems Cara’s in Texas.”

  “Cara’s in Texas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, why do you suppose she’s down there? Are you saying you think it’s something to do with her mother? That Cecilia sent her down there? Maybe she thinks Cara will have luck finding a cowboy. Goodness knows, the girl wasn’t finding a man here in Erie.”

  “If Mrs. Romano is taking this bet as seriously as you are, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re up to something.”

  Shannon didn’t add that she didn’t think C
ara would be any more happy about this bet than she was.

  “After all,” she continued, “if they tried something in Erie, you’d certainly find out. But Texas … that’s a big state. Who knows what the two of them have cooked up.”

  “Well, I suppose I’d better call Mary Kathryn—”

  “Kate,” Shannon corrected her mother.

  “Kate,” her mother said with a sigh, “I’ll call her and see if she knows just what’s going on.”

  “That’s great. Goodbye, Mom.”

  She didn’t get the phone a millimeter from her ear before her mother yelled, “Oh, no. You might have given me something new to worry about, but I haven’t forgotten that I expect you to bring the boy—”

  “Man.”

  “—to the house for dinner tonight.”

  “Mom, we just met. It’s just a date.”

  “Good,” her mother said. “Dating is good. Bring him by and we’ll find out all about him together.”

  “I’ll bring him along if you promise not to start talking about weddings with him.”

  Silence.

  “Mom?”

  “Fine. I won’t mention the word wedding. Now, be here at five. I’m calling Kate.”

  “Five it is, Mom.”

  “I look forward to it,” her mother said right before she hung up.

  “So do I,” Shannon murmured to herself as she hung up the phone.

  At least she hoped she did. After all, last night hadn’t gone the way they’d planned.

  She admitted it was her fault.

  She’d apologized to Nate, and though he’d accepted her apology, he’d still been a bit put out when he’d dropped her off at home.

  Shannon knew where the problems stemmed from. It was a curse.

  She liked to be liked.

  She blamed genetics.

  Women were trained to be likeable, to be easy-going. They were genetically and socially predisposed to want to be accepted.

  No, that might sound good and scientific, but unfortunately the theory just didn’t play out.

  Look at her mother. She obviously didn’t have an overwhelming compulsion to be liked. Not that Shannon didn’t like her mom.

  She did.

  But easy-going wasn’t a phrase that people used to describe Brigit O’Malley.

  Overbearing.

  Pushy.

  Opinionated.

  Competitive.

  But not easy-going.

  And frequently not likeable.

  No, wherever this need-to-be-liked thing stemmed from, she couldn’t blame her mother or her mother’s genes.

  But she could blame her mother for the fact she found herself in this absurd situation at all.

  Her musings were interrupted by a sound that could only be a Harley Davidson. Loud and rumbling, the Harley drew closer, and Shannon’s heart sped up.

  Not that she was excited about seeing Nate.

  Of course she wasn’t.

  Her accelerated heart rate probably had to do with the fact she was nervous that he was mad at her.

  Not that she’d blame him if he was.

  A tiny part of her had been afraid he wouldn’t show up today. Not that she cared on a personal level—they hardly knew each other after all, though she was inclined to like what she did know of him.

  No, the only reason she was concerned about his not showing was because she needed him to get her mother off her back.

  And now, he had shown up, even after she’d mucked up last night. Maybe he’d only shown up because his mother had invited her back to dinner next weekend. Well, she’d use that time to try to undo the damage she’d done last night. She was going to carry her exotic dance routine as far as she could and try to shock his mother into disliking her.

  She wasn’t going to examine the fact that knowing she’d be seeing Nathan again next weekend wasn’t any particular hardship.

  Shannon waited for him to knock, even though she knew he’d arrived. Heck, with the amount of noise the Harley made, the whole neighborhood knew he’d arrived. But she didn’t want to appear too … excited? Anxious?

  Whatever.

  She just didn’t want him thinking she was too pleased to see him. She was playing it cool, despite the fact her heart was racing and her palms were sweating.

  She heard the knock and had the front door opened a split-second after his knuckles tapped the wooden door.

  Nate jumped back half of a step, obviously startled that she’d opened the door so fast.

  So much for her cool act.

  “Hi, Nate,” she said, trying to gauge his mood.

  “Shannon.” He didn’t smile and her name came out rather terse.

  He was still upset.

  Darn.

  “Aw, come on, Nate, I said I was sorry. I swear, by the time dinner is over next weekend, your parents will be begging you never to see me again. Your mom will declare she can wait to be a grandmother, at least until you find an appropriate woman. I’m really sorry that they liked me.”

  His hard expression evaporated and she saw a hint of a smile. “Well, it was kind of funny to hear her go on about starting a support group for guys who frequent strip-clubs.”

  Shannon chuckled. “By the time I was done describing the place, I almost believed I was talking about other exotic dancers, and not just adapting stories about teachers I know from school. I never realized I had a gift for telling stories.”

  “Blarney,” Nate said.

  “What?”

  “Mick would say you have the gift of the blarney. A fine Irish tradition.”

  “Well, if anyone knows blarney, it’s Mick. I can see why you’ve kept him around all these years. He’s a great guy. I’m not much of a bar person, but after all my mom’s fix-ups, I always seem to end up there. Mick’s doesn’t seem like a bar, but rather just a place to hang out with friends.”

  Something in Nate’s expression changed slightly. Oh, he was still smiling, but there was some difference that Shannon couldn’t quite identify.

  “So are you ready for our lesson?” he asked, not sounding overly enthused.

  They’d agreed it would be better if Nate was the one driving the motorcycle when they pulled up to her parents, so she’d suggested they spend the afternoon practicing.

  Shannon figured if she could teach kids to appreciate art, she could teach Nate to ride a Harley without stalling … at least she hoped she could. That way when the charade was over he’d not only have his mother off his back, but he’d be able to actually ride his motorcycle.

  “I’m all set,” she said. “I thought we’d go over to the school parking lot. It’s virtually deserted most weekends.”

  “Fine. You drive there, I’ll drive back.”

  Chapter Four

  He’s a great guy.

  An hour and a half later, Nate was still stewing about Shannon’s comment about Mick.

  It wasn’t as if he didn’t agree. Mick was a great guy.

  Funny.

  Intelligent. He’d been working his way through school for years. Balancing his schoolwork with owning his own business—so you could add independent to his glowing list of greatness.

  Yeah, Mick was a great guy, and all of a sudden, it bothered Nate and he wasn’t sure why. Oh, he might suspect, but he wasn’t sure and wasn’t about to examine his level of annoyance until he was sure. He was afraid of what he might find.

  Because there’s no way he could be jealous.

  That flood of some feeling that overtook his system every time he thought of the casual friendliness Mick and Shannon had displayed the first night had to be something else entirely.

  A great guy.

  Ha.

  He could tell Shannon some stories about great old Mick that would make her spiky hair stand on end. But he wouldn’t because who Shannon thought was great made no difference to him. It wasn’t as if they were anything more than partners. He had no real claim on her.

  Why, he hardly knew Shannon.

&nb
sp; They were just helping each other out of their mother-marriage woes.

  She could date whoever she wanted. Not that she was dating Mick.

  At least, he didn’t think she was dating Mick.

  Maybe he should talk to Mick and make sure Shannon wasn’t dating him.

  Not that it mattered.

  It wasn’t as if Nate was looking to date Shannon in any way except their fake way.

  He eased the motorcycle into her driveway and cut the motor. She unwrapped her arms from around his waist.

  He sort of missed the feeling of her pressed against him.

  “That was great, Nate,” she said as she climbed off the bike.

  She pulled her helmet off, set it on the back of the bike and ran her fingers through her short hair as she grinned at him. “You made it all the way home without stalling it once. I think you’ve got it.”

  “Thanks to you.” Nate put down the kickstand and leaned the bike gently against it, then took off his own helmet.

  “Nah. You would have got it on your own. You just needed practice, that’s all.”

  “What time are we supposed to be at your parents?” he asked.

  “Five. We’ve got time.”

  “Time for what?” he asked. There was a certain gleam in her eye that made him nervous.

  They’d talked about motorcycle lessons and dinner, but they had no other plans for the day, of that he was sure.

  “Time for me to take you to see my friend, Emilio.”

  Emilio?

  How many men did Shannon have hanging around?

  “Is he a great guy, too?” Nate asked.

  The moment the words were out of his mouth he wished he could suck them back in.

  “What?” Shannon asked, shooting him a piercing look with those beautiful green eyes.

  Beautiful green eyes? Man, next thing you know he’d be waxing poetic about her emerald gaze or some such nonsense.

  “Never mind,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended. “So, why are we seeing this Emilio?”

  “Because you’re getting that tattoo you wanted,” she said with a grin.

  “I don’t think so,” Nate said, feeling a hint of regret.

  It’s not that he hadn’t toyed with the idea of a tattoo, but it certainly didn’t fit his daytime persona and … well, he didn’t like needles.