How to Hunt a Husband

by Jacobs, Holly

  Shannon started choking. “Mom—”

  Her mother, obviously unaware of what she’d just said, continued, “And I realize that you like to buck the system. That you hate to do anything I suggest because … well, because you’re just a tiny bit difficult, dear.”

  Shannon was about to argue that she might be difficult but she’d learned from the best. And not only was her mother difficult herself, she was certifiable. But Shannon didn’t get to say all that because her mom held up her hand, stopping her before she started.

  “Uh, uh, uh. You know you are. All I’m saying is don’t say no to meeting Shelby just because I suggested it. I’m not saying marry him tomorrow—”

  “No, you’re saying marry him in June.”

  “At the end of June,” her mother corrected. “That gives you plenty of time to get to know him. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’d just like you to meet a nice boy. Shelby’s a podiatrist. He’s—”

  “Mom, if you’d take a breath, I’d tell you I can’t go out with Shelby because I’m already seeing someone. It’s not because of the name issue, though you’re right, that would be the pits.”

  “See, I knew the name thing would be an issue,” her mother muttered.

  “It’s not the name thing. It’s simply that I’ve thought about what you said the other day, about me always fighting your wishes, and I’ve decided you were right. If you want me to consider marrying, I will. As a matter of fact, I’ve found a man I really like. We have a date next weekend.”

  “Really?” Her mother looked suspicious.

  “Really,” Shannon assured her. “Mom, we might not always see eye-to-eye, but I never lie to you. Yes. I met a man after I ditched Neil. His name is Nathan Calder and I like him.”

  That wasn’t a lie at all. She did like Nate. Oh, there was a physical attraction. After all, the man gave new meaning to the phrase tall, dark and handsome. But it was more than that. He genuinely seemed like a nice guy. Easy to talk to. Down to earth.

  Why, they’d sat at O’Halloran’s and talked most of the night away. Mick finally had to kick them out.

  But they’d made good use of their time. They’d devised a plan to take care of both of their mothers’ nagging.

  If Shannon was looking for a man—which she wasn’t. She was sticking to her motto, use them and loose them. But if she was, Nate might warrant a look, or even two.

  “I think you’d like him,” she said.

  Silently she added, if you met the real him. But if things went the way they’d planned, Brigit O’Malley wasn’t going to like Nathan Calder at all.

  “You’ll bring him by?”

  “Yeah. Next weekend sometime, maybe? Let me run it by him and I’ll get back to you about when.”

  Shannon spent the rest of the visit basking in her successful first step. Her mother was about to learn a valuable lesson. Be careful what you wish for … it just might come true.

  Oh, yeah. Her mother wanted her to find a significant other, and Shannon was about to do just that.

  Only Shannon doubted that when her mother envisioned her riding away, duly wed, that she pictured her on the back of a Harley.

  Shannon Bonnie O’Malley, who would have thought?

  Shannon asked herself the rhetorical question as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  She was rather awed by what she saw.

  Oh, Shannon had realistic views of herself. She wasn’t gorgeous, but she wasn’t so ugly that her-mama-tied-pork chops-around-her-neck-to-get-the-dog-to-play-with-her when she was a baby. She was comfortably in the middle most days.

  But now?

  Well, who knew that the right undergarments could make such a difference?

  After she’d hatched her plan with Nate the other night, she’d made an emergency trip to a lingerie store to prepare for their date and had left herself at the mercy of the sales clerk there.

  The woman and her underwear—not her underwear, but the underwear the store sold—were amazing.

  Panties that sucked things in.

  And a bra that stuck things out—things she never even imagined she’d own.

  Actually, the bra was the most interesting contraption she’d ever seen. It had a little pump and she could actually inflate it until she’d achieved just the right size breasts.

  Oh, they were fake breasts, but—she checked the mirror again—no one would ever know. Instead of a flat drop from her neck to her feet she had a long channel of cleavage exposed from the daring cut of her new red dress. A new red dress that would give her mother a heart attack and convince Nate’s mother that pushing for grandchildren might not be such a great idea, at least not if Shannon was the woman in the running for becoming their mother.

  She backed up so she got a good look at the entire effect. Though the hemline fell to her knees, the slit up either side practically showed off her new body-sucking panties.

  Oh, yeah, this was good.

  She finished applying her make-up with a heavy hand and studied the results.

  Yes, she believed she could convince Nate’s mother she was a stripper.

  No, she took that back.

  Not stripper.

  If she was a stripper, she’d find the term insulting. Degrading even.

  Even if she was a taking off her clothes for money, she hoped she’d still retain her sense of dignity.

  Exotic dancer.

  Yep, that’s the term she’d prefer if she was a stripper … exotic dancer. It sounded so much more dignified.

  Her doorbell rang and she checked her watch. Nate was prompt. She liked that in a man.

  She slipped on her stiletto-heeled boots and zipped them all the way to her knees, then hurried to the door.

  She opened it and immediately looked to Nate’s face for his reaction to his exotic-dancing date.

  His slack-jawed, ogling response was just what she’d hoped for.

  “I take it you approve?” she asked.

  “Oh, honey, I do, but my mom will absolutely faint. She told me only floozies allowed themselves to be picked up in a bar and when she gets a look at you, she’ll rest her case, but she won’t rest easy. As a matter of fact, after seeing you, my mother might try to make me move back home so she can protect me.”

  “Do you think you need protection?” Shannon asked her throatiest voice. She figured if she were an exotic dancer, she’d have that kind of sexy bedroom-voice and had been practicing all week.

  “I don’t think any man in his right mind would want to be protected from you. But I do think every man’s mother would want to lock them up rather than let a stripper like you—”

  “Actually I prefer the term exotic dancer, if you don’t mind,” she said, pleased she’d managed to keep a straight face.

  She’d managed, but Nate didn’t.

  He burst out laughing.

  “Oh, that’s good. Real good. You know, you could have been an actress instead of a teacher.”

  “Well, it won’t be good if you laugh like that. How are we supposed to convince your mother you’re head-over-heels in love with me if you can’t stay in character?”

  “Sorry.” He crossed his heart. “It won’t happen again.”

  “It had better not. It’s not just that I’m worried you’ll blow the charade with your mom. That would be your problem, after all. It’s that I need to know you’re going to be able to convince my mom when we go meet her tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to look as good as you do.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  “You should. But can I point out that Shannon isn’t a very good stripper name.”

  “Oh, I thought about that. When I dance—I’m an exotic dancer, not a stripper, I’ll thank you very much to remember that—I use the stage name Roxy.”

  “Oh, Roxy is good.” He laughed. “I think you’re having just a little too much fun with this.”

  Shannon drank in the sight of him—a
nd oh what a sight it was. Nate had that Cary Grant-ish sort of look—the kind that was born for a business suit, but could as easily carry off just jeans and a t-shirt.

  She wondered what he’d look like in a tux.

  She tried to picture it.

  Oh, yeah, Nate Calder would look mighty fine in a tux. His shoulders were broad and the jacket would hang ever so comfortably from them.

  As a matter of fact, she thought she’d tuck quite comfortably under those arms, given a chance. Not that she expected to be wrapped in Nate’s arms … not unless they had to because of their act.

  But if she did get tucked into Nate’s arms, she thought she’d fit well.

  Wrapped in Nate.

  The mental image of him holding her so tight that she could hear his heart disappeared when he said, “So let’s go. We don’t want to be late for my mother’s dinner. Though I hope you heeded my warning and ate something already. My mother might be known for her lobbying for grandbabies, but she’s not known for her cooking—especially her pot roast.”

  “That bad?” Shannon asked.

  “Worse.”

  Nate’s Harley was parked outside her apartment building waiting in all its regal splendor. “Oh, wow, this is a great bike.”

  He puffed up. “It’s a classic. A Fat Boy. I can’t believe how lucky I was to find one.”

  He handed her a silver helmet. “Will it mess up your hair too much?”

  “No. There are advantages to short cuts. I’ll just spike it back up when we get off.”

  “Then come on.”

  Climbing on the back of a motorcycle wearing stiletto heels was more difficult than Shannon had imagined. She used Nate’s shoulder to steady herself.

  He stood and pressed down on the starter.

  The engine turned over, but didn’t catch.

  He did it again.

  And again.

  Nate turned around and offered her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I just got my license, and I haven’t quite got the hang of some parts of motorcycle riding yet.”

  “Would you be insulted if I offered to start it?” Shannon asked.

  She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Despite their bravado, men tended to be rather fragile egos. “I’ve been riding motorcycles since high school. I dated Johnny Palmer, the school’s resident bad-boy and he taught me.”

  That wasn’t all Johnny taught her. One night when he got a bit too presumptuous and Shannon had slugged him hard in order to convince him that no meant no. She’d learned to hitch-hike because Johnny up and left her on the side of the road.

  “You ride motorcycles?” Nate asked.

  “I don’t own one, but I do know how to ride.”

  “Can you start one in those heels?”

  She grinned. “Let’s see.”

  Nate climbed off the bike and stood next to it as Shannon slid up into the driver’s seat.

  She stood and pressed on the starter. The motorcycle hummed to life with a Harley’s belly-rumbling sound.

  “There you go,” she said, her voice loud in order to be heard over the noise.

  “Why don’t you just drive?” he asked.

  “Are you sure?”

  She peeked at his face and he seemed serious. Most men she knew wouldn’t be caught dead buzzing around town on the back of a motorcycle driven by a woman.

  Women might have come a long way, but Shannon had found that not all men had.

  “Sure I’m sure. I tend to stall it … a lot. And mom will have a fit if we’re late. But maybe later you could give me some lessons?”

  Oh, Shannon could think of a lesson or two she’d like to share with Nathan Calder, but she didn’t share that bit of information with him.

  Their dates were completely for show. They were cohorts, nothing more. And of course, she wasn’t looking for more. Why, she wanted to revel in her chick-flick watching, hairy leg, single status.

  Not that her legs were hairy tonight. The dress was too high cut for that. But as soon as they’d derailed their mothers’ wedding plans, she was going back to not shaving … at least not too often.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  She simply nodded, and let him crawl onto the bike.

  Nate’s arms wrapped around her stomach. The top of his right hand grazed the bottom of her pumped enhanced breast.

  Shannon found herself wishing there wasn’t a balloon full of air separating her breast and his hand. She’d like his hands—

  She cut off the thought. She wasn’t in a real relationship with Nate. They were conspirators. Associates.

  Despite his Cary Grant-ish looks, she had to remember that.

  “Here we go,” she called as she pressed the pedal, put the Harley in first gear and took off down the street, ready to begin the game.

  Chapter Three

  “Mom, we’re here,” Nate called as he opened his parents’ front door and walked into the living room with its lime green walls and slate grey carpet.

  Over the years Nate had gotten used to his mother’s loud color choices and rarely gave them a second thought. He actually kind of liked things bright and a bit wild. But he saw the surprised look on Shannon’s face and wondered if she preferred something more sedate.

  No, she didn’t look like the sedate type in that dress. She looked like a pin-up girl … a fantasy woman.

  Not that she looked like his fantasy woman. No, she looked like every man’s fantasy. That dress. He forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand, which was convincing his mom to lay off the wife and baby stuff.

  Shannon’s dress was a means to an end, that’s all.

  “Mom? Dad?” he called.

  “Come on, they must be in the kitchen.”

  Shannon stood and nervously smoothed some invisible wrinkle in her skirt.

  Gone was the illusion of an exotic dancer named Roxy, and in her place was an art teacher who was feeling nervous.

  “What’s wrong?” Nate asked softly.

  She sighed. “They’re not going to like me.”

  “They’re not going to like me dating a stripper.”

  That was the plan. His parents wouldn’t like her and her parents wouldn’t like him. No more marriage talk.

  “Exotic dancer,” she corrected, as if she’d been doing it for years.

  Then, softer, she added, “People normally like me.”

  “Shannon-me-love,” he said, using Mick’s pet name. “We don’t have to do this. Come on, it was a crazy idea anyway.”

  This was supposed to be fun, but Shannon didn’t look as if she was having fun. Not at all.

  She gave herself a little shake and said, “No, no, I’m okay. Just chalk it up to a case of stage fright. It’s not a crazy idea … well, maybe it is. But we have crazy mothers, and it’s sort of like fighting fire with fire … fighting their craziness with a crazy plan of our own.”

  She straightened and smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

  “Shannon, really you don’t have—”

  “Come on, big guy. Roxy never misses an entrance.”

  She smiled and Shannon the art teacher was replaced by a stripper—an exotic dancer, he corrected himself—named Roxy.

  “You’re sure you can pull it off?” he asked.

  “You just watch and learn, biker-boy.” She patted his cheek. “I’m going to show you how it’s done. Don’t forget, you’ll be putting on your own performance tomorrow.”

  He turned and heard noise coming from the kitchen. “Well, I’d say its show time.”

  His mother rounded the corner.

  “Nate,” she said, spying him, her face one big happy smile … until she spotted Shannon.

  The smile disappeared rather abruptly and was replaced by something that looked like it could be terror.

  But Nate would give his mother credit, she held out her hand, stuck a fake looking smile on her face, and said, “You must be Nathan’s new friend.”

  Shannon took the hand and shook it a bit too enthusiastically. “Oh, it�
��s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Calder. I mean, most guys don’t take me home to meet their moms even after we’ve been dating for a long time, but Nate here, he’s brought me on a first date. You know, the minute he walked into the bar, I knew he was something special.”

  “Ah, yes, the bar,” his mom said just as his father walked into the room.

  “Paul, this is Nate’s friend—”

  Nate was pretty sure he heard a sound akin to horror as she said the word friend.

  “—uh, dear, I’m not sure I caught your name.”

  Shannon laughed, a throaty sort of laugh.

  Nate wondered if it was part of her act, or just her normal laugh. He couldn’t tell and wasn’t about to ask. He preferred to think it was part of the act.

  “Shannon, ma’am. Shannon O’Malley, although at work I go by Roxy.”

  “At work?” his mom asked.

  “Yeah. My boss, he says Shannon doesn’t give a man the right sort of mental image, and mental images are our specialty.”

  “Just what do you do, Shannon,” Nate’s father asked.

  Nate just stood back, waiting for the shoe to drop.

  Shannon grinned. “Why, I’m an exotic dancer. Didn’t Nate tell you?”

  “What?” his mother gasped.

  His father didn’t say anything. He just stood, looking from Nate and back to Shannon.

  “An exotic dancer,” Shannon repeated.

  “A stripper,” Nate explained.

  Shannon elbowed him … hard. “I told you I don’t care for that term. It sounds dirty. I do what I do because I’m good at it, because I need to earn a living. It might not be the Rockettes, but it’s not raunchy.”

  “A stripper?” his mom said weakly.

  “It’s a nice place, ma’am. The owner, well, he doesn’t let anyone mess with the girls. He looks after us. Hey, we even get medical insurance, and you know how expensive that can be. Why my friend Candy—her real name is Patricia, but the boss says that doesn’t create a good mental picture either, so she’s Candy at work—why she’s got two kids. Her deadbeat husband left her, and doesn’t pay child support or anything. So she works the morning shift—”

  “Strip joints have morning shift?” Nate’s dad asked.

  “Ours does,” Shannon said, her head bobbing as she nodded. “Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”