Think Before You Speak (18 page)

“It’s a gift,” I responded with a smiling
chaser.

“I’ll say.”

“Have to admit though, you were the hardest
to determine.”

Radioman leaned forward and traced his
fingers across my hand with a whisper. “Hardest, huh?”

I released the salad fork and gulped the last
vestiges of wine to cover the shiver creeping up my arm. And had to
work hard to quell the naughty thoughts that one particular word
triggered. Er, fast. Uh – oh, forget it.

“I couldn’t decide between radio and
television,” I admitted.

“What was the tie-breaker?” Radioman asked as
his fingers trailed along my forearm like a promise of things to
come.

Hardest? Fast? Come? I think the
foot-in-mouth disease that regularly plagued me had progressed to
full-blown thoughts-in-brain lesions. My nether regions quivered
while my gray matter rotted.

“Um…,” I stuttered. “It was your hair.”

“My hair?” he responded with surprise,
running fingers along his temple like I wanted to do.

“And your voice.”

Confusion furrowed his brow. “Oka-a-ay.”

I pulled my hand away and picked up the empty
glass. So I opted for water instead before trudging forward.

“Your hair had a deep indention in
it…unnatural, as if you wore headphones all the time.”

He acknowledged my observation with a head
tilt.

I continued. “But your voice was smooth and
sultry. Familiar. Rather made for television, if I might add. But
television personalities don’t wear headphones on the air. They
wear earwigs.”

Understanding dawned with a twinkle in his
eyes and a growing smile. “Nice deductive reasoning.”

“Like I said,” I conceded with a shrug. “It’s
a gift.”

“Which brings me back to my original
question. Why is an intelligent woman tending bar?”

Didn’t I just have this conversation with
someone recently? Oh yeah – my ex-boyfriend. “I needed a job?”

“Don’t we all,” Radioman returned. “What
else?”

“After graduating from college, I’d moved out
of my parents place into my boyfr…uh, in with a guy I was seeing at
the time.”

The waiter arrived with mouth-watering pizza,
which sent us tilting toward that particular windmill for a bite or
two. But Radioman’s piqued curiosity was far from quenched.

“What’s your degree?” he asked.

“A general bachelor’s in business
management.”

“Which opens a wide range of daytime
possibilities.”

“I’m kinda a night owl though.”

“Me too.”

His grin sent a dribble of grease down his
chin, which I mopped up with a slow wipe of my napkin instead of
what I wanted to use right then – my tongue. The deepening of his
gaze and the catch of his breath made me realize he’d have liked
use of that organ too.

What was the societal accepted number of
dates before having sex? Three? Two? Maybe we could count all of
the visits to the bar as dates. Or foreplay. If I had to wait
another week for the Cowboys preseason opener for date number two,
I’d rather consider myself socially unacceptable.

Yeah, yeah – don’t remind me of the whole
Nick debacle. What we’d had couldn’t actually be called
dating
. I was trying to turn over a new leaf here – and this
time
not
in the style of Adam and Eve.

Work with me, folks.

Radioman cleared his throat. “So a degree in
business…doesn’t that translate into several different types of
corporate careers?”

Or slaving away for one’s father. “It took
all of two seconds for me to realize I wasn’t cut out for the
corporate world.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind my
asking?”

I chewed pizza while weighing my words
carefully. “Let’s just say my dad had made plans for my career
without asking for my input.”

“Ah, didn’t want to go into the family
business?”

The pizza wedge almost stuck in my throat.
“You know about my family’s business?”

“Not per se, but isn’t that usually the case
when parents plan their children’s lives? Expect them to run the
family business someday?”

I calmed after guzzling half of the fresh
glass of wine in one sip. “I suppose you’re right. Is that how you
ended up in radio? Daddy own the station?”

He laughed. “Hardly. My father had designs on
me achieving his position, not something as
lowly
as a radio
personality.”

“Doctor?” Yeah, I’d volunteer to let him
examine me.

“Nah, lawyer,” Radioman said before draining
half his glass. “Wanted me to become the managing partner in his
firm someday.”

“A family legacy of lawyers, huh?” Which
meant he’d come from money too. Which meant his dad might know my
dad.

“Now it’s up to either my younger brother or
sister.”

“Oldest child breaks the cycle. Why Mr.
Radioman, you have successfully surprised me tonight.”

He leaned forward, his eyelids at half-mast.
“I’m full of surprises.”

Check please?
I wanted to yell, but
somehow restrained myself. “So I take it that’s how you and Seth
became friends.”

Radioman nodded. “Roommates freshman year. We
were both on the poly-sci undergrad track until I took a mass comm
class just for fun my sophomore year. Required to spend at least
one hour a week hosting the college’s radio show. After that I was
hooked, and took every available timeslot the remainder of the
semester before changing my major.”

“And the rest, as they say, was history,” I
interjected.

“Something like that. Created a few hard
feelings with my dad for awhile, but things have settled.”

“Wish I could say the same,” I muttered. No
need to devolve into self-pity. Besides, I had another itch I
wanted to scratch tonight – no matter how badly Grady would kill
me. “So then how did you and Seth bump into the third musketeer?
Don’t tell me Banker Boy was also pre-law.”

For a second, I just knew I was gonna get
sprayed with a mouthful of wine. But unlike me, Radioman had some
self-control – and manners. He swallowed the drink with a cough
before addressing me. “Banker Boy? That’s the best you could come
up with for Doug?”

The guy’s name was Doug? That brought on a
whole slew of other moniker possibilities like Doofus Doug, Nickel
and Dime Doug, Doughboy Doug – wait, that was perfect.

“Doug?” I finally asked, leaving off the
Doughboy part.

“It’s a family name, I think,” Radioman said.
“Short for Douglas.”

Or maybe Druggie Doug. The guy did sweat a
lot – kinda like a certain detective I knew. But I think in
Duncan’s case, it was more due to a glandular condition – or from
eating too many donuts.

“So how then did you and Seth end up friends
with Doug?” I prodded.

“Fraternity drinking games,” he offered.
“Doug and Seth were almost always the last two standing in the
rivalry between our houses.”

Reminded me of the alcohol X-games at
Grady’s, another continuation of the college party scene for
adults. “I never pictured you for a frat boy.”

He waved off my concern. “Only my first two
years, and only because of my father’s wishes. I dropped the
association when I changed majors.”

“But you kept the friends.”

Radioman contemplated my statement with a
tilt of his head as he signaled the waiter for a refill. “Actually
Seth’s my friend in the triangle. He and Doug became friends after
I left the Greek system. So I guess you could say Doug’s the third
wheel when it comes to my friendship with Seth.”

“You’re not close with Doug then,” I said,
poking the subject a little more.

“Nope. Never have been, and never will
be.”

Hmm. Me thinks there might be something a
little more juicy in that statement, but I was done with prodding
and poking around the periphery of friendships. With that
pronouncement, I figured Grady could rest easy about my involvement
with Radioman. Undercover dating just wasn’t my style. I was more
the straightforward and out-in-the-open type when it came to
relationships – except when it came to that special time of
under-
the
-covers.

“So what kind of business does your family
have?” Radioman asked, returning to more comfortable topics – for
him, at least. “Real estate? Law firm? Evil oilman?” Eyes narrowed
as he smirked.

“If you only knew,” I mumbled.

“I know,” he said, rattling the table with a
slap. “Private detectives.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“You know…after your little tryst with that
guy earlier this summer?”

“Zeke?” I sputtered.

“I thought his name was Bud,” Radioman
returned with a frown.

“Bud?”

“The guy you worked with who killed that
pregnant woman.”

“Oh, right…Bud. Sure. I get it.”

“So the family business...some PI firm?”

“Nah, nothing like that. My dad’s just your
average, everyday, small businessman.”

I may be short on virtues, but at least I was
honest. Mostly. With my vague businessman reference, the family
background remained a nice, safe little secret – chained and
anchored like a mob hit to the dark recesses of the depths of my
life.

Now the PI firm quip? Previous investigative
entanglements hadn’t gone over well with any of the other men in my
life, so I saw no reason to muddy the waters with the new man in my
life. I determined it best to conceal and keep the amateur
investigator issue to myself.

Anyway, who needed a PI license when you were
simply assisting a friend? Okay, two friends. After all, this was
Texas, where a license to carry was anything
but
concealed.

***

A guy who uses his lips all day on the radio
could sure kiss. You know, after all of that mandible muscle
exercise to communicate to the world – or at least all of Dallas.
The way the heat enveloped us, I half expected the cool walls of
the apartment hallway to drip with perspiration. Or maybe just the
area where my bare back pressed against it.

The nightcap had barely started when Radioman
tugged full lips away and leaned his forehead against mine. “If I
don’t leave now, I might never.”

My nether regions kicked into full bloom with
his words. “I wouldn’t mind,” I said as I pressed my lips to his
again and fumbled for the apartment doorknob.

Warmth trailed down my neck and to my ear.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“Chivalry is vastly overrated,” I whispered
and succeeded in blindly popping open the door.

Before I dragged him inside, Radioman pressed
his hands against the doorframe with a groan. “What about the game
next Sunday?”

My sexually charged brain got stuck between a
rock and a hard, hard, hard place. On the one hand, he was asking
for a second date which meant he wanted to see me again. On the
other hand, he didn’t want to see all of me. Right now. In my
apartment. In ways that only passion could satisfy.

I traced his cheek with my finger. “I’m not
sure if I should feel flattered or frustrated right about now.”

“If you’re feeling anything like I am,”
Radioman muttered, “I’d say we’re both a bit frustrated.”

“Then come inside,” I said grabbing a
hand.

Eyes full of desire conflicted with his
body’s lack of movement. He didn’t stir from the doorway, his arms
remaining stiff – er, uh, immobile.

“I want more than just a roll in bed with
you, Vicki.”

“Well you’re in luck, because I don’t have a
bed.”

Confusion interrupted the heated gaze of
desire. “No bed? You sleeping on the floor or something?”

“Just mattresses,” I confirmed. “Until the
bedroom set gets delivered.”

Observation swept past me to take in my
apartment. “Recent remodel?”

“Something like that.”

“You must make good tips.”

“It was sorta a gift from my mom,” I
admitted.

“Wow.” He whistled in appreciation. Radioman
apparently had an eye for details – and expensive taste. “Some
gift.”

“Yeah. Long story though.”

He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead
without letting go of the doorframe. “Tell me all about it next
Sunday.”

With that he was gone, taking the unrequited
wind right out of my…

Aw, forget it.

Being awakened by an early morning phone call
after tossing and turning all night with fevered dreams of what
didn’t
transpire with my date never started the day off on
my good side. The moment I cleared the grit from my eyes, Slinky
shoved his mug in my face with a caterwaul from Hell.

I’m not sure which was worse – the constant
drone of my phone or my hungry and demanding kitty.

“Hello,” I barked into the phone.

Reggie’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Good morning,
mein liebchen
. A better day is on the horizon
for you, no?”

Before I verbally abused my friend, Mom’s
little reminder flitted past my fogged brain –
a lady never
loses her temper
. Good thing I no longer considered myself a
lady.

“You better have a good reason for calling me
at…” I glanced at the glowing clock readout. “Eight AM? What the
hell, Reggie?” I growled.

“Ah yes, the perpetual night owl. But Reggie
always has good reasons for his calls,” he quipped in that high
pitched voice that made dogs howl.

Just call me Fido.

“Thirty seconds, Reggie, and then I pull the
plug.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Did Reggie interrupt an
early-morning rendezvous?”

I could just picture the wagging caterpillar
eyebrows on his dark face. But now I was dreaming of a certain
well-exercised mouth placed just about… “You’re down to twenty-five
seconds.”

“Remind me never to call you before ten.”

“Twenty seconds.”

“You’ll never guess what this morning has
wrought.”

“Reggie!”

“A little birdie arrived to let me know your
bedroom furniture has shipped,” he practically squealed.