Falling Fast (2 page)

The reason was simple: He’d never had the courage to face it himself.

But now, his education on the lawfully wedded state was long past due, especially considering that he had only two short weeks of single life left.

* * *

Alexa wasn’t afraid of anything. At least that’s what she frequently told herself. That meant, she told herself firmly, what she was feeling as she sat under the theatrical lights, mascara wand in hand, wasn’t fear. No, it was simply disbelief, that she, Alexa Atkison, feminist-writer-extraordinaire (to-be anyway), had not only let the people at the spa rip the hair off her body and added a bunch of layers and subtle highlights to her dark hair, but that she was about to willingly gouge her own eyes out with said makeup brush. Something was very wrong with the picture, indeed.

Already, the makeup artist had applied a full coat of goop to Alexa’s face.
They must
really throw the word artist around lightly these days,
Alexa thought uncharitably.

To top it off, the infernal woman kept talking about transformations and enhancements.

Alexa tried to tune her out, but she had a hard time ignoring such a shrill voice.

It struck Alexa that maybe, just maybe, this whole beautification thing wouldn’t be such an ordeal if she could just get into it and think of it as something fun. A treat, even, like her mother or sister would have.

No, not a treat. A frickin’ lottery win was more how they’d describe it.

But beauty could never equal happiness for her, Alexa thought as she fell back into uncomfortable memories. By the time she’d hit puberty, after watching her mother and older sister primp and preen and get rid of everything about them that made them fun and unique in order to impress men, she had firmly decided that she was never going to be a pretty girl.

She still had the diary, where she wrote on her 13th birthday:
It’s my birthday today and
Mom gave me this stupid pink dress for the school dance, but I wouldn’t wear it if she burned
everything else in my closet. I, Alexa Atkison, hereby vow to never ever turn myself into just
another stupid, pretty girl.

That day she went out to the local pharmacy and bought herself a pair of glasses for $5.

Even though they didn’t have any magnification, they made her feel smart. She was thankful that, unlike her mother and sister, she wasn’t blonde or blue-eyed, both of which seemed like definite requisites for being pretty. In 5th grade she shot up to being the tallest kid in her class and was so skinny she looked like a freak.

Thank god for Jared, her freak-in-crime, who was inducted into the freak hall of fame that same year because of an unfortunate disposition for acne.

Boils, to be specific.

Big boils which had a tendency to explode in the middle of gym class, to be even more specific.

Alexa had embraced her inner-freak ever since, working hard to prove that she was different from the other women in her family. Words had always been her true love. Her ideal day was curling up with a stack of good books. In college when she took her first creative writing class she found that she loved writing almost as much as she loved reading. Now, there were boxes full of notebooks in her apartment, filled with everything from unfinished novels to scathing letters to the editor that she had never gotten up the nerve to actually send.

Alexa didn’t understand how the executive staff at the magazine could have picked her to be the ideal contestant on a show like
Falling For Mr. Right
. As far as she was concerned, any of the other women on staff would have been a better choice.

Except maybe for Margo, who definitely had a beard.

So many times during the past eight hours of treatments and haircuts and lessons, Alexa had wanted to storm out of the salon, telling everyone, in no uncertain terms, just how ridiculous this was. How ridiculous their professions were. But every time, a sage inner voice of wisdom called her back from the verge, saying, simply,
Do you want a byline or don’t you?

Alexa greatly appreciated that her inner-voice didn’t pull any punches, or else her pride would blow this one big chance Jane had given her.

And then she’d be back to mass mailings and coffee runs.

Tamping down on her rebellious urges, Alexa continued to submit to, what was in her mind, extreme and unusual punishment from the makeup artist. She learned dutifully, brush and wand in hand, how to use makeup to “highlight her gifts” and “downplay her flaws”.

It was enough to almost make her lose her appetite.

Not quite, however, as she could almost taste the chili dog from the cart she had spotted earlier in the day on the corner near the salon, which she was going to follow up with some Ben

& Jerry’s SuperFudgeChunk ice cream when she got back to the sanctuary of her apartment.

Alexa wondered how anyone could possibly think the pathetic little spa lunch they had served her today — cucumber sandwiches with some disgusting rubbery yellow stuff that they were trying to pass off as cheese — even counted as food.

Her stomach grumbled loudly just thinking about it. As soon as she could escape the salon, she was going to buy two chili dogs from the vendor. Licking her newly glossed lips, she closed her eyes in ecstasy at the thought of the greasy, steaming fulfillment.

* * *

The sun was setting by the time Brandon headed back to his car. He hadn’t come to any firm conclusions about anything, but he felt better just for looking out at the ocean for a couple of hours.

Yes, he may have been a bit hasty in signing the contract with the TV network, but what if he really could find a wife among the thirty women they picked for him? Someone to take to corporate functions, to host cocktail parties for his customers, to fill that odd void inside of him that seemed to grow bigger with every wedding and baby christening he attended.

His spirits suddenly lighter, he took in the goings on in the San Francisco Marina neighborhood with his usual interest. He’d always loved wandering through streets at night, looking into lighted windows to catch a glimpse of other people’s lives.

Then, all of sudden, something in a store window caught his eye and he stopped dead in his tracks. All at once, Brandon realized that he had been completely, absolutely, and utterly wrong about there being no such thing as love at first sight. And about there being no chance of falling fast for a woman.

Because he had a feeling he'd just found his perfect woman.

Smooth olive skin, full red mouth, and large, slightly tilted hazel eyes.

The woman licked her luscious lips, closed her eyes, and leaned back against the lime green seat with a very contented sigh.

What Brandon wouldn’t give to be the gloss on her lips.

He had always thought he preferred blondes. Nope. Rich brown, with a hint of red and black highlights was so much better.

He’d always thought small women better suited him. Wrong again. He’d take long legs on this woman any day.

But it was when she opened her eyes that he fell completely under her spell. How could he have ever thought blue eyes were sexy? Big and blue had nothing, repeat, nothing over mysterious, long-lashed hazel eyes.

Mid-gape, Brandon caught a glimpse of himself in the wall-to-wall salon mirrors. He looked like a big, drooling idiot, so he scooted out of the way, standing with his back pressed up against a pillar.

How could he, he asked himself, in good conscience, ask out this amazing woman when he knew with 100% certainty that he was going to have to marry someone else in two weeks?

* * *

She was free! No more lessons or cuts or waxing. Until the next day, in any case, when a personal shopper at Nordstrom was going to overhaul her wardrobe. Alexa dreaded shopping with a passion, but a byline was a byline, and her day at the spa hadn’t completely sucked away her will to live.

Besides, the interviews for the show were at 5pm tomorrow and she was determined to secure a spot. Somehow, some way, she needed to tap into her innate female power and be gorgeous, funny, sexy, demure — whatever they were looking for.

Alexa snorted, laughing at her thoughts of innate female power. She stepped out of the overly bright salon in to the night-lit sidewalk and made a beeline for the street vendor.

“Two chili dogs please,”

“You hungry or something lady?”

Alexa grinned widely. “You better believe it! Lay the toppings on thick.”

“I like a girl with an appetite,” he leered at her, showing a mouth full of gaps and holes.

“Me too,” Alexa agreed, not the least bit concerned with his physical appearance or apparent interest in her. She rubbed her empty belly and watched with glee as the vendor loaded chili, cheese, onions, mustard and pickles onto a huge sausage. Practically drooling, she grabbed it off of the counter as he made her second dog and took a couple of big bites, barely pausing to chew or swallow.

“You want me to wrap this other one up to go?”

Alexa was tempted to eat both dogs right there, but home sounded really, really good after her day of spa torture. She managed an “mmphh” around the food in her mouth by way of saying yes.

After she paid, she spun around to head for home and smashed her beloved half-eaten hot dog—chili, mustard and onions too—all over herself and some guy who had appeared out of nowhere.

Glancing down at both of their clothes, Alexa resisted the urge to start babbling apologies, clamping her mouth shut in a firm line. Granted, she had moved a little quickly with her hands full of their important package, but he shouldn’t have been standing so close to her in the first place. What was he, some sort of creep?

Not to mention the sad fact that most of her truly delicious, partially eaten chili dog was now lying on the pavement between them.

“Shoot. I really wanted that,” she muttered as she picked up a hunk of chili meat from her chest and popped it into her mouth.

“Can I buy you another one?” the guy asked her.

Wow, she thought, as she picked a couple more chunks of food off herself and munched on them, this guy was being sort of nice about her clumsy maneuver. Newly interested to see who she had smeared chili all over she finally looked up from mourning her fallen dog.

Oh god! It figured that she would act like a complete idiot with what had to be one of the best looking guys she had ever seen live, in person.

As the thought whizzed through her mind, she quickly amended it, using her writer’s skills to draw a more accurate picture. He wasn’t perfect by any means — his hair was somewhere between brown and black, his eyes weren’t quite blue or green, and his nose was practically too big — but the way that his features had been arranged meant that she was heating up in one newly waxed region of her body.

A passer-by jolted her arm and she snapped to, realizing she was making an even bigger ass of herself by standing there gaping at him.

“Oh no, that’s OK, I’ve got another one,” she finally managed to say all in a rush and then added, “And hey, sorry about your clothes.”

The fine looking stranger smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Looks like you got more than your share of the mess.”

His smile practically made Alexa swoon.
What is happening to me today?
she hissed at herself, more than a little upset by her reaction to this gorgeous stranger.

A little wax, hair dye and makeup and she had turned into a big ball of female hormones.

While Alexa was battling unfamiliar, insidious female urges, Brandon was desperately trying to think of some way to keep her talking to him. Chili stains or not, his perfect woman was even more perfect up close. Upright and moving, she was even more luscious than he could have imagined from his earlier voyeuristic vantage point.

Unfortunately, now that she was standing right in front of him, all he’d done so far was make her drop her coveted chili dog.

Smooth move, buddy.

Her obvious love of food was yet another thing about her that was just right. Not to mention how she didn’t simper all over the place to apologize for trashing his clothes with her meal. Any other women he had ever been with would have been in the middle of a crying fit right now.

Plus, he noted with some surprise, she was wearing one green tennis shoe and one red one. Somehow, he didn’t think it was a fashion statement. He just had a feeling it had slipped by her notice that morning. Could it be? A woman who didn’t spend every waking moment on clothes?

It was such a relief to meet a truly unique woman. He couldn’t let her slip through his fingers.

“Could I buy you a beer to make up for losing half your meal?”

“You want to go get a beer looking like this?” she asked him, gesturing to her filthy tshirt and jeans.

“Hey, at least we match.”

Laughing, she said, “I’d say you’ve definitely got more mustard going on than I do. But I guess we can go get a beer if you really want to.”

Brandon let out the breath he’d been holding. “Great,” he said, scanning his brain for the perfect place to get to know this perfect woman better. “There’s a great bar about a block from here.”

“Murphy’s?”

“You know it?”

Alexa nodded. “I put in some part-time hours there,” she told him and then added in reverent tones, “They have great onion rings.”

Brandon grinned, pleased by her unabashed enjoyment of greasy food. His last girlfriend had jumped from one diet to another. The zone diet, the grapefruit diet, the eat-only-green-foods diet. He had gotten an earful on all of them. He had never enjoyed one single meal out with her, as she picked through her food instead of eating it.

Yes indeed, this gorgeous brunette was just what he was looking for.

“Sounds like I’ll have to throw in a basket of onion rings too, won’t I?”

Alexa nodded and licked her lips. “Oh yes,” she said and then picked up her bag and started off towards the bar.

Could she possibly know the power she wielded with the two simple words, “Oh yes”?

* * *

Ten minutes later they walked into Murphy’s and Brandon felt like the luckiest guy in the world to be sharing a table with her. He was damn sure anyone else in the room would kill for the privilege, considering every guy from twenty-one to eighty had ogled her as she made her way past them.