a few minutes, but then it started to bother him. He thought of what’s-her-name’s comment about his not having a pet. She was right. If he hadn’t made time for a relationship, then how could he make time for a pet?
Most men his age had wives and children. Marc just never felt as if he’d found the right woman at the right time. Sure, he’d been involved, but either the woman hadn’t been right or the time hadn’t been right.
It had gotten old coming home to an empty house, so he’d put together a plan, he reminded himself. No luck four months into it, but he was confident.
His doorbell rang, followed by a quick knock and yell. “Marco! Open up. I’ve got a live one.”
Marc laughed darkly at the sound of his favorite sixteenth cousin and best friend’s voice as he opened the door. “Do you have to announce it to the entire neighborhood?”
Gino, three years older than Marc with a wife and three sons, looked offended. “What? Live one could mean anything—fish, business proposition.” He lowered his voice. “In this case it’s wife material.”
Gino gave Marc a bear hug. “I even have a photo. Give me a beer. I have to make this quick. Sonja is warming up the bed for me if you know what I mean,” he said with a wink.
“Don’t remind me of what I’m not getting,” Marc muttered, taking another swig of his beer. Four months ago he’d made a decision that it was time for him to get married. Getting sex hadn’t been an issue for him. In fact, it had been too easy. Finding a woman he wanted to stay with for more than two nights—that was the problem.
Gino had told Marc that he needed a different kind of woman, a less ambitious woman, a woman who wanted a home and husband instead of a world-changing career. So Marc set up a strategy, which he’d put in writing, to find a wife. Gino had put himself in charge of supplying him with dates. In order to give himself a sense of urgency to fulfill the quest within a year or less, he’d decided to remain celibate until he found “the one.”
Gino had insisted that Marc be required to date each woman twice before eliminating her. Marc also had a goal of dating a minimum of once per week, which he hadn’t always met due to travel and personal emergencies with his grandfather.
No sex for four months. He was getting to the place where he couldn’t watch razor commercials for women without getting a hard-on.
“Who’s Miss Wonderful?” he asked, pulling the manila envelope from Gino’s hand while his friend grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“She’s blond and beautiful, a former Miss Brunswick County.”
Marc slid his friend a sideways glance. “A beauty pageant winner,” he echoed, looking at a photo of a busty blonde. He had to admit she wasn’t hard on the eyes.
“A county pageant winner with a double bachelor’s degree in history and psychology.”
Marc shook his head. “No shrinks allowed. I don’t want a shrink.”
“It’s just a bachelor’s degree. You’re not thinking this all the way through. She didn’t major in engineering or accounting or premed. Besides, you didn’t hear what her future goals are.”
“And they are?” he asked skeptically.
“To make the world a better place by being the best wife and mother she can be.”
Marc sank into the vision of receiving a full body massage from a busty blonde intent on carrying out her wifely duties to the best of her ability. Ooohhh, baby, yes, a little lower… He felt himself harden. Sighing, he took another swig of Corona. “What was her talent?”
Gino smiled wickedly. “Gymnastics.”
Marc swallowed a groan. What could be better than a blonde intent on serving him with trick sex? “Is she available this week?”
“Name the day.”
Gino stayed a few more minutes before he went home to take care of Sonja humming under the covers. Marc thought of Gino’s three screaming little bratty boys and felt a weird hollow sensation in his gut. He rubbed at his stomach, but it didn’t go away. Frowning, he turned toward the fruit bowl and grabbed an apple.
Just one more weird feeling after a crazy day, he told himself, taking another drink. He was fine with his life. He had a condo others coveted. Hell, he lived in the same gated community as Elton John and Whitney Houston if you gave a rip about that kind of thing. He had a job and salary that made others green with envy. He had it all without messes or clutter. If one didn’t count his responsibilities with his grandfather.
He picked up the remote and turned on his television. The sound of the Braves game instantly filled the room assuaging his strange mood. Sinking onto his brown leather sofa, he opened his notebook computer and did what he did every night. He looked at his schedule for the following day and made a plan of action for each meeting, each appointment, each phone call. Marc was known for making a plan of action for everything. He was rarely caught off guard and when he was, his discipline for planning a strategy always, always got him through.
JENNY CLIMBED THE STEPS to her second-floor sublet apartment while juggling two bags of groceries. She pushed the key into the lock, which turned out to be unnecessary.
“Stella?” Jenny called as she opened the door.
A seven-year-old girl, the daughter of Jenny’s neighbor, rounded the corner from the bedroom holding a cat. “Hi, Jenny.”
“Hi, to you, sweet pea. How’s Romeo?” she asked, speaking of the cat who wasn’t really Jenny’s. He had just sort of shown up at her front door one day with one eye missing, his ribs sticking through his fur and enough fleas to take over the world.
“He wanted a hug,” Stella said.
Jenny’s heart twisted. Stella was the one who probably wanted a hug. The little girl reminded Jenny of herself at that age. She wore a lost expression except when she was drawing pictures or making a craft project. Stella’s mom had arranged for after-school care with another neighbor, but when Stella got bored she went to Jenny’s apartment to play with Romeo.
“Well, he’s lucky to be getting hugs from little Miss Magic,” Jenny said, giving Stella a squeeze and scratching Romeo behind the ears.
Stella beamed at the mention of the nickname. Jenny had told Stella that her smiles were magic.
“Did your mom have to work late again?” Jenny asked. Taking in Stella’s nod, she asked, “Cookies or SpaghettiOs?”
“Both?” Stella said hopefully.
Jenny smiled. “What’d you have for lunch today?”
Stella wrinkled her nose. “Gross meat loaf.”
That explained the hunger. “How about if we eat the cookies while you do your homework?”
“Okay,” Stella said.
Forty-five minutes later, after they’d consumed the SpaghettiOs, Jenny helped Stella with her story problems as both of them munched on warm chocolate chip cookies. Jenny barely resisted rolling her eyes at the story problems. She’d hated them as a kid and she
