Because of the List

by Amy Knupp

  Now was not the time for them to slip past her defenses.

  “Well? Are you?” he repeated.

  Taylor had to think hard to recall the question. “I’m considering it.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” his mother said. “If you went with her, Vienna, you could make some valuable contacts.”

  “That’s true.” Vienna’s enthusiasm grew, if that was possible.

  Mrs. Worth’s point was a valid one, but still, Taylor wasn’t about to agree to the plan without weighing all the variables.

  “Can’t believe you’re really considering that,” Alex mumbled.

  “You didn’t like the internet dating idea, either,” Taylor reminded him. “So tell me what you would suggest as a way of meeting eligible men who don’t spend every night drinking more ounces of beer than they have IQ points.”

  “Don’t ask him,” Vienna said. “He’s barely left the house in the month since he’s been home other than to go to PT or your place to work.”

  “You must be confusing me with him,” Alex said, nodding toward Marshall.

  “Go to hell,” was Marshall’s first contribution to the discussion.

  It was obvious Marshall wasn’t in the mood for this conversation, and the last thing Taylor wanted to do was annoy him more. She did her best to draw the attention back to Alex. “Something tells me you’ve never had trouble getting a date, anyway.” Case in point, the waitress’s instant interest at Ian’s.

  “Does that make me a bad person?” Alex asked.

  “Your ego makes you a bad person.” Vienna helped herself to a second serving of mac and cheese.

  “I could introduce you to a few ‘bad people.’”

  “Why don’t you take it a step further and go out and meet someone yourself,” his sister suggested. “You’re so opinionated about Taylor’s love life, but really, you can’t talk.”

  “Maybe I could tag along to Geeks Anonymous with you two.”

  “We wouldn’t be caught dead with you.” Vienna grinned smugly at her brother.

  “So what do you think I should do, Miss Marketing?”

  “Go to a bar. Meet a girl. In fact, take him with you.” She nodded at Marshall. “Meet two girls. The house has shrunk since you both moved back.”

  “What do you say, Marshall? You don’t have to work tomorrow. Up for a night out?”

  Marshall looked more lively and interested than he’d been since coming upstairs. “I’m game for a woman hunt.”

  Their mother shook her head. “I might have to disown you children.”

  “I didn’t mean you should go track down a one-night stand,” Vienna said. “Nasty boys.”

  “Not dinner conversation material,” Mrs. Worth said, putting her hand up.

  Taylor became overly interested in the rest of her macaroni and cheese as the Worths reminisced about controversial dinner discussions from the past. She tried to pay attention, but she couldn’t help turning a single thought over in her mind… Was Alex planning to pick up a woman tonight?

  Undoubtedly he had before. He was a male. In the military. She didn’t remember him having any long-term relationships. But then she probably wouldn’t have known anyway unless Quinn had said something.

  The thought of him going home with someone he barely knew tonight… She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Are you okay, Taylor?” Mrs. Worth asked.

  Taylor’s eyes popped open and she flashed an overzealous smile. “I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t fine. She was jealous of a potential, trashy, one-night stand that Alex might decide to hook up with tonight. That was bad news on so many levels that she, the math whiz, couldn’t count them all.

  Jealousy where Alex was concerned was not a viable option. Caring about him as more than just a friend wasn’t, either. He failed to meet more than one of the qualifications on her list. And there was the small matter that the only reason he spent time with her or did things for her was because he was beating himself up over Quinn’s death.

  As soon as she and Vienna were alone, they had some research to do. Specifically, she needed to choose which brainiest bachelor hangout she was going to target first.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ALEX HAD EVERY INTENTION of meeting a woman tonight.

  He was sick and damn tired of worrying about Taylor. Her online dates, her newest scheme to meet men. He could handle keeping tabs on her in a protective, look-out-for-creeps way, the kind of “worrying” he’d set out to do originally, but the thoughts he’d had at dinner were not brotherly nor were they welcome.

  The fact was a man couldn’t go months on end without sex. Not without it messing, hard-core, with his mind and every other aspect of his life. It was that simple. It was time, past time, for Alex to end his dry spell.

  Marshall set a beer and a cocktail on the high, stool-less table where Alex stood, then caught hold of the edge to steady himself.

  “Place is finally filling up,” Marshall said, managing not to slur his words. “Lot of chicks here for a Sunday night.”

  “Mostly college girls. You could be their father.”

  “Better yet. Pretty young things.”

  “You think you better slow down a little?” Alex asked. It was early. At this rate, his brother would be facedown on the table before the end of the Brewers game that played on the large-screen TVs around the room.

  “Did you bring Mom with us?”

  “Maybe I should have.”

  “That’d seriously cramp my style.”

  “Last I knew, sloppy drunk wasn’t your style, dude.”

  “Things change.”

  A chorus of cheers rang through the bar and Alex checked the closest big screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marshall pick up his cocktail—likely straight whiskey—and turn to look at the score. The amber liquid sloshed out of his glass and ended up on the shoulder of the woman standing closest to their table. Marshall didn’t even notice.

  Alex met the woman’s eyes as she turned toward them, her annoyance clear. He reached across the table and swatted Marshall’s upper arm—the one not holding his drink—to get his attention. His brother’s reaction time was delayed but when Marshall finally acknowledged him, Alex nodded toward the woman.

  “Major party foul, Marshall.”

  It took several seconds for Marshall to focus his eyes on the woman and understand what had happened.

  “Ooh, sorry, honey.” He took the cocktail napkin that’d been under his drink and went for the spot on her T-shirt. That wasn’t going to do a quarter of the job.

  Alex searched the surrounding tables for real napkins. He spotted a stack on a nearby ledge and grabbed a handful. He held them out to the woman, but his moron brother took them first and clumsily attempted to dry her shirt as he again rambled out some lame apology.

  The woman was obviously not in the mood for a drunk ass to fondle her under any pretense. She snatched the napkins from Marshall and scowled at him. Marshall, ever the idiot, straightened and stuck his hands in the air, surrender-style.

  “Sorry. Sorry. No harm intended. Didn’t mean to tick off a pretty girl.”

  Once the woman turned and stepped away, Marshall took another swig of liquor.

  “That was ugly, man. You need to slow down.”

  “You just need to pick up the pace,” Marshall said. “Never thought I’d see the day when my little brother couldn’t hang with me.”

  They’d never hung out together in the past. Marshall had never been the bar type.

  “Come on, it’s brother time. We’re both going through rotten times, might as well have some fun.”

  Apparently there was a part of Alex, buried deep, that wanted to connect with his older brother, and that part surfaced now. The idea of the two of them flipping the bird to their crappy circumstances and tipping one back together… This wouldn’t have happened five years ago. Misery did love company.

  Alex reminded himself his brother needed to cut loose. Hell, he needed it,
too. He relaxed and tapped the neck of his beer bottle to Marshall’s nearly empty glass. “Cheers, bro.”

  Marshall finished his drink and looked toward the bar.

  “Give me a minute to catch up,” Alex said. Shared misery or not, his brother needed to slow the hell down. Telling him that directly wasn’t going to do any good tonight, though. “I’ll get the next round if you wait.”

  He managed to drag out his beer for eight minutes before Marshall got antsy.

  “You need a nipple for that thing?” Marshall asked. “I’ll get this round. You can get the next.” He stalked toward the counter before Alex could stop him.

  Alex became engrossed in the ball game and was just starting to realize Marshall had been gone too long when he slid another bottle of beer across the small table and set his half-full whiskey glass down hard.

  “Long line?”

  “Nah. Was talking to a woman at the bar.”

  Just then a large hand slammed down on their table, sloshing whiskey over the side of the glass and making Alex’s beer bottle skitter an inch to the side.

  “That you talking to my girlfriend over there?” A large man with a sleeve of tattoos on each arm and a death glint in his eyes glared at Marshall.

  Shit, what had Marshall done now?

  “If I did, it was an accident.”

  Marshall didn’t seem as concerned as the situation warranted. Alex could hold his own in a fight, but this guy…he looked like the type that didn’t play fair. The kind that carried a switchblade and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  Alex watched the rest of the exchange warily, ready to jump into the fray for his brother if necessary.

  Tattoo Man threatened some more, and Marshall pleaded drunken innocence. The guy stared him down. Marshall was too far gone to recognize the danger in his eyes.

  “He’s leaving soon,” Alex said to the big guy, who then turned toward him and scowled as he sized him up. Alex straightened and crossed his arms.

  The thug sauntered off and Alex considered beating his brother himself. “Bad judgment, man.”

  “Said it was an accident. Godzilla was nowhere near when I talked to her.” He shrugged as though everyone was being unreasonable. “You owe me a drink.”

  Alex stared at him, disbelieving. “Forget it, man. You’re on your own.”

  “Works for me,” Marshall said as Alex stalked off with his full beer.

  He could understand the need to blow off some steam with a few drinks, but he didn’t have to stand around and watch his brother make an ass of himself.

  With no particular destination in mind, Alex scanned the room. His gaze froze on long copper hair that hung down the back of a woman sitting at the bar. His fool heart raced without his permission. Walking closer, he could easily tell it wasn’t Taylor. Besides, she wouldn’t be caught in public with her sexy hair down like that. Sadly.

  He took the only available seat at the bar, several spots down from her, and kept an eye on the woman. He didn’t plan to make the same mistake his dumbass brother had by moving in on someone with a boyfriend.

  When she swiveled in her chair, he finally got a glimpse of her face. Pretty. Thirtysomething. And nothing like Taylor. All good.

  He made eye contact. Smiled. She smiled back and his confidence surged. He might be a little rusty but connecting with a good-looking woman was like riding a bike.

  He bided his time until he saw Marshall’s thug walk out with a short blonde, then made his way toward his redhead.

  ALEX WAS MESSED UP in the head.

  Fat raindrops started to fall as he walked home just before 1:00 a.m. Insult to injury. He briefly wondered where Marshall had ended up and whether he was facedown in the grass somewhere. The good news was that the dumbass hadn’t had access to a car.

  Alex had made it all the way to the redhead’s— Allison’s—living room. Nice, flirty girl, intelligent, unless you went by Taylor’s standards. Definitely attractive. Sexy in a subtle way.

  And he hadn’t had any desire to make a move on her.

  He’d kissed her several times, at the bar, on the way to her place, in her kitchen, hoping to get carried away by lust. But when he’d drawn away after the last kiss and opened his eyes, he’d expected—wanted—to see a different woman. And that realization had been like a bucket of ice water over his head.

  Escaping from her apartment was a more complex stunt than extracting a hostage from a Middle Eastern cave, but he’d finally gotten out without having anything thrown at him.

  It wasn’t that Taylor was the one for him. She was top of mind, yes, but only because he’d been around her so much lately. Just because he didn’t have any desire to follow a near stranger into her bedroom and have wild monkey sex did not mean he was hung up on anyone.

  It just meant that next time he went out with the intention of meeting a woman, he was going for a blonde.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TAYLOR HAD DONE IT. She’d landed a date with a man she’d met in person who, at this early stage, appeared to have several qualities on her list. And no video-game obsessions to speak of.

  Even more amazing, her date was Joel Cavelli, one of the “brainiest bachelors” in the business journal—the one Vienna had commented on because he seemed like the perfect guy for Taylor.

  She walked up her driveway toward the back door after Vienna dropped her off from the Information Technology Professionals meeting. As she crossed the deck, she stopped at the planter she’d bought on a recent hardware-store visit and plucked off the biggest, pinkest daisy at the base of the stem. Setting her purse and satchel by the door, she wandered to the edge of the deck, noticing the brand-new wood in passing, and for once taking the chance to stop and enjoy the moment. She considered relaxing on the old wooden bench swing at the back of the yard, but didn’t want to get her new clothes dirty. Next time.

  Vienna was a goddess. Fashion goddess, hair goddess, social goddess. Without her, Taylor would still be at the office, slaving over some brain-bending line of code, still dateless.

  The Information Technology Professionals’ happy-hour social at Mickey’s Pub this evening had been Taylor and Vienna’s second undertaking for Operation Checklist. The first had been on Wednesday. They’d gone to a Madison Mathematicians meeting. The math boys, as Vienna affectionately called them, were a tough crowd. More business—or numbers, rather—and less socializing, probably because they seemed to have fewer social skills overall. Date-wise, it’d been a bust, but Taylor had been enthralled with the formal discussion on multivariable calculus and had enthusiastically paid for a year’s membership.

  She never would’ve had the nerve to do any of this without Vienna’s guidance. After they’d researched several local organizations Sunday night and chosen which ones to hit first, Taylor had made a panicked late-night call to Vienna regarding her ongoing wardrobe dilemma.

  She’d never put much energy into buying clothes or keeping up on trends. Talk about monumentally overwhelming. Database development she could handle. Skirt lengths and hairstyles she could not, with the exception of the shoe passion she’d been blessed with. A few years ago, when she’d finished her master’s degree and landed a real job, she’d been determined to demystify the world of style. She’d bought every magazine on the rack that had anything remotely to do with the subject and spent the week before she started her job poring over them. In the end she’d just been more confused and intimidated and had picked out a few classic, versatile—in other words, nontrendy and bland—pieces to build on. Unfortunately, she was still relying on those same basics today.

  But having an expert to go with her, help her—okay, just about do it for her—that was enough to make Taylor take action.

  Two marathon shopping trips and a small fortune later, she had a month’s worth of clothes in her closet that actually had style, current style, plus a new look for her hair. She’d also dug out the contacts she rarely wore and was adjusting to using them every day. She had to admit, she didn�
��t miss her glasses. Vienna complimented the changes Taylor had made repeatedly, until Taylor had had the confidence to set foot in the math meeting and tonight’s computer geek get-together.

  End result: a date for dinner and the symphony next Tuesday with a seemingly very nice man.

  Taylor let herself inside, a little surprised to find the door unlocked. Alex must still be here working. She could never tell because he hadn’t gotten around to buying a car, deciding it wasn’t worth it when he’d only be around for a few months if his therapy went as he planned. He apparently either caught a ride, walked or jogged back and forth each day. She didn’t really know because she hadn’t seen him in over a week. Not since the Sunday-night Worth family dinner. Which suited her fine. He distracted her too much. Made her think about things she’d promised herself to forget, like…kissing him.

  Joel Cavelli wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous or dripping with raw masculinity the way Alex was. He didn’t turn her into a tongue-twisted idiot just by looking at her. These were major points in his favor.

  She took a slender vase down from the top shelf of the kitchen cabinets, filled it with water and added the daisy. It was just the right size to go on the windowsill over the sink. Listening for a hint to Alex’s whereabouts, she opened the refrigerator, hoping something suitable for dinner had magically appeared while she was at work. No such luck on either count…the most appetizing thing in the fridge was half a cantaloupe. And if Alex was here, he was silent. Maybe he’d just forgotten to lock up when he left.

  She poked her head around the corner to the basement stairs, listening, but the lights were all off. Shrugging, not allowing herself to acknowledge even a drop of disappointment, she locked the back door and headed to her bedroom to change out of her new clothes.

  When she’d taken two steps into her room, her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Alex lay diagonally across her double bed, sound asleep.

  That was the raw masculinity she was talking about. Lord above.