Every Woman's Fantasy. Vicki Thompson Lewis

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СКАЧАТЬ to Mark. “Okay, so she’s a good prospect on paper, but with your record, I don’t think you should rush into—”

      “Sam, I’m ready to meet her. I’m so ready to meet her.” He tucked Charlie’s picture in his shirt pocket, right next to his heart.

      Sam gave him the evil eye. “You said that with a little too much relish, good buddy. Just exactly what do you mean by meet?”

      Mark threw up both hands. “I mean just meet! Like drive to Austin for the weekend, and—”

      “Slow down, lover-boy! Are we talking an overnight here?”

      “Well, yeah. If I take her out for a nice dinner somewhere, with wine, and candlelight, and…and stuff, then I don’t want to drive all the way back to Houston that same night.”

      Sam leaned forward. “Dinner’s fine, candlelight and wine is terrific. But it’s the and stuff part that’s got me worried. I’m coming with you.”

      “No way! Nobody’s chaperoned my dates since I was fourteen, and I’m not about to reactivate the custom now.”

      Sam gazed at him for a long time, as if he was turning something over in his mind. Finally he settled back against the worn cushion of the booth with a sigh. “I hate to do this, because you’re like a brother to me and I’ve tried to stick by you through everything, but here’s the way it has to be. If you mosey on up to Austin and everything goes the way it always does with you, and you come back engaged after one romp in the sack, you’ll have to find yourself another best man this time.”

      A cold chill washed over Mark. He’d known Sam all his life, and when he set his jaw like that, he was deadly serious. Apparently he’d had enough. To be honest, Mark couldn’t blame him.

      “I ran into Deborah at the grocery store last night,” Sam said casually. “You know, it’s a wonder she didn’t sue you for breach of promise.”

      “You’re right. She had grounds.” He glanced nervously at Sam. “Is she still upset?” He was hoping that six months had soothed her feelings.

      “I would say she’s still upset. She asked if you’d contracted any deadly diseases yet. I think she’s sticking pins in a voodoo doll or something.”

      “So she’s not over it.”

      “Doesn’t look like it.” Sam signaled to the waitress and glanced at Mark. “Want another beer?”

      “I think I’m gonna need one if we’re discussing Deb.” He waited until Sam had put in their order for two more long-necks. “So what else did she say about me?”

      “Oh, the usual. That you’re a pimple on the backside of humanity, a virus on the Internet of life. That kind of thing. From the look in her eyes, she was thinking even worse insults than that, but I think she held back because she knows I’m your best friend and we were in a public place.”

      “I really was hoping she’d be over it by now.” He was a rat, no doubt about it. Whenever he thought of how he’d left her high and dry, he used similar expressions to describe himself.

      “Well, she’s not over it, but she’s trying to be. In fact, she’s linked up with your four other victims.”

      “I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”

      “I didn’t. She did. She said they’ve formed a support group. Either they’ll help each other to heal or they’ll figure out a really hideous form of revenge, whichever comes first.”

      Mark gazed at Sam uneasily. “A support group? You mean with meetings and everything?”

      “Why not? There’s five of them, so that makes a group.”

      “I don’t know what to think about this.” Mark grabbed the bottle the waitress had just set in front of him and took a generous swig. “I mean, that’s kind of scary, Sam. Five women plotting against me.”

      “You should be scared. Scared straight. They’ve even given themselves a name.”

      Mark gazed across the table at his buddy. “Do I want to know what it is?”

      “Probably not. But I’m going to tell you anyway. They call their group DOA.”

      Mark choked on his beer. “Dead On Arrival?” He coughed and sputtered as he tried to assimilate the information. “Good God, Sam, what are they planning?”

      “They just have a sick sense of humor. The letters actually stand for Damn O’Grady’s Ass.”

      “Oh.” Mark was relieved, but not a lot.

      “I wouldn’t ignore the implication of those three letters if I were you. I’m sure they didn’t choose them at random. I think Deborah mentioned something about having T-shirts printed up.” Sam took a long swallow of his beer.

      Mark followed suit. This subject was giving him the willies. He’d felt like a heel each time he’d called off an impending wedding, and he’d certainly wanted his prospective brides to seek comfort in whatever way they could. But he’d never imagined that they’d band together against him.

      “I don’t think you can afford to screw up again, buddy,” Sam said. “It wouldn’t be good for your health.”

      “Well, I’m not going to screw up. Your idea about using Texas Men to find a woman who’s really suited to me, and me to her, was a damned good one. Charlie and I have been writing back and forth for—what, three months now?”

      “About that.”

      Mark patted his shirt pocket. “I know her better than I ever knew any of the others—until it was too late, that is. I know she’s a morning person like me, but she needs her coffee. She’s not anal but she likes to keep her place picked up. She loved Survivor, hated Big Brother. Even her job is perfect for me—an outdoor adventure guide.”

      “That is one of her good points, I agree. I’ve said that from the beginning. You kept dating these financial types you met at the office.”

      “Right. I wasn’t working a big enough area. The magazine changed that, and now I have Charlie, who’s the exact right mix, sensible on the outside, but black lace and naughty thoughts underneath.”

      “Hold it. How do you know about the black lace and naughty thoughts?”

      Mark had a feeling he’d just revealed too much. In the past few weeks, the correspondence had heated up considerably. “Just a guess. Come to think of it, I probably read too much into her comments.”

      “Like hell. Come on, Mark. What did she say?”

      Time to backpedal, and fast. “Not much, really. I think she’s shy, actually. Probably would be slow to warm up.” He didn’t think that for a minute. From the tone of her most recent letters, she had an instant on switch. He could hardly wait to trip it.

      “Uh-huh.” Sam’s expression was grim. “I get the picture. No wonder you’re so ready to meet her. Mr. Happy wants to meet her, too. That’s your other problem. You’re a washout at celibacy.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ