“This can work. I know it.”
“Thanks but no thanks,” she murmured, giving Callie a weary smile. “Though I do appreciate everything you and Babe did.” Remembering one particular part of her makeover—a visit to a woman’s salon earlier today—her smile faded, dissolving into a shudder. “Except the, uh, painful waxing. I will get even some day for this afternoon’s experience.”
Callie bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back a grin. “Janie, honey, I didn’t suggest that thorough a wax job.”
“Yeah, well, I wish you had been a little more clear with that Brazilian woman before you let her drag me back into the torture chamber. She could give tips to the mob on making people talk.” Janie shifted in her seat, still not entirely accustomed to the feel of her, um, bareness. There wasn’t much left down there, other than what her torturer had referred to as a “landing strip.” It felt strange against the skimpy-to-the-point-of-nothingness panties she was wearing.
“I hear some women get off on just the process of having it done,” Callie said with a shrug.
Oh, right. How arousing…having her hair ripped out by the roots while being fingered pretty damned intimately by another woman. “Look, I don’t think Angelina Jolie could convince me to swing to the dark side sexually, so I’m quite sure a three-hundred-pound Brazilian woman named Consuela couldn’t.”
Callie snorted.
Finishing her wine, Janie pushed her chair back from the table. “Thanks again for everything. But I think I’ll go and turn back into my real self before I change into a pumpkin.”
No, it wasn’t midnight. But it didn’t matter. As much as Callie and Babe had played fairy godmothers, Janie hadn’t ended up with the handsome Prince Charming. She wasn’t Cinderella.
She was still Just Janie. And despite her best efforts, still very vanilla.
* * *
UNFORTUNATELY, his dinner in the bar did not do a damn thing to eradicate Riley’s hunger. Physical…or sexual. It didn’t change a thing. By the time he finished his burger, an hour after he’d left Diamond, he’d decided he was a total moron. He’d let his unexpected reaction to a woman drive him out of his favorite restaurant, away from a juicy steak that had most likely turned into a congealed, artery-hardening mess by now. “Asshole,” he muttered before he paid his tab and left.
It had been a long time since a woman had so disconcerted him…had left him questioning his decisions. Ever since his first sexual experience back in high school, he’d never questioned his choice to accept or decline an opportunity. So why couldn’t he stop thinking he’d made a mistake this time?
For half a second, while passing the entrance to the restaurant, he considered stepping inside to see if the brunette was the kind who liked to linger over a long dessert and coffee.
Chocolate and raspberries.
But he thrust the idea away. He’d look ten kinds of fool. Besides, she’d been pretty set on leaving with someone and he didn’t particularly want to see who she’d chosen in his place.
Having been invited by Callie Andrews to park in the alley out back to avoid some of the more persistent Slammers fans—or critics, given their recent six losses in a row—Riley headed down a quiet rear hallway. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he couldn’t help wondering how his night might have ended up if he hadn’t grown something of a sexual conscience.
He was so focused on the slew of delightful possibilities flashing through his brain that he almost didn’t notice the crash. But it was followed by a loud, feminine scream.
Hell, that shriek could startle a man out of contemplation of a Penthouse centerfold, so it certainly interrupted his own rather mild visualizations. “What now?” he mumbled, turning around. No one was in the hall behind him, but he had just passed a door marked Round The Bases: Deliveries. Pulling it open and sticking his head in, he said, “Hello? Everybody okay?”
No response.
Probably the noise had come from the restaurant, but just in case someone was hurt, he stepped inside what appeared to be a stockroom. Shelves laden with jerseys, Slammers caps, coozies, pennants and seat cushions surrounded him. And right in the middle of it, covering the floor, was a mountain of big yellow foam hands with index fingers sticking up.
He saw the hands, which proclaimed Slammers Are #1, during every game. But he’d never seen them moving by themselves, undulating on the floor like a big yellow serpent.
Suddenly a head popped out of the pile, and he realized it wasn’t the hands moving. It was the woman beneath them.
At least, he assumed it was a woman. Since he could only see the back of a thick head of dark hair, he couldn’t be sure. But given the shapely figure outlined by a tight pink T-shirt and jeans that worked its way out from beneath the yellow mountain, he figured he was right. That was confirmed when a feminine voice muttered a very foul word. He bit his lip to hold back a laugh.
“Slimy salesman. Oh, sure, we needed a thousand of these things,” she said as she sent a bunch of the hands flying in all directions. “I’ll tell you where you can shove your dumb…”
Clearing his throat and raising his voice, he said, “Hello?”
The woman immediately jerked her head around to stare at him. Which was the exact moment he recognized her.
“You,” he whispered, completely shocked. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it definitely had not been this. Because the cursing, dusty little jeans-wearing package was the same dark-eyed angel he’d seen an hour ago sitting four tables away.
Riley smiled. Things were suddenly looking up. Fate, aided by a box full of foam hands, had given him a second chance. And maybe now he would go ahead and act on his devil-red hunger for the woman who’d been wearing the devil-red dress.
SMILING, Riley watched the flustered woman analyze his presence. She, of course, recognized him, too. He hadn’t changed his entire persona in the hour since he’d left Diamond.
While they stared at one another, those big eyes of hers reached saucer diameter. “What…?”
“I heard a scream,” he explained, raising his hands, palms out, so she wouldn’t feel threatened. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I’m fine, thanks.” Frowning at the mess, she added, “My stock attacked me.”
“Kinda gives new perspective to the idea of roving hands.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve known guys who seemed to have more appendages than an octopus before, but this was a bit extreme.”
Lips twitching, he stepped closer. Though tempted to ask her if she needed a hand, he modified his offer. “Need some help?”
“Thanks for not asking me the obvious.”
“Busted,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “I almost did.”
“I
