like a racy doll, and we’ll sell things like hotcakes flipping on the griddle.” He slapped his meaty palms together and rubbed them briskly. Taking in a breath, he blew it out slowly, as if savoring the image of me in some whorish costume.
Inwardly, I winced. I was not this idiot’s sweetheart. This guy gave me the creeps. There was no way I’d dress up for him or for Jill.
“I’ll see what I’ve got in my closet,” I conceded.
“I can help you pick out something. I’ve got an eye for this kind of thing,” Joe added, glancing Jill’s way for confirmation.
“No, thanks,” I said, smiling weakly. Why did I always pretend to get along? Sometimes I disgusted myself. “I’ll manage.”
“Get there early so we can fine tune the way we want to organize the evening. Be prepared,” she stressed, giving me a squinty-eyed, intimidating gaze.
As I forced the door open, I noticed Sue and Kate were still in the same spot. They looked up; saw my dark expression, and both spluttered. “Guess you met Mr. Dallas. You two will make a fine duo. So sorry we can’t be there to help you. You know how it is when something comes up that you just can’t avoid.” They were laughing so hard, tears were streaming down their faces.
Now I knew what their hilarity was all about – Mr. Dallas. My face reddened, and I quickened my steps. Once outside, I took a calming breath of the fragrant summer air. The high clouds in the blue sky were expansive and comforting. The sun touched me with a warm caress. I sighed.
The thought of working with Mr. Dallas was repulsive to me. Jill was frightening enough to be around, but this guy was an indecent nightmare. I jogged to my car in an attempt to ease my tight gut. As I turned the corner, I saw a friend of mine, Michael Ziegler. Michael was good looking, in his early 30s. He wore faded jeans and a denim shirt covered with dirt from a day’s work as a carpenter. He was leaning forwards, shaking sawdust from his hair.
“Hi, Michael!”
Kicking his work boots against the truck tires to dislodge the mud from the soles, he answered, “Hi, Chér. How’s it going?” He leaned into the back of his pickup and tossed his tool bag into the cargo container. Taking a key ring out of his pocket, he sorted through the keys until he found the right one. With a click he locked the bin.
“Oh, kinda crappy... I have to work at the Northwest fundraiser in a couple of weeks, and I have to work with this horrid man.” I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
“That sucks,” he commiserated, stuffing the keys back in his pocket. “Maybe I can help you forget your troubles. Why don’t you join me for a beer? No sense drinking alone.”
I wasn’t expected home for a while. “Sure, that would be great. I’ll follow you in my V-dub.”
He climbed in his monstrous Ford F350 pickup truck and powered up the engine. With a wave, he peeled out onto the street. I jumped in my Beetle, turned the key in the ignition, and gunned the motor to try to catch up with him.
I had known Michael for many years, since I was 20. He was a confidant at times, a great pal to hang out with at others. I had never been attracted to him, although he seemed to want to play that way with me. Truth be told, though, he felt that way about most women. He loved the ladies, and the ladies loved him. That was for sure. I just plain liked him. He had dark curly hair, velvety butterfly-wing blue eyes, and long eyelashes. His work in construction kept his 6’ body tan, lean, and muscular. With an ever-easy smile and a merry disposition, it was hard to be in a sour mood around Michael.
Michael pulled into a bar down the street called Jingo’s High and Mighty. His side door opened and he climbed out, striding towards me. “Come on, girl, let’s have us some brews.” He threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me inside.
Jingo’s was a hip brew pub, serving some of the best suds around. It had high windows all around the
Inwardly, I winced. I was not this idiot’s sweetheart. This guy gave me the creeps. There was no way I’d dress up for him or for Jill.
“I’ll see what I’ve got in my closet,” I conceded.
“I can help you pick out something. I’ve got an eye for this kind of thing,” Joe added, glancing Jill’s way for confirmation.
“No, thanks,” I said, smiling weakly. Why did I always pretend to get along? Sometimes I disgusted myself. “I’ll manage.”
“Get there early so we can fine tune the way we want to organize the evening. Be prepared,” she stressed, giving me a squinty-eyed, intimidating gaze.
As I forced the door open, I noticed Sue and Kate were still in the same spot. They looked up; saw my dark expression, and both spluttered. “Guess you met Mr. Dallas. You two will make a fine duo. So sorry we can’t be there to help you. You know how it is when something comes up that you just can’t avoid.” They were laughing so hard, tears were streaming down their faces.
Now I knew what their hilarity was all about – Mr. Dallas. My face reddened, and I quickened my steps. Once outside, I took a calming breath of the fragrant summer air. The high clouds in the blue sky were expansive and comforting. The sun touched me with a warm caress. I sighed.
The thought of working with Mr. Dallas was repulsive to me. Jill was frightening enough to be around, but this guy was an indecent nightmare. I jogged to my car in an attempt to ease my tight gut. As I turned the corner, I saw a friend of mine, Michael Ziegler. Michael was good looking, in his early 30s. He wore faded jeans and a denim shirt covered with dirt from a day’s work as a carpenter. He was leaning forwards, shaking sawdust from his hair.
“Hi, Michael!”
Kicking his work boots against the truck tires to dislodge the mud from the soles, he answered, “Hi, Chér. How’s it going?” He leaned into the back of his pickup and tossed his tool bag into the cargo container. Taking a key ring out of his pocket, he sorted through the keys until he found the right one. With a click he locked the bin.
“Oh, kinda crappy... I have to work at the Northwest fundraiser in a couple of weeks, and I have to work with this horrid man.” I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
“That sucks,” he commiserated, stuffing the keys back in his pocket. “Maybe I can help you forget your troubles. Why don’t you join me for a beer? No sense drinking alone.”
I wasn’t expected home for a while. “Sure, that would be great. I’ll follow you in my V-dub.”
He climbed in his monstrous Ford F350 pickup truck and powered up the engine. With a wave, he peeled out onto the street. I jumped in my Beetle, turned the key in the ignition, and gunned the motor to try to catch up with him.
I had known Michael for many years, since I was 20. He was a confidant at times, a great pal to hang out with at others. I had never been attracted to him, although he seemed to want to play that way with me. Truth be told, though, he felt that way about most women. He loved the ladies, and the ladies loved him. That was for sure. I just plain liked him. He had dark curly hair, velvety butterfly-wing blue eyes, and long eyelashes. His work in construction kept his 6’ body tan, lean, and muscular. With an ever-easy smile and a merry disposition, it was hard to be in a sour mood around Michael.
Michael pulled into a bar down the street called Jingo’s High and Mighty. His side door opened and he climbed out, striding towards me. “Come on, girl, let’s have us some brews.” He threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me inside.
Jingo’s was a hip brew pub, serving some of the best suds around. It had high windows all around the
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