Waiting for a Girl Like You Read online

  “Got this all planned out, do you?” A summer fling wouldn’t be a hardship, and this Alex girl wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. If he did it right, they could part as friends at the end. Unlike Jason who tried to have a fling and ended up married to the girl. Not that Cassie was a disaster. Cassie was probably the luckiest thing that had happened to the band since Candy made friends with Ronnie Bauer’s son, but Marc didn’t plan to get married again anytime soon. Not until he got this Desiree thing taken care of, and that might require a hit man.

  “Yes, we do. Right now, she’s staying with Angela and Finn in that thimble Finn calls a house. We think you should invite her to stay in the guest cottage on the mountain.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Cassie to do that?”

  Paul flushed and turned away.

  That was telling. Cassie had promised the house to Marc for the summer so he could play recluse if he wanted and still have adulation in easy reach. She wouldn’t want to inflict some woman on him without permission. Paul and Ida wouldn’t think twice, and they wouldn’t stop until they succeeded. They played a long game.

  “Just give her a try.” Paul stood up. “Don’t tell her it was a set up. She’s even more prickly than you are.”

  “And if she’s not interested?”

  “Then I guess you are not all you’re cracked up to be, sugar.” Paul patted his cheek and walked away.

  Paul was spending way too much time with Ida.

  * * * *

  “How was it tonight?” Angela asked before Alex crossed the threshold. She and Finn were sitting on the couch watching television like good, normal people. Since it was after nine, John-John must have been in bed.

  Alex had not paused in her route across the living room toward the hall. Finn’s weird OCD routines freaked her out, and she really needed to spend some quality time on her own mental health before she could deal with someone else’s. Besides, she had to be invading their space. They were being very generous letting her stay, and she didn’t want to be any more of a burden than necessary. “Pretty good. My purse weighs a ton so I’m going to be up late rolling coins.”

  “No! Marc! Did you meet Marc?” Angela leaped off the couch and bounded across the room like a soap bubble caught in a draft. “Ida said he was coming to town today and he eats at the diner every night when he’s here.”

  Alex hurried down the hall like demons were pursuing her instead of her cousin. Everybody in town must be hung up on this guy. Cute. Okay, smoldering, but those were everywhere. “I guess so. Ida put me outside at the end of my shift, and I’m pretty sure it was just so I could wait on this Marc guy at table ten.” She dropped her purse on the dresser in the guest room. It clinked and jingled as the coins inside rearranged themselves.

  “Skinny? Dark hair? He’s so cute, isn’t he? And so nice. I never thought famous people would be so nice, but everybody in Jason’s band are so nice.” Angela flushed.

  Alex wasn’t sure if the flush was caused by her excitement or her grammatical error. No, it had to be the excitement. Which begged the question, why was she so excited about table ten? “What band?”

  “Touchstone.”

  “Touchstone? Did they do that song ‘Lucky Charmer’?”

  “Yes.” Angela nodded so fast that Alex expected her fillings to jingle as much as the coins in Alex’s purse. “We told Cassie about you, and she agreed he would like you, and since you were going to be here waiting tables, and he was going to be here vacationing, it was perfect.”

  What was perfect?

  “Cassie is always right about these things. She was right about me and Finn.”

  That was what was perfect. The entire town was conspiring to push her into the arms of this rock star. Alex drew a deep breath. If the entire town thought she should make a play for this not-so-bad-boy, she couldn’t disappoint them. He was mighty nice to look at and, no doubt, better to touch. Plus, he had an added acceptability factor. Angela wouldn’t be pushing her toward a married man. After being evasive about whom she was dating for the past three years, Alex needed a boyfriend her parents could meet. The fact that Marc was good looking and successful was a bonus. It wasn’t all Dirty Dancing and “nobody puts Baby in the corner.” And what was the worst that could happen? He wouldn’t like her? Not everybody was going to like her according to the self-help books she’d been reading. All part of the journey.

  She wouldn’t mind if he liked her. That crack about the sucker bank and that he really wanted to know how she was upped his attractiveness by a factor of ten.

  “I’ll talk to him and see what happens.”

  “Yay!” Angela grabbed her in a typically overenthusiastic hug. “I have big news, too.”

  Alex shifted, testing her ribs as Angela released her. She hoped to get through the summer without broken bones, but she wouldn’t bet on it. “Oh?”

  “Finn says it’s time for us to try for a little baby brother or sister for John-John.” Angela blushed.

  Once upon a time Alex had been that naive. Blushing at the thought of sex. Smiling when talking about her beloved. Believing that the one she loved wanted the best for her. Not that Finn didn’t want the best for Angela. At least the best that was in his comfort zone to give. From the outside, their marriage looked a little automated and dull. Because she was the best judge of a solid relationship, after all.

  “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

  “He doesn’t like to—you know—do it when you’re in the house, though.” Angela blushed a deeper shade of crimson.

  So far as Alex had been able to determine, Finn didn’t like to do anything when she was in the house except sit on the couch and watch TV. Sometimes he would eat, but only at the prescribed meal times. She couldn’t even recall him going to the bathroom when she was in the house. The poor man was going to end up with the world’s worst case of constipation by the end of the summer. “No problem. I close a couple days a week, anyway. I’ll just stay out extra late.”

  Angela sighed so heavily that Alex thought she might run out of oxygen and faint. “I knew you would understand. He makes me so happy. I hope you’re as happy with Marc as I am with Finn.”

  Yes, because Marc was going to fall in love with her and sweep her away from all this. The Rock Star and the Waitress. It was like the plot of a penny dreadful, emphasis on dreadful. It couldn’t hurt to try. Alex smiled. “Maybe.”

  Angela hugged her again, this time without causing Alex’s ribs to creak, then hurried out to rejoin Old Reliable watching the never-ending parade of sitcoms and police procedural dramas.

  Alex leaned back against the headboard for the best view of the door and the sliver of hall beyond. Maybe that was real love. The stable, permanent kind. All her life she’d been pursuing the sparks-flying, big band passion. What if it was just meatloaf on Monday and CSI on Tuesday with tongue A inserted into slot B every Saturday night? Or was CSI on Wednesdays? And if they were trying for another child, tongue A would be in slot B more frequently. Marc didn’t inspire grand passion, but he was nice enough, funny, and good-looking. He was already more than she had the right to ask for. A better investment of her time might be figuring out what kind of woman she needed to be for him. He wasn’t going to be attracted to an egghead lit major. If half the town wanted it, she should try her best. She’d done such a dandy job of choosing her own romantic partners; she should start outsourcing that task. Anybody could do a better job than she had.

  * * * *

  The next night, Alex sent the last customers off with a friendly good night. The air was hot and sticky, and she was looking forward to getting back to Angela’s house, getting out of her horrible heels, and going to bed. She had spent the entire evening proving the adage about never wearing new shoes without breaking them in first. Although, they had earned their price tag in increased tips. Too bad Marc hadn’t shown up to appreciate the effort. He was the whole reason for wearing them.

  Two hours research
last night, and another hour this morning, had yielded very little in results as to what he liked. Twenty years of photos of him with thin women in short skirts and high heels didn’t reveal a lot. She had learned his favorite color was green, but she didn’t own anything green, so that was a wash. And he liked sports, especially the big three: football, basketball, and baseball. Unfortunately, she knew nothing about sports of any kind so that wasn’t an opening. The only useful piece of information she’d gleaned was that he appreciated his privacy, which she had learned last night, listening to him ream out that woman over the phone for giving out his number. Lacking anything that would give her a conversation opener, Alex had resorted to a pair of new heels and the shortest skirt she owned and decided to play dumb on who he was and a little hard to get. A man like that had to get tired of women throwing themselves at him. Not that she could blame them. Smart, funny, hot. Any woman on his arm would feel like she’d won the relationship lottery. Damn it, now she did want him to like her. Ida and Paul had both commented that she looked pretty tonight, and then fretted about the fact that Marc hadn’t shown.

  It gave her an excellent excuse to chicken out.

  In the middle of clearing the table, she paused. Crap. She couldn’t go back to Angela’s straight away tonight. Not now that Finn had decided the time was right to have a second child and the necessary deed could not be executed with her in the other bedroom. He wouldn’t consider a little afternoon delight, either.

  Potterville didn’t lack for options on Saturday night. The church was having a dance like always. Not with these feet. Robot wars were going on at the high school. Maybe. There was a play at the middle school. On the upside, it was Midsummer Night’s Dream. On the downside, it was performed by middle schoolers. The bus had already left for stargazing at Dolly Sods Wilderness Area, so that was out. The surprisingly good high school band and glee club were performing in the town square, but they would be hitting the finale about now. The movie showing at the elementary school would be half over by the time she left, leaving that out, too. The ice cream stand would be hopping until midnight, which would provide a wonderful opportunity to people watch. The one little town bar offered another people-watching opportunity. Whatever it was that drew thousands to this little burg, she didn’t know, but they didn’t lack for entertainment when they got here.

  The bar offered a better opportunity for finding an eligible bachelor to keep her out all night and do something wild and crazy with a sexy stranger. Women did that. It wasn’t that pathetic. Or maybe it was, but since Marc hadn’t shown up, she deserved to do something pathetic.

  She’d managed to turn him off in one night. Must be the whiff of Eau d’Desperation she kept wearing. It was possible that he had something or someone else to do tonight, but Paul and Ida both seemed really surprised that he hadn’t been in. Angela had been so sure Marc would return tonight that she’d volunteered to take Alex to the mall for shoes.

  What if it was something she’d done last night? She’d been as attentive as possible in the context. That’s what men liked. A woman who would hang on their every word. Now she was an attentive woman in four-inch heels and a short skirt, but Marc hadn’t shown up. Though, most of her married customers had. Obviously, she could only attract married men. Tomorrow, despite the damage to her tips, it was a burqa. One of those blue ones like the women in Afghanistan wore with the netting over the eyes. That way she wouldn’t be responsible for any marital spats.

  Alex took off the dratted shoes and carried them into the kitchen.

  “Give up on them shoes?” Frankie asked.

  “They’re hard to mop in.” She set the shoes on her purse. Both pinky toes were angry red and puffy to the point of being shiny, and she couldn’t even go home and soak them. Today was working out to be spectacular. Rejected. Looking stupid for wearing a short skirt and heels to wait tables and bearing the guilt of dozens of men, and at least one woman, who had lust in their hearts for her when they were supposed to be in committed long-term relationships with significant others, kids, and an SUV. There was a special place in hell for people like her.

  Alex Perkins, the Typhoid Mary of marriage. Ruining unions left and right, but immune to Mr. Right herself.

  The bell on the door jingled, reminding Alex that she hadn’t locked up, so she hurried out to the dining room before whoever it was seated themselves and decided what they wanted. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”

  “That’s okay. I’m pretty sure Ida won’t mind if I hang out until you’re finished.” Marc, in expensive jeans and another concert T-shirt, grinned at her.

  Now he showed up. When her feet were the size of watermelons, her short skirt spotted with grease, ketchup, and who knew what else, and her makeup half worn off.

  “I don’t know about that,” she told him.

  “I do.”

  Frankie came out carrying a bottlebrush. Great choice of weapons. Good thing they weren’t being held up. “Oh, hi, Marc. You want something to drink?”

  “Nah. I’m good. How are you doing, Frankie?”

  “Dishwasher’s broken. I gotta wash everything by hand.”

  Marc glanced at Alex and then smiled at Frankie. “Let me take a look at it. In another life I used to do some repair work, and I’m not doing anything until Alex is ready to go.”

  What the—? Never mind. She didn’t want to know. She stacked the plates from the last table and handed them to Marc on his way past. After all he’d put her through today, even if he didn’t know it, he might as well be useful.

  Before she could mop the floor, she had to finish wiping the tables and put up the chairs. Marc’s arrival must mean that he was interested, now that she’d made a firm decision about her life. Firmish, at least. She wrung out her cloth. Damn, what to do?

  She could walk away from this train wreck and go back home to lick her wounds, soak her feet, and consider joining a nunnery. She’d have to convert to Catholicism and there was probably a waiting period, but it would be worth it. Married to God, she’d never have to risk a broken heart. Oh, wait, she couldn’t go home because Finn and Angela were making babies.

  Or she could stick to the plan, be his ideal woman, and play dumb about his fame. Not entirely fair to him, though. Pretending to be the girl of his dreams. She would be trading the guilt of being the Other Woman for the guilt of being a fake gold digger. Not the greatest solution, but this wasn’t a life-long relationship, and it could be a good learning experience.

  Nope, that wasn’t sitting super well either.

  What she needed was to go home home, but that entailed dealing with the parents who wanted to know all about the boyfriend she’d dated for five years, never brought home, and broken up with before they met him. Hello, Mom and Dad. I’d like you to meet Roger, and here are pictures of Roger’s wife and son and new baby. Yeah, I’m a home wrecker. Aren’t you proud? She needed to put in a call to the university library to see if they could use a little help over the summer again. Go back to the dorm. Wallow there in comfort and safety while dodging Roger. Maybe use her tips to get a nice hair shirt to wear for additional penance.

  She’d only broken it off with Roger a couple months ago. She wasn’t ready for a relationship. It wasn’t fair to Marc to hoodwink him either.

  Dumping the mop bucket, she said, “Hey Frankie, I’m headed out.”

  “Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow.” Frankie waved her off, consumed by the sight of the dishwasher gurgling away in front of him.

  Marc frowned. “Where are you going?”

  Alex held up her pointer fingers. “I’m finished cleaning up, so I’m leaving.” Using both hands, she pointed over her shoulders for emphasis. Just in case he didn’t get it.

  His shirt was damp and sticking to an impressive six-pack. Sweet little sixteen would have been gaga. Not-so-sweet twenty-three was just a little tingly at the sight. Kind of the same reaction a hot guy on TV would get. Except that not-so-sweet twenty-three couldn’t
stop staring, but was intent on charting denial.

  It didn’t matter what either of them thought. Her walking away now was the best thing for everyone. Safer by far.

  “Can’t you wait a few minutes? We’re testing it, and then I can go.”

  “Since when did my leaving become contingent on your leaving?”

  Marc blinked at her, frowning. “I thought I’d walk you home.”

  “Did you now? How quaint of you. But I’m not going home so the point is moot.” She started to slide one foot into her shoe, but her screaming toe had to have been heard in North Carolina, so she stuffed the shoes into her heavy purse. The way things had been going, she’d step on glass in the dark and end up on crutches for the rest of the season.

  “You have a date or something?”

  “Alex? Have a date?” Frankie snorted. “Right.”

  Alex glared at him. Stupid kid.

  The dishwasher hissed to a stop, and Frankie lost interest in her love life in favor of the steam-belching machine. He pulled out one glass and inspected it in the light as he tossed it from one hand to the other to keep from burning himself. “Awesome, Marc. I’m gonna get out of here before dawn.”

  Alex scanned the heaps of dirty dishes stacked on every available surface and doubted it. Then she turned and walked out of the kitchen. “You better lock this door after me,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Hey, don’t run away.” Marc followed her through the serving area and Frankie came behind him.

  “This is not running. Running is defined as something faster than this. I believe, technically, I should have a longer stride, and at certain points, both feet are off the ground.” Alex pushed through the door. If her stride got any longer, it could be defined as running. Whatever it was about this guy, she either wanted to run straight into his arms or far, far away.