Petrosinsky, owner of four small restaurants called Chicken King that served fried chicken thirty-eight different ways, all of them very, very bad for you. He was locally famous for his commercials, where he pranced around dressed as a rooster wearing a crown. Poor Paulie was also featured in a fluffy yellow chick suit, wearing a crown—the Chicken Princess. Try getting out from under that title, especially in high school.
“Listen, Paulie. No one is out of your league. Go ahead, tell me.”
Paulina sighed gustily and drained her Genesee (first order of business: get her to drink something more feminine). “It’s Bryce Campbell.”
Oh. Okay, so that might be tough.
Bryce was gorgeous. Jake Gyllenhaal DEFCON 4–gorgeous. He got his share of tail, as Colleen knew all too well. Bryce was a regular. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but sweet. He had a certain charm, and women threw themselves at him all the time.
Lots of women.
“That’s fine,” Colleen said, realizing she hadn’t spoken for a moment. “Not a problem.”
Paulie gave her a despairing look.
“I’m serious. We can work with this. So, tell me more about you and Bryce.”
Paulie’s expression grew dreamy, the severe blush fading. “He volunteers at the animal shelter, you know?” Colleen nodded; Bryce had in fact helped her choose Rufus the Doofus. “And the animals, they all love him. I go in a lot. I, um...I’ve adopted two dogs and four cats in the past year.”
Colleen smiled. “That’s a lot. But go on.”
“And the other day, I was getting gas, and so was he, and I didn’t even plan that! He just smiled at me and said, ‘Hey, Paulie, how’s it going?’” She sighed at the memory of the magical words. “It was amazing. I mean, that smile, right?”
Yes. Bryce had a beautiful smile. That was true.
“He’s never in a bad mood,” Paulie went on. “Never has a bad thing to say about anyone. Not that I talk to him. Not much, anyway. But sometimes we lift weights at the same time, and...well, I try to talk to him. But my mind goes blank, and I never think of anything good to say. But last week? I had to walk past him, and I said ‘Excuse me,’ and he said, and I quote, ‘No problem.’ Colleen, he smelled so good.”
The woman had it bad.
“And when we were in high school, he never made fun of me.”
Colleen’s heart gave a squeeze. Paulie had a solid, athletic build and held the school record for the number of push-ups, beating even Jeremy Lyon, football god, a record that stood to this day. Her father’s business didn’t help her social status; he’d started out as a chicken farmer, and Paulie hadn’t grown up as comfortably as most of the kids in town, though not as poor as others. And then, when the Chicken King became so successful, well, that was different, too, and it was hard to be different at that age.
Though she was now the chief operating officer for the Chicken King franchises, Colleen had never seen Paulie out of gym clothes, and she always seemed on the fringe of things, as nice and smart as she was.
With a pang, Colleen realized Paulie reminded her of Savannah, her nine-year-old half sister.
“You know what? Let’s forget about it, okay? I’m sorry,” Paulie said now.
“Absolutely not,” Colleen said. “He’d be lucky to have you. I’m serious. You’re great, you have so many nice qualities...it’s not gonna be that hard, Paulie. What have your other relationships been like?”
“Um...I...I’ve never had another relationship.”
“That’s fine. So, no experience with men?”
“I’m a virgin,” she said.
“No worries. Nothing wrong with saving yourself for true love.” Colleen herself had, after all. Not that hers was an exemplary story.
“It’s more like no one’s ever asked me.”
Oh! Poor lamb! “Not a problem.”
“He’d probably rather go out with you,” Paulie said.
“Oh, please,” Colleen said with a flinch. “Bryce? No. We’re not... He’s a sweetheart, but not my type. But you guys...you’d be great together.”
Paulie’s face lit up. “Really? You think so? Honest? I’ll do whatever you say. You think I have a shot?”
“Absolutely.”
Connor was back. “Dad called. Wants you to babysit. Apparently, Gail needs a break.”
Ah. Gail Chianese O’Rourke, their stepmother, four years their senior, not so lovingly known as Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke.
“A break from what?” Colleen asked. “From spa appointments? From shopping? A break from having breaks?”
“I don’t know. Ask him to call you on your cell next time. Hey, Paulie, anything else for you?”
“Uh, I’m good, thanks,” she said, shifting to take a ten from her pocket.
“On the house,” Connor and Colleen said in unison.
“Thanks.” She stood, tripped a little over the chair; Con grabbed her arm and Paulie flushed again. “Well. Thanks, Coll. You rock.” With that, she headed out into the beautiful spring night.
“I’m fixing her up,” Colleen said.
“Oh, God,” Connor muttered.
“What? You have something against true love?”
“Do you have to ask?”
The bar was emptying; the sidewalks, few that there were, tended to roll up early in Manningsport. Connor sat down with her. The only folks left were on the volunteer fire department, who felt that O’Rourke’s was their home away from home.
“Con, you think Mom and Dad screwed us up forever? I mean, neither one of us has a significant other.”
Connor shrugged. He hated talking about their parents.
“You should go out with someone. Jessica Dunn, maybe. Or Julianne from the library. Or I could fix you up.”
“I’d rather hang myself, but thanks.”
“If you do, can I have your car?” She gave him a look. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He grimaced, but hey, the twin telepathy was alive and well. “Don’t have kittens, okay? But actually, I’m seeing someone.”
“What? Since when? Who?”
“No kittens, Colleen.”
“Well, you’re my twin, my family, my coworker! We share a house!”
“Another
