Frisky Business

by Tawna Fenske

  Brian laughed. “Good observation. You’re quick, Malory.”

  “Marley.”

  “Sorry. See, the truth is, cyclists like to claim they shave their legs for aerodynamics and wound cleaning, but the most likely reason is they just want to show off their toned calves.”

  “Can’t say I blame them. You’re a competitive cyclist?”

  “I do a few USA Cycling events from time to time, sometimes cyclocross in the winter. Keeps me out of trouble.” He flashed a mischievous smile and nodded to the back of the bike. “You ready to roll?”

  “Sure. Is there any trick to this? I’ve never ridden a tandem bike before.”

  “No trick. If you’ve ridden a regular bike, you’ll be just fine with this. I’ll hold it steady and you hop on.”

  “Got it.”

  “Let me know if the seat doesn’t feel right and I’ll adjust it. I went off the measurements for your other bike, so it should be pretty close.”

  Marley did as instructed, seizing the opportunity to catch her balance once by latching on to Brian’s shoulder.

  Nice, she thought. Toned, muscular, nice smile, fun-loving. This could work.

  “Ready?” he called, flashing her another sexy grin.

  “Let’s roll.”

  They set off peddling down the street, with Brian calling out warnings about turns and potholes. Marley felt herself start to relax as she studied the scenery and Brian’s backside, bracing herself each time he announced a bump in the road.

  Kind, considerate, great ass, Marley mused.

  It occurred to her she was spending an awful lot of time categorizing Brian’s strengths, talking herself into seeing him as the perfect guy.

  He could be the perfect guy.

  He turned the bike onto a car-lined downtown street, signaling as he merged into the left lane and pedaled toward a tall brick building. He steered them up a curb and into a glossy red bike rack.

  “Here we are,” he called, hopping off the bike and holding it steady so Marley could do the same. Marley followed suit, unhooking her helmet as she glanced down at the bike rack. Someone had crocheted duck feet for it, and the effect was whimsical and goofy. Marley hooked her helmet over her arm as Brian locked up the bike. She fluffed her hair, trying to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the restaurant window.

  “We’ve still got plenty of time for happy hour,” Brian said, reaching over to tuck the key to the bike lock into the breast pocket of Marley’s shirt. She jumped back, surprised, and Brian laughed.

  “Hope that’s okay. I don’t have any pockets.”

  “Oh. Right, sure. No problem.”

  “Come on, let’s get inside. I recommend the greyhound and the carpaccio if you’re ordering off the happy hour menu.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, following him inside as she made a mental note that he’d held the door open for her.

  A gentleman, she mused. With good culinary taste and a frugal sensibility that doesn’t sacrifice a quality meal.

  Shut up, Marley.

  “What?” Brian asked.

  “Nothing.”

  He grinned down at her and touched her elbow to steer her toward the hostess station. Marley smiled at the familiarity of the gesture, pleased things seemed to be starting off on the right note.

  “Hey, Brian!” Marley looked up to see the hostess sidling toward them, thrusting her breasts toward them like cupcakes on a dessert tray. “It’s soooooooo good to see you again. How’ve you been, honey?”

  Brian smiled with a hint of a grimace as the hostess grabbed his arm.

  “Hey, Shari,” he said. “Good to see you.”

  “Carrie.”

  “That’s what I said.” Brian cleared his throat. “We need a table.”

  Carrie looked at Marley, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t performing a head-to-toe appraisal. She sniffed and looked back at Brian. “For how many?”

  “Two. A table for two.”

  “How cozy,” Carrie said. “Right this way.”

  She flounced ahead of them, putting an extra wiggle in her walk for Brian’s benefit. Marley resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  Carrie led them to a table next to one of the windows overlooking the sidewalk. “Here you go. You want the happy hour menu, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Enjoy!” she said, and sashayed off.

  Marley watched Carrie go, then turned back to Brian.

  He flashed her an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. Friend of yours?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah… friend, right. She’s a friend.”

  Marley took a deep breath, chiding herself for feeling jealous. They barely knew each other, and obviously he dated other women—

  “Brian!” squealed a female voice.

  Marley looked toward the bar, where a muscular-looking blonde in a sundress was hurtling toward them. She had a killer tan, and sandals that laced up her well-toned calves. Marley glanced at Brian, who was drawing out his slow, sexy smile as the woman approached.

  “Hey, babe,” he called. “Good to see you again. Did you have fun Friday night?”

  The woman trailed a finger up Brian’s arm and giggled. “I sure did. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

  Marley looked away, intent on scanning the menu for dairy-free options. Scallion and tofu fritters, Caesar salad, lamb sausage and rosemary—

  “We’ll totally have to do it again,” Brian said as Marley kept her eyes on the menu. When he touched her arm, she looked up to see him extending the same sexy smile to her. “Marney, this is my friend Tasha. Tasha, Marney.”

  Marley frowned. “It’s Marley, actually.”

  “Sasha,” the other woman said, and stuck out her hand for Marley to shake.

  “Right,” said Brian, picking up his menu. “We’d probably better order before happy hour ends. It was good seeing you.”

  Sasha sniffed and turned on her heel, returning to the bar at the front of the restaurant. Marley watched her go, then returned her gaze to Brian.

  “You’re a popular guy.”

  He flashed her his million-dollar smile. “Yeah, I guess so.” He squeezed Marley’s hand, and she tried to let go of her discomfort. After all, this was a fairly small town, and Brian was bound to have plenty of friends.

  She picked up her menu and began studying it again. Carpaccio, portabello sandwich, peel-and-eat shrimp—

  “Sasha’s a cool chick,” Brian said.

  “Oh?” Marley glanced up from the menu, pleased at Brian’s conversational attempt—awkward though it may be. She waited for him to say more, but apparently he was done. “Carrie too?” she prompted.

  “What?”

  “Carrie. She seemed like a cool chick.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, she’s cool.”

  Marley waited for more, but Brian had said all he needed to. Marley lowered her menu. “What makes a cool chick?”

  “Huh?”

  “Just curious what separates a cool chick from… um, well, an uncool chick.”

  Brian stared blankly at her for a few beats, then grinned. “We should order.”

  Marley frowned. “Okay.” She looked back at her menu, trying to put her finger on what was so annoying about Brian.

  You’re just being picky, she told herself, and focused her energy on deciding what she wanted to eat.

  French onion soup, stuffed piquillo peppers, oysters on the half-shell—

  “Hey, sexy,” purred a female voice disturbingly close to Marley’s ear. She snapped her gaze up to see a woman with a long dark braid down her back and her coral-manicured fingertips covering Brian’s eyes. “Guess who?”

  “Um—” Brian said.

  “Just start at the beginning of the alphabet,” Marley sug
gested helpfully, taking a sip of her water. “Alison, Amanda, Amy, Angie—”

  “It’s Vicki,” the woman snapped, giving Marley a dirty look as she uncovered Brian’s eyes and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “In that case, I’m glad you said something,” Marley said. “It would have taken a long time to get to the Vs.”

  Vicki ignored her and began to stroke her fingers across Brian’s bicep. “A bunch of us are getting together Thursday night if you want join us. Barbecue at Jill’s house. You remember Jill?”

  “Yeah, sure, of course,” Brian said, his expression suggesting he had no idea who Jill was. “Jill’s great. A really cool girl.”

  “Awesome, so you’ll be there?” Vicki cooed.

  “Sure, sure, baby. How about we—”

  “Brian!”

  Marley resisted the urge to kick Brian under the table as another woman approached. This time it was a petite redhead whose hurried pace made the contents of her T-shirt jiggle pleasantly.

  “Baby, so good to see you!” the redhead gushed, draping herself across Brian’s lap and bumping Vicki out of the way.

  Vicki bumped her right back, and the two women spent the next few seconds jostling each other, making it evident neither was wearing a bra. Brian edged back, giving the ladies more room for their impromptu wrestling match.

  “What are you ordering, sweetie?” the redhead cooed to Brian. “I know you love the greyhounds. Hey, let me buy you one.”

  “He’s with someone, you idiot,” Vicki said, and Marley started to thank her. Then Vicki draped herself over Brian’s lap, and Marley considered shoving her butter knife up the woman’s nostril. Instead, she picked up her menu again.

  At least Brian is well-liked, she mused. That said something about him, though it was clear Brian was a bit too well-liked for her taste.

  “Have you ordered yet?” the redhead gushed, waving a martini glass so it sloshed on the table in front of them. “You have got to try the new drink the bartender’s mixing. It’s a pad thai martini. Here, try a sip.”

  She thrust her drink—and her breasts—in Brian’s face in an impressive display of agility even Marley had to admire. Brian sputtered a little, but took a sip and nodded.

  “Mmm, it’s good,” Brian said, nodding approvingly. “Rory made that?”

  “Uh-huh. Brand new drink he’s mixing special tonight.”

  “Mmm,” Brian said, licking his lips. “What did you say that’s called?”

  “It’s a pad thai martini,” the redhead announced. “It’s made with basil, coconut milk, peanut-infused vodka—”

  All the blood drained from Brian’s face. He blinked at Marley. “Peanut? Did she say peanut?”

  Marley frowned and looked at the drink, then at the redhead. “I think so. That is what you said, right?”

  The redhead nodded. “There are also some spices in there. Curry, maybe, and I think some tamarind and—”

  “I’m allergic to peanuts,” Brian gasped. “Shit, I don’t have my EpiPen. Does my throat look red? Is it getting hot in here?”

  Marley jumped up, alarmed. She didn’t want to date Brian anymore, but she didn’t particularly want to see him drop dead on the floor beside their table. She surveyed the restaurant, not entirely sure what to do.

  “Doctor!” she yelled. “Is there a doctor in the house? My friend is having an allergic reaction and needs a doctor!”

  Brian clutched his throat and made a choking sound. Vicki whacked him three times on the back. The redhead rolled her eyes.

  “He’s not choking, you idiot. He’s having an allergic reaction.”

  “Does he need mouth-to-mouth?” yelled Carrie the hostess as she bustled back to the table. “I know how to do that.”

  Brian gagged and clutched his throat.

  “Shit,” Marley said, and surveyed the rows of gaping diners, none of whom had made a move to assist. “Doctor?” she yelled again.

  A man with kind eyes and a white chef’s coat hustled over. He looked at Brian, then at Marley. “I already called 911,” he said. “Food allergy?”

  “Yes, that’s what he said. Peanuts, I think.”

  “Does he use an EpiPen?”

  “What’s that?” Marley asked.

  “A shot of epinedrine. It’s common for allergic reactions. Does he carry one of those?”

  “I have no idea,” Marley said. “We only just met, and—”

  “Yes,” Brian gasped, nodding frantically and pointing to his thigh.

  The chef frowned. “You have your EpiPen with you?”

  Brian shook his head and coughed again. “No!” Brian gasped, turning an interesting shade of blue. “At home.”

  The man held a slender object out to Marley. “It’s mine,” he said. “I’m allergic to bees, so I always have one with me. I can’t give him the shot—liability issues and all—but you can have it.”

  Marley took it, dumbfounded. “What is it?”

  “It’s a measured dose of adrenaline designed to treat allergic reactions or the onset of anaphylactic shock.”

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Shot,” Brian gasped. “Stab. Thigh.”

  Marley stared at him in horror. “I’m supposed to stab you on our first date?”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” the man in the chef’s coat said. “He should be able to do it himself, or—”

  Brian slumped to the side and began drooling on the redhead’s shoulder.

  “Eeew!” Vicki squealed, and launched out of her seat. Carrie and the redhead followed, retreating to a safe distance across the restaurant.

  “Great girlfriends you’ve got there,” Marley muttered.

  Brian snorted, but didn’t come to. Marley pressed her fingers to his throat to make sure he still had a pulse. It was steady, and he was still breathing fine, though his neck seemed swollen.

  “I can quickly walk you through the steps,” the chef said. “My name’s Joe, by the way.”

  “Marley,” she choked out. “Okay, I can do this.”

  “Here, take the EpiPen out of the little safety tube,” Joe said. “Good. Don’t touch the tip; it’s sterile. There’s a spring-loaded needle that’ll pop through that membrane.”

  “Wha—what do I do?” Marley stammered.

  “Hold it there with the orange tip pointing down toward his outer thigh. Good. Now pull that blue safety release there.”

  “Okay,” Marley said, not sure whether her voice or her hands were shaking harder. “Now what?”

  “Stab it into his outer thigh, right through his shorts, and then hold it there for ten seconds.”

  “Stab,” she repeated, coming to terms with the idea.

  She started to close her eyes, then thought better of it. She should probably see what she was doing. Brian was still breathing, still drooling, which seemed like good signs.

  She held the EpiPen over the spot Joe had indicated. “One, two, three—”

  She jammed the device into Brian’s outer thigh with a warrior cry that startled her. She held it there, fascinated. “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi—”

  “We’re in Oregon,” Vicki chided from nearby. “Duh.”

  Marley ignored her and pulled the EpiPen back. She looked up at Joe. “Now what?”

  “Generally you want to massage the injection site—”

  “I’ll do it!” squealed three female voices, as Brian’s fan club swarmed the table once more. Marley scooted back, happy to let them take over. She couldn’t see Brian’s face, but could tell he was stirring amid the cacophony of female voices buzzing around him.

  “I’m rubbing, back off!” Vicki yelled.

  “No, me!”

  “Move it, bitch. You had him last night.”

  “We should take his shorts of
f.”

  “Oooh, he’s all smooth. Must’ve just shaved.”

  “He always shaves before dates and bike races, duh.”

  The redhead yanked Vicki’s braid, and Carrie pushed her out of the way. Marley took another step back and saw Brian’s eyelids flutter. He took in the pile of women surrounding him and gave a slow, lazy smile. He reached out and put a hand on Carrie’s butt.

  “Hey, baby. What’s your name?”

  ***

  Will was lying on his back on his living room floor surrounded by all three of his dogs. Rosco, the German shepherd mix, picked up a soggy tennis ball and dropped it on Will’s abdomen with a splat.

  “No more,” Will grunted. “We’ve been fetching for an hour. Aren’t you done yet?”

  Rosco whined in response, and Polly jumped up to join him, never one to miss an opportunity for whimpering. They began a lovely two-part harmony, and Will felt almost bad that deaf Omar couldn’t hear it.

  Then again, Omar didn’t look distressed. He was hard at work chewing a beef marrowbone Will had given each of the dogs after dinner. Rosco had promptly buried his, while Polly had offered hers to the neighbor’s beagle.

  Will sighed and turned back to Rosco and Polly.

  “You guys, enough with the singing,” Will said. “How am I supposed to hear myself think?”

  Like he really wanted that. He’d spent the whole day unable to get Marley out of his mind, and it was starting to piss him off.

  Marley and her secrets.

  Marley and her incessant need to please.

  Marley and her beautiful legs.

  Marley and her date, he reminded himself, wondering how that was going.

  He pictured the Plaid Neanderthal reaching his hand across the table to take Marley’s, his grease-speckled knuckles making her shiver with anticipation. Would things heat up between them on a first date? Marley wasn’t that kind of girl, was she?

  Not that Will had anything against that kind of girl. Hell, he lived for that kind of girl. Lord knew he was that kind of guy, so he wasn’t one to judge.

  Still, Marley wouldn’t get steamy with a stranger on a first date.

  You made out with her in the kitchen the day you met, he reminded himself. Her father caught you groping each other in the foyer a few days later, and if it weren’t for her ex-fiancé showing up on her doorstep the other night—