by Deborah Camp
He didn’t really like the picture she painted. “No shame in that game, Miss Miller.”
Her quick, harsh laugh was at his expense. “Yeah, you’re not the one carrying your shoes and jock strap.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I must scurry. Frito Pie is waiting to be fed.” Her glance landed on his book. “Have you read Conrack?”
“No. Who wrote it?”
She nodded at the novel. “Conroy. It was his second one, I think. Anyway, it’s my favorite of his. I have a signed copy at home.”
“Signed? So, you met him.”
“Twice.” She wiggled two fingers near his nose. “When he was here for book signings. He was kind and witty and he had a lovely accent.” She released a dreamy sigh. “Read Conrack next. It will make you reflect on racism and how our progress is shamefully lacking.”
Then she was gone. As she passed by the window, she flashed him another smile, and he lifted his hand in a farewell gesture. Her absence struck him in the silence surrounding him and the lingering scent of her perfume. Something a little sweet but with a darker Oriental undertone. Sort of like her voice – a little whispery, bordering on husky.
He focused on the book again, making a mental note to go online and buy Conrack. If she passed by on her way home from the grocery, he didn’t see her. And he watched for her, although he tried not to. She wasn’t that interesting. Cute to the max, yeah. Even pretty. Well, if he were honest, she was attractive. He found her attractive, yes. But she talked a lot. Too much, really. Still, she was funny. Fun to listen to and verbally joust with.
Yeah, she was okay, but she was a neighbor and she knew his ex-wife. Too close for comfort. No thanks. He finished the book and his dealings with the outspoken Miss Miller.
Chapter 4
Hooking Up in the Park
On Saturday morning, busy New Yorkers scurried from their apartments to gyms, restaurants, and parks. Zaney dodged three people walking abreast toward her. Frito Pie had to cling to the curb until they passed. Why did people do that? she wondered, letting Frito have more leash so that he could angle himself perfectly to water a tree.
At the corner, they crossed to Bryant Park, one of her favorite places to let Frito do his thing. They walked the perimeter for a block or so before turning into the park. Frito pranced in front of her, clearly enjoying himself. The park was packed since it hadn’t climbed above ninety for a change. July was usually sweltering, but the weather the past week had been tolerable. As she strolled along behind Frito, she admired the interesting faces around her. One of the things she loved most about the city was its melting pot. Asian, Indian, Italian, Greek, African, Irish, Spanish, Mexican – they streamed past her in a fascinating mixture of high cheekbones, hawkish noses, sloe eyes, straight, black hair, intricate cornrows, and rainbow-colored tresses.
Approaching the Porch where one could sit and relax, order refreshments, and do some serious people watching, Zaney’s steps faltered when she glimpsed a familiar figure. None other than Mr. Birdsong himself sat on a bench in the shade of a hickory tree. Wearing blue gym shorts and a lighter blue tank top, he looked as if he’d been jogging or running in the park. He had great legs. Long, muscled, but not too muscled, with a light furring. Great arms, too. Like Michelangelo’s David’s arms. Could he be more attractive? Doubtful.
As she drew closer, she could see that his face gleamed with perspiration and the blond hair at his temples and forehead was darker and damp. He opened a water bottle, took a few big gulps, and then poured the rest of it over the top of his head.
His eyes were closed, so he didn’t see her or Frito Pie until they were standing in front of him. He blinked and water droplets sparkled on his long lashes. He saw Frito first and then looked at her. His brows lifted in a silent query.
“I’m not following you, I swear.”
He ran a hand down his face. “I don’t believe you.”
“Hey, it’s a public park and we live near here. It’s Saturday. Naturally, I would walk my dog, probably in a park. I’m here almost every Saturday morning.”
“So am I.”
“It’s weird that we never ran into each other.” She looked around at the scores of people. “Well, maybe not. Actually, it’s amazing that we ran into each other today. This place is teeming. Seems like more people than usual.”
“It’s nice out.” He relaxed, resting his arms along the back of the bench. “I started reading Conrack last night.”
“Did you?” She nodded at the empty space beside him. “Mind if I sit for a minute?”
He scooted over and removed his arm from the back rest. “Go ahead.” Squinting at her as she settled beside him, he asked, “Are you sure you’re not a crazy stalker?”
“I can’t deny or affirm the crazy part, but I am definitely not stalking you. I have a full life. I don’t have time to follow you, although I’m sure it would be fascinating.”
He smirked. “Anyway, I didn’t know that Conroy was a teacher, but it makes perfect sense.”
“And what a teacher! Ahead of his time. I bet his students never, ever forgot him.”
“It’s interesting. I’ve only read about twenty pages.”
“You’ll love it.” She patted the space between them and Frito jumped up there. “Frito Pie loves this park. It’s his favorite.”
“Frito. Pie. I take it that you love Fritos, but where does the pie come in?”
“Seriously?” She stared at him, thinking he must be joking, but he wasn’t. “You’ve never had a Frito Pie?”
“Never heard of it.”
“Well!” She huffed out a breath. “The classic is prepared this way – you get a snack-size bag of Fritos and you crunch them up. Next, you cut a slit along the side of it. Then you ladle in chili and top it with grated cheese and a sprinkling of minced onion. Frito Chili Pie.”
The tip of his tongue raced over his lower lip, making the lower part of her respond.
“I could go for one of those. So, you named him after your favorite snack.”
“Not exactly. He was found by a friend of mine behind a restaurant. A little puppy stuffed in a Frito bag and thrown into the garbage.” Her heart beat harder for him when he winced and shut his eyes for a moment. “I know. Terrible, huh? My friend couldn’t have a dog in his apartment, but I could in mine, so I took him. I named him after how he was found and because he is as sweet as pie.” She had to avert her gaze from the empathy shining in Matthew’s eyes and the tenderness of his smile.
“How long ago was that?”
“Nine years. Almost ten.” She angled the dog’s scrunched up face up so she could see it. “He’s gone gray around his muzzle and ears.”
“You were both pups.”
She laughed. “Practically, yes.” She spotted two dogs engaged in sexual activity only a few feet from them. With a gasp, she covered Frito’s huge eyes. “You don’t need to see that. Especially since you are no longer able to partake in canine coupling.”
The dogs were mid-sized terrier mutts, the male slightly bigger than the female. A couple of women with toddlers walked by, spotted the “hung up” dogs, and swept their children up into their arms as they made sounds of disgust, and hurried away.
“Remind you of anything?” She motioned to the animals, challenging Matthew with a wicked smile.
“No. Should it?”
“Take a look at the male. He wants some shut-eye now that he’s released his little ninjas. If he could talk, he’d be muttering ‘catch ya later, it was the best, babe, I’ll text you, blah, blah, blah.’ She’s like, ‘Hold on a sec, Romeo. I’m not done. In fact, I’ve hardly started. Where do you think you’re going?’”
Beside her, Matthew chuckled and looked from the dogs to her, lingering on her legs, which she was showing a lot of in her white shorts. He dragged his gaze up to her yellow and white patterned crop top. Judging from the time he spent admiring her legs compared to the time he spent staring at her chest and the exposed slice of her stomach, she’d say he
was a leg man.
Another few agonizing seconds passed with the male dog dragging the female, backend to backend, across the lawn before – pop! – they broke loose. The male gave a yelp and took off like his butt was on fire. The female sat down, lifted her hind leg, and examined the aftermath.
“There you have it, Matthew. A lesson in mating. He is gone and will lose her number. She is hoping she isn’t pregnant and wishing she hadn’t been tempted by his cute Mohawk and pitiful whining.” She released a long, suffering sigh when the female dog glanced around as if looking for the hit-and-runner, before ambling away. “I feel you, girl.”
“That happens to you a lot, does it?”
She blinked several times at him. “Copulating in the park, you mean?”
He sputtered and laughed before he could form words. “No! No, Zaney.” He shook his head and got his laughter under control. “Having a guy take a powder as soon as he . . . releases his ninjas?”
She set Frito on the ground to let him sniff the bench legs. “Oh. Well, yes. Men are good at moving on. And I’m a single female in the big city and I’m breathing. There are quite a few guys around who treat us gals like we’re disposable. Some even treat us like trading cards. ‘I’ve done her before. You want a go at her? I’ll fix you up if you give me Ashley’s number.’”
He frowned. “You have a low opinion of men.”
“I don’t!” She shifted to face him. “I absolutely adore them! I’m simply realistic and I don’t appreciate the ones who are callous, unromantic, and rude.”
“Like me? Is that what you’re getting at?”
“I don’t know you well enough – yet – to come to that conclusion. But, as I’ve mentioned, you do have a penchant for one-night stands.”
“Not always. I can think of at least three women I’ve taken out more than a dozen times.”
“And each time, you’ve grown closer and closer to these women?”
He rubbed the stubble along his jawline. “Uh. No. Not really.”
“So, you haven’t formed a true relationship with any of them.”
He firmed his jaw and jutted out his chin. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I like keeping it casual.”
“Do you?” she challenged him, staring intently into his amazing aquamarine eyes that reminded her of the Caribbean Sea. “You feel no need to be close to another human being?”
“I am close to other human beings.” He scoffed at her. “I have family members and I have good friends. Just like normal people.” He shrugged. “I’m not in the market for a mate, that’s all.”
“Because you’ve been there and done that,” she added, getting a cutting look from him. “You were married. To Carin.”
“Yes.” His jaw firmed even more. “Right.” He placed his hands on his knees.
God, he had great hands! She had a thing for men’s hands. He had long fingers that made her girly parts tingle. Big hands. More tingles. Veins along the back of them. Tingles!
“I have to be going,” he said, rising from the bench. He patted Frito’s head. “See you two around. Have a nice day.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
She watched him jog away, admiring his form and his great body. It didn’t surprise her that he decided to run away when she mentioned his marriage and divorce. He probably lied to himself all the time about how he was over it and that he was supremely happy now. Happier than he’d ever been.
But someone who was over the hurt and disappointment of a failed relationship didn’t flinch every time it was mentioned, didn’t look for an exit when talk turned to the ex. He’d compartmentalized it. He’d shoved that relationship along with his heart into a cage and shut the door on it. And he’d decided that women were not to be trusted.
“It’s a shame,” she whispered to Frito, who wagged his tail in response. “He’s not happy. He couldn’t be. I know because I’m not happy.” She stood and stretched, easily recalling the thrill of falling in lust and then wondering if it was love. Of giggling at silly jokes, sharing pizza and a movie on the couch, having sex at three in the morning and again at eight, spending Sunday hand-in-hand, walking around the city. God! There was nothing like the early stages of forming a relationship with someone special. It was worth the pain and anguish when it didn’t work out in the long run. Her own mother had drilled that into her, not wanting Zaney to be afraid to love since her parents were divorced.
“Where love is concerned, you have to be fearless,” her mother had told her. “Open your heart to it each and every time it comes knocking, Zaney.”
At the apartment, she slipped her key in and opened the door, letting Frito bound ahead, leash and all. The sound of another door opening spun her around. Matthew held a black garbage bag. He still had on his running gear.
“Hello again.”
“Hi.”
He started for the back exit, but stopped and turned toward her. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Uh. No.”
“Me, neither. Want to go somewhere and eat?”
“Uh.” She realized she was stammering. “Sure.” She propped one hand on her hip, giving him a cheeky smile. “Are you buying or should I bring some cash?”
He smiled back at her with a wink. “I’m buying.”
“Okay! Give me half an hour to shower and change.”
“It will only take you half an hour?”
“Or less,” she assured him. “I’m low maintenance and this isn’t a real date.”
They ended up at a small restaurant a few blocks from the apartment and ordered the works – eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, and a pot of coffee. Diving in, they concentrated mostly on the food, making comments about it and about a few of the other patrons, especially the woman in the one-piece, black and purple bathing suit and pink flip-flops. Since there wasn’t a beach nearby, it was an interesting wardrobe choice.
True to her word, Zaney had met him in the apartment lobby ahead of time. After a quick shower, he’d thrown on jeans and a J. Crew blue plaid shirt. She’d changed into jeans that hugged her heart-shaped behind splendidly and a white sleeveless blouse with a pale pink ruffle along the top that sat just above her perky breasts.
Thanks to the restaurant’s overhead lights, he discovered that auburn strands of hair were mixed in with the fire-engine red ones. Her skin wasn’t covered in freckles as with most gingers. She had a smattering here and there – along the bridge of her nose, across her chest. His imagination filled in some of the blanks, but he had to stop thinking about that when his body started joining in. He shifted on the bench seat and forced himself to pay closer attention to what she was saying.
Actually, he liked listening to her. He appreciated her candidness. She didn’t agree with him on all things. She voiced her objections politely, but firmly. She had a good head on her lovely shoulders. He liked watching her eat, too. None of the “model eating,” which consisted of pushing things around on the plate, taking a nibble or two, and then declaring that she’s “full to bursting!” Zaney chowed down and made swooning noises when she happened upon something particularly tasty.
Currently, she was telling him about the book she was reading. A romantic suspense by a popular author, but this one wasn’t up to par, apparently.
“I usually love her men. She writes great guys and great guy dialogue. They’re masculine, but they have tender hearts. They have great senses of humor, too. I love that. But the guy in this one is too metrosexual for me. I lean more to the ubersexual man.”
“Wait. So what’s the difference between the two?”
“Metrosexuals spend a lot of time on their appearance and their images. Ubersexuals are confident and compassionate, but not as into their looks or as fastidious. I like the heroes in novels to be ubersexual with a dash of alpha male.”
“Alpha male.”
“You know what that is,” she said, giving him a duh! glare.
“A manly man.”
“Exactly. Tendency to bark orders,
is protective of his woman, gives it to her a little rough.” She wiggled her eyebrows, making him chuckle. “What I don’t like about alphas is the jealous streak and they sometimes do that ‘good girl’ thing when their girlfriend pleases them. That always makes me think that they view their woman as their pet instead of their partner.” She glanced at her purse and pulled out her cellphone, which was buzzing softly. After checking the screen, she touched it to make it stop buzzing and slipped it back into her purse. “I’ll call her back later.” She sipped her coffee, her expression growing playful. “I know what kind of woman you like.”
Appreciating that she preferred his company to answering her phone, he folded his arms on the table and leaned in. “I’m fascinated to hear this.”
“Ones with no strings and no expectations.”
He nodded, giving her a wink. “I do find those characteristics very attractive.”
“But are they satisfying?”
“Yes. They are. Usually. If they aren’t, I can’t blame the lady. I can only blame myself for not providing what she needed.”
“Oh!” She set her cup down and looked genuinely impressed. “Oh.” Her voice took on a purring quality. “That is panty-melting talk. Well done, Mr. Birdsong.”
He dipped his head. “Thank you, Miss Miller.” Staring across the table at her, he got lost for a few moments in the shape of her lips and that one of her front teeth was a tiny bit crooked. He liked that. Cute. Very cute.
Her phone buzzed again and she checked it.
“Take that if it’s important.”
She shook her head, dismissing the caller. “This is a guy pal from work. I’ll text him later. It’s no biggie.”
Well-read, well-versed, and well-endowed, she’d make a fun friend, he thought. Friend. Huh. He reran that through his brain. Had he ever had a woman friend as just a friend? Was that even possible? Probably not. His cock had taken notice of her several times already.