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Authors: Jennifer Shirk
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at her faded Red Sox sleep shirt.
"My problem is," he continued, "the guy is a goodlooking-no, an okay-looking-television star, and you
would be spending the day with him. Probably at his beach
house. Alone. Catch my drift? Why do you think celebrities
have contests like this? To prey on innocent starstruck
women. It's a good thing you listened to me, and you didn't
enter."
A good thing she listened to him?
Walt was doing it again, telling her what to do. How dare he suggest the Clay Hayes contest was a fraud. She grabbed
her bagel and took a huge bite, shooting him daggers with her
eyes as she chewed. Who made him the end-all-be-all-datecontest authority anyway?
Her silence must have alerted him to what she had done,
because his face took on a dubious expression. "Georgie,
you ... you didn't enter that contest, right?"
Would have served you right if I had. She swallowed and
waited until she felt the bagel reach her stomach before answering, just to let him stew a little while longer. "No, as a
matter of fact I did not enter-"
"Thank God," he breathed.
"-because I entered Brad."
Walt raised his eyebrows, staring at her as if she'd just
told him she'd poisoned someone and needed suggestions on
where to hide the body. When he finally became capable of
moving again, he took her hand and shook it. "Well, it's been
nice knowing you, because when Brad finds out he's going
to skin you alive."
A twinge of alarm shot to the core of her stomach. Funny
how she had only briefly thought Brad might have a negative
reaction to the contest news. Hearing the words come from
Walt's mouth made it sound like more than a good possibility her hide would be filleted, doused with gasoline, and set
on fire. Eeww. She should have listened to her gut instincts.
Darn her impetuousness! She only wanted to see her brother
get out more and have some fun. Was that so wrong? Wrong
enough to get skinned alive for?
"Oh my gosh, you're right! Don't tell him!" she begged.
"He'll never have to know if he doesn't win anyway, right?"
"And what if he does win, Einstein?"
She scrunched her face and thought. There was still a slim
chance Brad would appreciate her thoughtfulness, right? She had been so desperate to get her brother off her back, she
hadn't bothered to think that far ahead.
"Well, if he wins ... he'll be too ecstatic to yell at me?"
she squeaked.
He made an annoying buzzer sound, and she flinched.
"Wrong."
"Well, this is all your fault," she snapped, poking him in his
bare chest with her index finger and trying not to notice how
taut his muscles felt. "Maybe if you hadn't been so highhanded, ordering me to listen to you, and if you would have
encouraged Brad to get out more instead of moping in front
of the TV, I wouldn't have been forced to enter him."
"Forced to enter him?" Walt stepped back, rubbing his
hands all over his face in frustration. "I've been in town less
than thirty hours and you're blaming me? Oh, that's nice.
That's just great. Honestly, Georgie, I don't know whether to
laugh or to ... to..
"Cry?" she supplied.
"Spank you"
She would have snorted, but the flicker of heat in Walt's
eyes stopped her cold. There was something laced in his
comment and expression that didn't have anything to do with
treating her like a child. If she didn't know better, she would
have thought in that moment Walt even regarded her as someone more than Brad's little sister. A phenomenon in its own
right, considering the way everybody acted toward her lately.
But then, Walt turned away with a chuckle, and she was certain she had made a mistake in thinking that. A big mistake.
"All right," he said, shaking his head, "seeing how this is
somehow all my fault, I won't tell Brad what you did. I'm
sure nothing will come out of it anyway. I mean, what are
the odds, right? He'd probably have a better chance of winning the lottery."
Yeah, the odds were bad. Part of Walt's words relieved her,
and also
"My problem is," he continued, "the guy is a goodlooking-no, an okay-looking-television star, and you
would be spending the day with him. Probably at his beach
house. Alone. Catch my drift? Why do you think celebrities
have contests like this? To prey on innocent starstruck
women. It's a good thing you listened to me, and you didn't
enter."
A good thing she listened to him?
Walt was doing it again, telling her what to do. How dare he suggest the Clay Hayes contest was a fraud. She grabbed
her bagel and took a huge bite, shooting him daggers with her
eyes as she chewed. Who made him the end-all-be-all-datecontest authority anyway?
Her silence must have alerted him to what she had done,
because his face took on a dubious expression. "Georgie,
you ... you didn't enter that contest, right?"
Would have served you right if I had. She swallowed and
waited until she felt the bagel reach her stomach before answering, just to let him stew a little while longer. "No, as a
matter of fact I did not enter-"
"Thank God," he breathed.
"-because I entered Brad."
Walt raised his eyebrows, staring at her as if she'd just
told him she'd poisoned someone and needed suggestions on
where to hide the body. When he finally became capable of
moving again, he took her hand and shook it. "Well, it's been
nice knowing you, because when Brad finds out he's going
to skin you alive."
A twinge of alarm shot to the core of her stomach. Funny
how she had only briefly thought Brad might have a negative
reaction to the contest news. Hearing the words come from
Walt's mouth made it sound like more than a good possibility her hide would be filleted, doused with gasoline, and set
on fire. Eeww. She should have listened to her gut instincts.
Darn her impetuousness! She only wanted to see her brother
get out more and have some fun. Was that so wrong? Wrong
enough to get skinned alive for?
"Oh my gosh, you're right! Don't tell him!" she begged.
"He'll never have to know if he doesn't win anyway, right?"
"And what if he does win, Einstein?"
She scrunched her face and thought. There was still a slim
chance Brad would appreciate her thoughtfulness, right? She had been so desperate to get her brother off her back, she
hadn't bothered to think that far ahead.
"Well, if he wins ... he'll be too ecstatic to yell at me?"
she squeaked.
He made an annoying buzzer sound, and she flinched.
"Wrong."
"Well, this is all your fault," she snapped, poking him in his
bare chest with her index finger and trying not to notice how
taut his muscles felt. "Maybe if you hadn't been so highhanded, ordering me to listen to you, and if you would have
encouraged Brad to get out more instead of moping in front
of the TV, I wouldn't have been forced to enter him."
"Forced to enter him?" Walt stepped back, rubbing his
hands all over his face in frustration. "I've been in town less
than thirty hours and you're blaming me? Oh, that's nice.
That's just great. Honestly, Georgie, I don't know whether to
laugh or to ... to..
"Cry?" she supplied.
"Spank you"
She would have snorted, but the flicker of heat in Walt's
eyes stopped her cold. There was something laced in his
comment and expression that didn't have anything to do with
treating her like a child. If she didn't know better, she would
have thought in that moment Walt even regarded her as someone more than Brad's little sister. A phenomenon in its own
right, considering the way everybody acted toward her lately.
But then, Walt turned away with a chuckle, and she was certain she had made a mistake in thinking that. A big mistake.
"All right," he said, shaking his head, "seeing how this is
somehow all my fault, I won't tell Brad what you did. I'm
sure nothing will come out of it anyway. I mean, what are
the odds, right? He'd probably have a better chance of winning the lottery."
Yeah, the odds were bad. Part of Walt's words relieved her,
and also
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