three is definitely this girl’s limit. Anyway. I’m trying to make a point, here—no, there’s nobody in my life right now. By choice. Because if you ask me, it’s all far more trouble than it’s worth. Which is why I’m turnin’ down your invitation. For tonight or any other time. Because you are sweet and there’s no use pretending we’re not attracted to each other, but some things just aren’t meant to be.”
She nodded toward the boxes. “Your pizza’s gettin’ cold, sugar,” she said, then spun around, this time making it all the way across his yard.
Troy stared after her for several seconds as it all came flooding back. The part about how much it sucked to get rejected. Even when the woman wasn’t someone you really wanted to get tangled up with, anyway.
He went inside, slamming the door shut with his foot, and called the boys to dinner.
“What’s his name again?”
“Troy Lindquist,” Karleen tossed in the direction of the speakerphone while she pedaled her butt off on her exercise bike. It had been two days since Troy and his Tiny Tots had moved in next door. Two days since Karleen had walked away from an invitation that she’d known full well had included a lot more than pizza, Troy’s insistence otherwise notwithstanding.
Two days since she’d answered her doorbell to find a plastic-wrapped Chinet plate on her doorstep, heaped with two slices of pizza—one cheese, one supreme—a bread-stick and salad. And taped to the top, a note:
It’ll only go to waste. Enjoy. T.
And in those two days, she’d put in enough miles on this bike to give Lance Armstrong a run for his money. If nothing else, she was gonna have thighs you could bounce a rock off.
Slightly crackly, fuzzy clicking filled the room as Joanna tapped away at her computer keyboard, the rhythmic sound occasionally punctuated by her dog Chester’s barking, the occasional squawk, scream or “Mo-om!” from one of her four kids. Clearly ignoring them all, Joanna said, “Huh.”
“Huh, what?” Karleen said, panting and daubing sweat from her neck and chest with the towel around her neck. Of course, she could have Googled the guy herself, but Joanna beat her to it.
“Blond, you said? Late thirties? Blindingly gorgeous?”
“That would be him. Why? You find something?”
“Well,” Jo’s voice croaked over the speaker, “there’s a photo of some blond hottie named Troy Lindquist, with a dark-haired hottie named Blake Carter—”
“Yes! He was there, too!”
“Yeesh, I’m surprised your retinas didn’t melt. Anyway, there’s a caption under the photo—oh, for God’s sake, Matt, let the baby have the ball, already! And put the dog back outside, his feet are all muddy!—about their company. Ain’t It Sweet.”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
“No, Ain’t It Sweet. The frozen desserts people?”
Karleen stopped pedaling, her heart beating so hard she could hardly hear herself talk. “As in, The Devil Made Me Do It Fudge Cake?”
“The very same.”
“Troy owns it?”
“Apparently so. Well, he and this Blake person are partners. It says here…” Karleen waited while Joanna apparently scrolled. “They recently moved their headquarters from Denver to Albuquerque…. Main ice-cream plant still in Denver…holy moly.”
“What?”
“‘Analysts say, with its steadily increasing sales figures and healthy profit margins, as well as a huge projected franchise growth within the next three to five years, Ain’t It Sweet is poised to bolster its North American market share by as much as fifty percent, with plans to increase its overseas distribution in the works. Already, this upstart company is routinely among the top five high-quality frozen confections brands Americans name when polled in market surveys.’”
“It sure as hell’s the brand I think of when I think of…whatever you said.”
“Yeah,” Jo said. “Me, too. Their Yo-Ho-Ho Mocha Rum Truffle cheesecake…”
“Oh! And their Everlasting Latte Cinnamon Swirl sorbet…”
Stupid names. Fabulous stuff. Holy moly was right.
“Hot and filthy rich,” Joanna cackled. “And single, you say?”
“Don’t go there.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You, on the other hand, have an unattached, lonely, rich hottie living on the other side of your west wall. A single, lonely, rich hottie with a direct link to the best ice cream in the entire freaking world.”
Rolling her eyes, Karleen climbed off the bike and grabbed the phone from its stand, walking out to her kitchen for some water. “Why do you assume he’s lonely?”
“I can see it in his eyes in the photo.” Which, coming from anybody else, would have sounded weird as hell. But Jo was like that. And besides, much as it pained Karleen to admit it, she’d seen it, too. Up close and personal. “For God’s sake, Karleen, pay attention! Ice cream! Sex! Money! Ice cream!”
She had to laugh. “I got it, Jo. I’m not interested.”
“Are you insane? I’m interested, and if I were any more happily married my brain would explode. Maybe you better check your pulse, make sure you’re still alive.”
Karleen released a long, weary breath. “And you do know you are beating a very dead horse, right?”
After a pause, Jo said, “You never used to be like this.”
“I think that’s the point, honey,” she said softly. “And yes, I’m very aware of how attractive he is. And nice. And he’s got two adorable little boys. But his expression when he first saw me far outweighed whatever hormones were playing dodgeball between us—”
“There were hormones playing dodgeball?” Jo said on a squeak, and Karleen rolled her eyes.
“Jo. Even if I was thinking about followin’ through, these lashes do not flutter at someone who looks at me the way Troy Lindquist did. You could practically see the ‘trailer trash’ lightbulb go on over his head.”
“Karleen. Blond hair and a Texas accent do not trailer trash make.”
“The boob job comes pretty damn close.”
“Then half of L.A.’s trailer trash, too. And would you stop beating yourself up over that? You were thrilled when Nate gave them to you for your birthday.”
“Uh-huh. Until I realized what’s gonna happen at some point when they’ll have to come out and I’m gonna end up with a pair of deflated balloons on my chest. I’ll be regretting them for the rest of my life. Just like my marriages.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Jo said in a voice Karleen had heard far too often
