After tonight, I doubt Ill ever take her out again. Girls like Lucy lack the refinement I want in a girlfriend—shes good for a quick fuck, maybe a few casual dates, but she wont conocer a mi familia—meet my family.
Howd a jogger see into the yard at all? Anna asked. Where would a jogger run?Maybe the jogger knows the unicorn and the dragons, murmured Leslie. And flew over the stone wall and looked into the garden with her dog. She put on a practiced smile and headed for the door.
Ill get you, my pretty, murmured Anna in her best wicked-witch voice. And your little dog, too.Ms. Jamison was tall and had muscle under her tanned and well-cared-for skin. Her chestnut hair was cut short and expensively. She looked closer to forty than sixty. Some of that might be surgical, but not all of it. She wasnt stunning, but she was memorable.She was also wearing a holey pair of jeans with dirt on the knees and a very ratty old ASU football jersey. She smelled like alcohol, for which she apologized.
I was out gardening and drinking when you called, she told them. And now Im a little drunk. I dont usually overindulge, but my divorce from husband number three just came through. My sister told me he was just after my money, and she was right.She sighed. I knew she was right. But he was thirty. He could keep up with me. Men my age… She shook her head. But, as I told her, thats what a prenup is for. I guess he believed that if I thought he loved me, Id be stupid in other ways, too. Caught him red … well, red-assed if the truth be known, and I have the photos to prove it. So he went and took nothing with him except for the liposuction on his stomach and two years of luxury living. Id have paid a gigolo more for his services. But Id have probably gotten better services. She looked pensive.
Do you want us to come back later? Leslie asked.
No. Its all right, she said. Waiting would only waste your time and mine. I only had two shots—okay, three. But I did it on a full stomach and Ive been drinking water since you called.He straightens on the couch, setting his wine on my coffee table, rising to his knees. Grips the hem of his shirt and—
This feels weird. He lets the shirt fall.Now I feel like Im showing off.
Youre not showing off—this is for scientific research, remember? The bartenders?His charcoal gray tee rises again, inch by inch, fisted by his tan hand. Bit by bit he exposes his chiseled abdomen, the hard muscles constricting as he balances on the couch, foot secured to the floor.