Man Shy

by Catherine Mulvany

  “WHY DID YOU COME BACK, BRODY?”

  “Forgot something.”

  “What? Your lucky penny?” Mallory asked sarcastically.

  “Nope.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He watched her steadily, the hint of a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Then what?”

  Brody sauntered over, never lifting his gaze from hers. “This.” He framed her face with his hands, and she felt herself flushing as his touch sparked a response. He slowly bent forward, his gaze still locked on hers, and she vibrated with anticipation.

  He’s going to kiss me, she thought, surprised by her own lack of panic. And this time I’m not scared. I’m not scared of Brody at all. I want him to kiss me. I want to kiss him back.

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  ONE

  “This is pathetic,” Mallory Scott muttered, this being the fact that she was huddled in a corner of the Blue Russian, waiting for Mr. Right. She knew Brunswick, Oregon’s one and only gay bar wasn’t the traditional hunting ground for a straight single female, but she was desperate. Dial-A-Date Escort Service hadn’t panned out. Nor had any of her lonely-hearts ads.

  And this isn’t gonna either. Hoping to drown her niggling doubts, she gulped the last of her screwdriver, grimacing at the taste.

  Kyle Brewster laughed at her expression. “I told you to order a Coke.”

  “Liquid courage.” Mallory’s smile was grim but determined. With just over a week left before her sister Lindsey’s wedding, the search for a hunk-of-the-century escort had assumed a frantic urgency. This meeting Kyle had arranged with his old fraternity brother was her last hope. Her only hope. A feeble hope that was fading fast.

  Mallory glanced at her watch. The man was already ten minutes late. She slumped forward in defeat, resting her forehead on the table. “He’s not coming.”

  “Relax.” Kyle gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “Punctuality has never been Brody’s strong suit.”

  Slowly she sat up, staring myopically at Kyle over the tops of the glasses that had slipped to the end of her nose. “And patience has never been mine.” She signaled for a refill.

  “He’ll be here. Don’t worry.” Kyle nudged her wire frames back up to the bridge of her nose. “Maybe you ought to go easy on the booze, though. You’re not used to it.”

  “I need all the help I can get,” she objected, then sighed heavily. “Correction. What I need is a man. And not just any man, either. A real dream babe. Somebody so completely studly he’ll wipe that smug, pitying expression off Lindsey’s face forever.”

  Kyle sipped his Chablis. “Don’t worry. Brody Hunter’s twice as sexy as any leading man in Hollywood.”

  The bartender set a fresh drink in front of her. “Who’s twice as sexy as any leading man in Hollywood, and when are you going to introduce me?” He winked at Kyle.

  “Sorry, Tim. This one’s spoken for.”

  “C’est la vie. “The bartender shrugged. Gathering up Mallory’s empty glass and crumpled napkin, he returned to the bar.

  “You’d better be right about your friend.” Mallory forced herself to swallow a dose of orange-flavored medicinal vodka. “This is not a situation where just any warm body will do. I need a major hunk.”

  “Drumroll, please. Here comes the hunk of your dreams now.” Kyle nodded toward the entrance.

  Looking up, Mallory choked on her drink. Kyle considered the man in the doorway a hunk? Hunk of what? Road apple cobbler?

  “You’re kidding.” With filthy, tattered clothes, heavy-duty black stubble, and long, tangled hair, Kyle’s hunk was about as appealing as the winos who hung out at the bus depot on North Oregon Street. “He’s a bum.”

  “Undercover cop,” Kyle corrected her. He waved the rough-looking thug over to their table.

  Mallory held her breath. The man smelled even worse than he looked, and he looked downright terrible. Up close she could see the grime staining his knuckles, the grease matting his uncombed hair. Had he been working undercover or underground? Struggling to maintain a calm demeanor, she shot her friend a quick, nervous glance. This was a joke, right?

  Kyle stood up, doing his impression of the genial host. “Mallory, this is Brody Hunter, my old fraternity brother. Brody, say hello to Mallory Scott.”

  Brody Hunter looked like a former fraternity man about as much as Kyle looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger, which was to say, not at all.

  He shoved his fists in the pockets of his grubby black raincoat. “I’d shake hands, but I took an unplanned detour through the sewer earlier this afternoon. Caught the little creep who’s been mugging senior citizens in the park, though.” The gravelly voice died abruptly.

  His gaze caught and held Mallory’s, sending a shiver rippling down her spine. Okay, so maybe her first impression was wrong. Maybe there was a little hunk potential buried under all that grime and wild hair. Brody’s eyes were a pale, silvery gray, startling in such a swarthy face. He had a good, strong nose, well-marked brows, and a very nice mouth. Though maybe nice was the wrong word. Sexy was closer. Drop-dead gorgeous closer yet. Mallory drew a shaky breath. He’s gay, she reminded herself.

  “Have a seat.” Kyle indicated the chair between his and Mallory’s. “The other customers are getting nervous.”

  Not just the other customers. Mallory hid her trembling hands in her lap.

  The corners of Brody’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. They’re probably trying to decide whether I’m gonna flash ’em or blow the place to kingdom come. Sorry about the clothes. Things went down in a hurry, but the paperwork took forever. I didn’t have time to change. Hope I’m not ruining your reputation.”

  “Other than the somewhat pungent aroma, you’re fine. Mallory’s the one who has the clientele agog. They don’t get many females in here.”

  As Brody settled onto the chair its rattan frame groaned in protest. He was a big man, as tall as Kyle, but heavier—broad-shouldered, athletic. A wicked half smile twisted one corner of his mouth. “If anyone asks you later, just tell ’em she was a guy in drag.”

  Mallory stiffened. “I don’t think that’s funny.”

  Obviously her companions disagreed. Both men fought to keep their faces composed.

  “It’s not like I’m the only female in here, you know. Not ten minutes ago I saw a blonde slip into the manager’s office. And unless I’m blind, there are two more ladies at the bar.” Floozies, she’d almost said. There ought to be a law against baring that much cleavage.

  Kyle and Brody exchanged a look.

  “What?” she demanded. It took her a second, but she finally got it. “You mean they’re men?”

  “Transvestites,” Brody said. “Listen, do they serve anything edible in this joint? I’m starving.”

  Kyle shook his head. “No food. Just drinks.”

  Brody groaned. “Why’d you set the meeting up here, then? Why not Chico’s? I could really go for one of their chicken chimichangas.”

  “Truth
fully, I was more concerned with anonymity than menu choice. I figured none of the Blue Russian crowd would be invited to Lindsey Scott’s wedding. Whereas if we’d met at Chico’s c”

  Mallory nodded in agreement. As Brunswick’s unofficial yuppie watering hole, Chico’s was no place to maintain a low profile.

  “Here.” Kyle shoved the bowl of pretzels across the table. “Chow down on those.”

  Brody examined his filthy hands dubiously. “Maybe I’d better wash up first.”

  An excellent plan, in Mallory’s opinion. His fingernails alone looked like they were good for anthrax, typhoid, dysentery, and six varieties of the common cold.

  “It’s a dirty job,” Brody said, catching her gaze, “but somebody’s got to do it.” Grinning broadly, he headed for the rest room.

  Maybe Brody Hunter wasn’t soap-opera-star handsome like Evan, her ex-boyfriend and soon-to-be brother-in-law, and maybe his sense of humor was a little warped, but he did have a great smile. And he moved well too. Like a dancer. Or an athlete.

  She sipped her drink and tried to picture the reaction if she showed up at the rehearsal dinner with Brody in tow. Their arrival would undoubtedly trigger her mother’s temper. April Scott made no secret of her hatred of long hair on men. But it might be worth all the flak just to see the look on Lindsey’s face. And Evan’s.

  Gradually Mallory became aware that Kyle was staring at her, his expression expectant.

  “What?”

  “Well, was I right or was I right? Didn’t I tell you Brody was perfect?”

  Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Define perfect.”

  “Open your eyes, kiddo. Under that veneer of grime lurks a genuine hunk. Admit it, he’s a giant step up from your recent lonely-hearts disaster, Bobby Ray Hicks.”

  “And a Paul Bunyan cut above Ramon, the octopus from Dial-A-Date.” She smiled. “You’re right. And besides, this late in the game, I’m in no position to be picky.”

  “Then here’s to last chances.” Kyle clinked his glass with hers.

  “Last chances,” Mallory repeated, not sure she liked the sound of that. She took another sip of her screwdriver, shuddering at the taste.

  “Cold?” Brody asked as he slipped back into the chair next to hers.

  “No, I c” Glancing up, Mallory caught her breath in surprise. Soap and water had performed miracles.

  “Do I pass?” A crooked smile lit his face.

  She blinked, then smiled back. She knew it must be a pretty sappy-looking smile from the startled expression on Kyle’s narrow, intelligent face, but at the moment she was too excited to care whether or not she looked like a brain donor. Good-bye, Mr. Hyde. Hello, Dr. Jekyll. Lindsey, eat your double-crossing, man-stealing heart out.

  Kyle cleared his throat. “Let’s get down to business.”

  “Sure,” Brody agreed. “Lay it all out.” He tapped Mallory on the shoulder. “Pass me the peanuts, would you?”

  “Peanuts?” she echoed, trying to ignore the tingling sensation that lingered in the wake of his casual touch.

  Kyle gave her a strange look. “Yeah, you know. Little salty edibles. Look sort of like brown jelly beans.”

  “Oh, right. Peanuts.” She shoved the bowl toward Brody, and he tossed a handful in his mouth.

  Kyle drummed his fingertips on the table, obviously anxious to get this show on the road. “The thing is, Mallory needs a date for her sister’s wedding.”

  Brody chewed thoughtfully, studying Mallory.

  She squirmed around in her chair, feeling like a slide under a microscope.

  Brody swallowed, then shook his head slowly from side to side. “Maybe I’m being dense, but I don’t get it. Why would a woman like you need to be fixed up?”

  Mallory felt her cheeks grow warm. “I—” Words failed her. Insults she was prepared for. Teasing she could deal with. But compliments threw her every time.

  “What’s the matter with the men in this town?” Brody demanded. “Are they blind?” He finished off the peanuts and started on the pretzels.

  Mallory and Kyle exchanged a look. It’s all yours, kiddo, he seemed to say.

  She took a deep breath. “You just moved here, right?”

  Brody nodded. “Couple months ago.”

  “Well, when you’ve been here a little longer you’ll realize that although our corner of eastern Oregon has its pluses—lots of sunshine, wide-open spaces, and recreational opportunities up the wazoo—eligible males are thin on the ground. I’ve been on the prowl for months now, ever since Lindsey and Evan announced their engagement—”

  “Evan used to be Mallory’s significant other,” Kyle interrupted. “They dated for almost ten years.”

  “Eleven, but who’s counting?” Stupid question. She was. Mallory drained her glass. “Ever since we were juniors in high school.”

  “What happened?” Brody sounded as if he were sincerely interested, not just being polite. Or maybe it was the cop in him, automatically switching to interrogation mode.

  “Like Kyle, Evan’s in broadcasting. When he was offered the newsteam anchor position at a Portland station, he jumped at the opportunity. Bigger market, more money. I planned to move to the Portland area to be near him as soon as my current contract was up.”

  “Mallory’s a teacher. Fifth grade.” Kyle rolled his eyes. “Talk about a glutton for punishment.”

  “So where does the sister come into it?” Brody asked.

  Mallory narrowed her gaze. “Lindsey lives in Beaverton, a Portland suburb. She’s a buyer for Nordstrom’s and a real snake in employee-discounted designer clothing.”

  “I think you mean wolf, not snake. You’re mixing metaphors. No more screwdrivers for you, my girl.”

  “Don’t lecture, Kyle. I can tell when I’ve had enough. My ears tingle.”

  “Really?” Brody tugged gently at her left earlobe.

  Mallory jumped like she’d been hit by an electric cattle prod. The sensation went way past tingle. More like tingle to the tenth power.

  The curl of Kyle’s lip said, I told you so.

  Obviously, vodka packed more punch than the wine coolers she was used to. Lots more. She shuddered involuntarily. Why else would callused fingers lightly pinching her earlobe trigger shock waves that rocked her from head to toe?

  Kyle shot her an enigmatic look. Still gloating, no doubt.

  She stuck her tongue out.

  He grinned.

  “Go on, Mallory,” Brody urged. “You were telling me about your sister.”

  “Right. Lindsey.” Mallory frowned. “The conniving brat.”

  “Don’t listen to her. That’s just her injured pride speaking. Lindsey’s all right. Boring, but basically decent.”

  “And gorgeous. Don’t forget gorgeous.” She sighed. “Kyle’s right. I shouldn’t blame Lindsey. It was mostly my fault. After all, I was the one who insisted that Evan look her up once he got settled. How was I to know he’d fall madly in love at first sight? I mean, he’s known her since she was a scabby-kneed twelve-year-old. Who’d have thought makeup and an upscale wardrobe would turn a man’s brain to Jell-O?”

  “Your little sister stole your boyfriend,” Brody translated.

  “Bingo.” Kyle gave him two thumbs up.

  “And to add insult to injury, she asked me to be her maid of honor.” Mallory took a deep breath. “Consequently, I need an escort for the festivities. Got plans for next Saturday?”

  Brody blinked. “The day after tomorrow?”

  “No, a week from this Saturday.”

  “What’s wrong with Kyle?”

  “I’ve already got a date,” Kyle said. “Besides, everyone knows Mallory and I are just friends. We wouldn’t fool anyone.”

  “Fool anyone?”

  Mallory shifted in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, you see, when my sister called to say she’d just become engaged to my boyfriend, all hell broke loose. Overnight I became an object of pity. Poor Mallory. Poor rejected, over-the-hill Mallory.” She ma
de a face. “I didn’t mean to tell any lies. It just sort of happened.”

  “Lies?”

  “Whoppers,” Kyle said.

  “Like?”

  “Like Evan’s defection wasn’t the blow everyone assumed since I’d been secretly seeing someone else—a real drop-dead-gorgeous hunk of a male.”

  “And that’s my role? I’m the drop-dead-gorgeous hunk?” Brody laughed in genuine amusement. “I take it Mel Gibson and Kevin Costner were all booked up.”

  “Actually,” said Kyle, “you’re more the Antonio Banderas type.”

  Mallory ignored his interruption. “Anyway, that’s why I need you, Brody c to prove I’m not the pathetic loser everyone believes I am.” Though come to think of it, propositioning a stranger in a gay bar was pretty damned pathetic.

  Brody shook his head. “I don’t knowc.”

  “What’s to know? All you have to do is stand around looking sexy and mysterious. You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. I can tell everyone you’re foreign, that you only speak Norwegian. Nobody around here speaks Norwegian.”

  “He doesn’t look Norwegian,” Kyle objected. “Too dark.”

  Mallory suppressed an impatient sigh. “Okay, so he can be Romanian. Nobody speaks Romanian, either.”

  Brody frowned. “Including me. Look, language aside, I’m still not sure I could pull it off.”

  Mallory studied his face. What was he trying to say? “Oh,” she said. “Because of your orientation, you mean?”

  “My orientation?” Brody arched an eyebrow.

  She flushed. “Look, it doesn’t matter to me. Live and let live, I always say. Heck, Kyle’s one of my best friends, and any friend of Kyle’s is a friend of mine.”

  Kyle smirked. “She means she doesn’t mind that you’re gay.”

  Brody’s pale eyes bored into hers. “That’s very broad-minded of you,”

  Mallory bit her lip. “I’m sorry if I said anything to give offense. The thing is, I’m desperate. Heck, I’ve tried everything from escort services to personal ads. All the applicants were a wash. Either they were weenie little weasels who wouldn’t fool Lindsey for a second or they were way too eager to ’ring my chimes.’ That’s a direct quote, by the way, from Mr. Dial-A-Date. His name was Ramon and he looked like a gigolo. I swear to God the man had glue-on chest hair.”