but everyone knows an active woman is more appealing than an inactive one.”
“You see, Maggie? Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
“Yeah, that I’m not stupid enough to put ‘inactive.’”
“No. That other people are probably doing the same thing you are, giving answers they think the opposite sex wants to hear, instead of the truth.”
Maggie chewed her lip. Darla had a point. What if men were putting “advanced degree” when, in reality, the only thing they’d ever graduated from was juvenile hall to the state pen?
Grabbing the note with the chat room information on it, Maggie scratched out Twenties Love and wrote a big 3-0, then tacked it up on her wall so she wouldn’t forget. “Okay. We go with the Web. It’s no less safe, and it’s free, right?”
“Right.” Darla tossed her hair over her shoulder. “See you in virtual reality.”
HOW WOULD HE KNOW when she logged on?
Nick sat in front of his laptop computer, his dog’s muzzle on his leg, reading the comments of people already in the chat room and hoping he’d be able to recognize Maggie’s “voice” when he heard it. He’d logged on around seven-thirty, wanting to be there when she arrived, figuring that the timing of her appearance would somehow tip him off if nothing in her screen name or comments did. But it was after eight now, and he doubted she was anyone he’d met so far.
Was he in the wrong place? He glanced down at the note he’d snatched from Maggie’s cubicle. He had the right server.
Twenties Love had been covered by a numerical Thirty, but after scanning all the chat rooms, he decided it could only mean Thirties Love. So where were they?
They could have changed their minds about coming, but that didn’t seem likely. He’d heard Darla talking about the chat room in the parking lot after work—and so had anyone else within a block radius. Darla kept nothing secret. He smiled at the many comments the tall blonde had made about him, both good and bad, not realizing he was listening to every word. He wondered if she’d be embarrassed if she knew, then decided she wouldn’t bother with anything as inhibiting as embarrassment.
Maggie, on the other hand, would be mortified to learn he’d heard so much of their conversations. He knew he made her nervous, that she didn’t want anything to do with him. Her flat refusal to go out with him had told him that. But he couldn’t protect her and his cover as one of the Trib’s photographers unless he drew a little closer. So, with any luck, he was about to become her best friend—
Hey, Mntnbiker, you just lurking or what? You the shy type?
Dancegirl was talking to him. She’d been flirting with several of the men. She’d said she was from Washington, but Nick had no idea if she meant Washington state or Washington DC. At that point, he’d known she wasn’t Maggie and started skimming.
Just quiet, he wrote.
Dancegirl: Well, join the fun. Tell us, if you had to liken yourself to an animal, which one would you pick?
Two new names appeared on his screen, one right after the other, and Nick smiled. Zachman and Catlover could only be Maggie and Darla. Maggie had a son named Zach. His pictures covered her whole office. And no one was crazier about cats than Darla. He relaxed, knowing he’d found them, and answered Dancegirl.
Mntnbiker: I’d be a Rottweiler.
Dancegirl: A dog? Why?
Because it’s the first thing that came to my mind.
Mntnbiker: They’re smart and loyal and fierce in a fight.
He scratched behind his dog’s ears. Rambo opened his droopy eyes to acknowledge the touch, looking anything but fierce, then went back to dozing.
Mntnbiker: What about you?
Dancegirl: I’d be a horse.
Nick knew his next question was supposed to be why, but he wasn’t the least bit interested in Dancegirl. So he moved to edge out a guy named Pete 010, who was welcoming Maggie to the chat and trying to draw her into a conversation about skiing.
Mntnbiker: What about you, Zachman?
Zachman: I’m sorry. I’m new at this. What was the question?
Mntnbiker: If you had to liken yourself to an animal, which one would you choose?
Catlover: I’d be a Siamese cat.
Zachman: I suppose I’d be a mourning dove.
Pete 010: Why a mourning dove?
Catlover: Because they mate for life, right, Zachy? You’re so sentimental.
Mntnbiker: There’s nothing wrong with that.
Unless you were like him and had no plans to marry and settle down.
Zachman: Beats the heck out of being a lioness and having to do all the work.
Catlover: I kind of fancy a black widow myself.
Pete 010: Watch out, guys.
Catlover: Just joking. I’m a nice girl, I swear.
Redrocket: Okay, enough inane drivel about animals. It’s time to spice things up. Let’s rate our last lovers.
Pete 010: I’ve forgotten. It’s been too long since I’ve had one.
Nick chuckled to himself. Either Pete 010 was trying to garner sympathy, or he was just too honest for his own good.
Dancegirl: On a scale of 1–10, I’d give mine a 5. He was more interested in watching television than he was in me.
Catlover: Mine wasn’t so bad in bed, but he was hell on my long-distance bill.
Wondering what Maggie’s love life was like, Nick waited for her to comment. When she didn’t, he joined the conversation to keep it alive. He didn’t relish the idea of talking about Irene, or even thinking about her, for that matter—he hated the wave of guilt that engulfed him every time he did. But he answered honestly, anyway.
Mntnbiker: I thought I was in love with mine. That made the sex great.
Zachman: What happened?
Apparently he hadn’t been as in love as he’d thought. When their relationship progressed to the point where she started pressing him to marry her, he’d finally agreed, then bolted the day of the wedding. The reception had to be canceled, all the gifts returned. Irene hated him now, and he didn’t blame her. But neither did he regret his decision to call it off.
In the end, we weren’t right for each other, he typed, wanting to keep things vague. He certainly
