Читать книгу Before You Get To Baby... - Terry Essig, Terry Essig - Страница 10

“Sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, ideally it should be good sex.”

“That’s what you think a guy is looking for most in a relationship?” Mary Frances Parker looked with barely concealed horror at her brother’s best friend. Clearly, Drew Wiseman was not the man she should be going to for tips on what a man looks for in a woman. “Sex? That’s it?”

“Like I said, good sex, not just any sex,” Drew continued, oblivious to her discomfort. “I mean, quantity counts and everything but quality should play a definite role here.”

“That is so totally ridiculous. I wish you could hear yourself.”

“Hey, you’re the one who came ringing my doorbell wanting to know the guy’s perspective without so much as a hello first. I’m just being honest.”

Frannie thought of her brother, due to be married in a month’s time. “So what you’re basically saying here is that Rick was ruled by nothing but hormones when he proposed to Evie? My friend Betsy’s mind and personality had nothing to do with Tom’s proposal? Sheesh. Men are so pathetic. I’m starting to wonder why I want to find one to marry in the first place.”

Her words threw Drew for a loop. Married? Frannie? Why, she was just a kid. Had he known she was in the market he’d have tailored his advice. After all, the idea of Frannie providing what every man looked for in a relationship disturbed him for reasons he didn’t want to explore. “So if we’re so pathetic and all, why aren’t you busy thinking up ways to avoid us? I mean, why would you want to bind yourself to one of us for the rest of your life anyway?”

“God only knows.” Using the tip of her index finger Frannie glumly picked up cookie crumbs from the kitchen table where she’d made herself at home. “I keep thinking they can’t possibly all be as shallow as they appear, and I do want to have a family and children.” She shrugged. “Lord knows, with my brothers, I’ve picked up enough boxer shorts dropped within spitting distance of a clothes hamper and fished enough dirty socks out from under beds to last me a lifetime, but the plain truth of the matter is men are a necessity if you want a family and babies,” she pointed out, sounding almost forlorn.

Drew sat back in his chair. Would he ever understand women? “Next you’re going to tell me your biological clock is ticking. Am I right?” He rolled his eyes in anticipation of her answer. Andrew couldn’t understand it. His friends’ biological alarms seemed to be going off in depressingly large numbers lately. Didn’t anybody get that babies were a pain? They upchucked, and they did disgusting things in their pants. They got up in the middle of the night, for God’s sake, the middle of the night.

“Well, it is,” his best friend’s little sister answered defensively.

“So let it tick, Frannie,” Andrew advised. “I mean, come on, it’s not like you’ve got one foot in the grave.” He shrugged. Drew was five years older than Frannie. He certainly didn’t feel an uncontrollable need to nest. “The world is overpopulated anyway. If you need to hear the pitter-patter of little feet all that bad, get a dog. They’ll drool, throw up and piddle on the carpeting same as any baby.”

Frannie glowered. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“So why’d you ask?”

“Because you’re safe.”

No man liked to hear himself described as safe. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Safe? He wasn’t safe. He was lean and mean. Andrew had done time in the military. Why, he could easily produce a dozen or more guys who’d be happy to testify just how mean he could be. Safe. What was that? He never should have let Frannie in the door. The fact she’d shown up with a plate of her homemade cookies should have been an indication she was up to no good. When would he ever learn that there was no such thing as a free meal, or in this case, free cookie?

And look at this. Frannie’d been there all of ten minutes and sure enough, here he was getting all worked up. Frannie could rile him the way nobody else ever had, or in all likelihood, ever could.

Frannie sighed. “Well, it certainly wasn’t meant as an insult. Look, all I meant was that I can’t ask somebody who’s a potential mate, now can I? They’d run the opposite direction if they thought I was actively looking for a spouse. Why are men so paranoid?”

“We’re not paranoid, we’re realistic. Women are out to get us.” Drew waved an arm out in the air. “Look at Rick. And our buddy Phil. Then let’s not forget Nate Bowman.” He threw up the other hand. “There goes Wednesday bowling, Friday night poker and the occasional drive into Chicago to see the White Sox play. They’re all too busy out picking china patterns. Meanwhile, what am I supposed to do for entertainment, hmm? None of these women stop to think about their guys’ guy relationships, do they? What is it with your sex and this commitment thing you’ve all got? Why can’t you ladies be happy without a picket fence around your tidy Cape Cod and your two-point-three precocious children?”

Drew picked up his beer and took a thirsty slug. He wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure Frannie had just insulted him. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but it just showed how wrong she was and how on the edge he liked to live. “And just why am I safe from your machinations I’d like to know?” Not that he wanted to be the target of all that fire power. Of course he didn’t.

“Well, for one thing I couldn’t possibly live with someone who liked country and western.” Frannie bit back a laugh as Drew gaped at her. Then, restlessly, she drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Okay, while it’s true I loathe and despise country, there’s a little more to it than just your pitiable taste in music. A woman looks for something different in a husband than a date,” she explained carefully, thinking as she spoke. Teasing Drew was fun, but if she intended to pick his brain, which she did, he deserved to know she’d thought this thing through. It wasn’t just a whim on her part. Besides, there was no harm in letting him know she’d be off the market before too much longer. Frannie scowled. As if he’d care. Why couldn’t he care? Everything would be so much easier.

Right away, Drew knew Frannie was actually serious about this current craziness. Frannie never thought before she spoke. Whatever entered her brain exited her mouth. Oh, man, he was going to have to talk to her brother Rick about this.

“For a mate, she needs somebody steady, reliable. Someone who’ll take out the trash and be able to find the clothes hamper when he undresses at night. Somebody who’ll walk the floors with her when the baby has colic. Someone who actually replaces the toilet paper—on the holder, not just sets it in the near vicinity—when he finishes off a roll.”

By God, he was insulted. He could do all those things. If he wanted. It was hardly his fault his toilet paper holder had come away from the wall a month or so ago and he’d been too busy to fix it, now was it? What else could he do but set the roll on the floor? Anyone could see that.

Drew couldn’t believe he was even having this conversation. Damn it, nobody ignited his fuse the way Frannie did. Didn’t the woman understand that the easiest way to handle colic was to not have the baby in the first place?

“Somebody you don’t mind sharing your genetic code with, you know? Everybody I know is out there sharing their genetic code. I’m telling you, every close friend I have is either married or will be by the end of the summer. You should see Sue Ellen’s little boy. He’s just too cute. I want one of those, Drew, I really do. The thing is, it took Sue Ellen three years to get pregnant, and she got married right out of college. You know, a man starts losing some of his potency once he hits his mid twenties, I figured I ought to get on the stick and find somebody now.”

“I may be twenty-nine but I’m quite sure I wouldn’t have any trouble at all impregnating anything needing impregnating,” Drew growled. “In fact it’s been my greatest fear. It’s why we men are so darn careful. I never wanted to have to pay the price for thinking with my gonads.”

Frannie ignored him. “I also want somebody who’s intelligent. And I wouldn’t mind decent-looking, either. I’ve given up on Mel Gibson coming to his senses, but surely decent-looking isn’t asking too much.” She grimaced. “Call me shallow, but I don’t want any frog-faced children. Breakfast is too early in the morning to have to face amphibians across the table. I’m on the short side, so in order to compensate, I’m thinking tall, too. No point in the boys being shrimpsters if I can help it. Mom always said it was as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one, but I don’t really care all that much about money. I don’t mind pulling my fair share and contributing to the family income. But if you extrapolate a little bit here, and the playing field being equal in other ways, I mean between two guys, both being intelligent, decent-looking and now that I think about it, neither one an early balder, it should be as easy to fall for the tall guy as the short one, don’t you think?”

Drew shook his head in despair as he tried to figure out the logic behind that bit of nonsense. Near as he could tell, he’d been insulted. Again. She might be his best friend’s little sister and as cute as a button, but she’d crossed the line. There was not a damn thing wrong with his genetic code. Not a damn thing. He had an engineering degree from Purdue University, didn’t he? You didn’t get that with peas for brain, now did you?

And more than one woman had come on to him during the eleven years since high school. There was a small cadre of females out there who’d rate his looks higher than dog meat, Andrew thought more than a bit defensively even as he rubbed the nose that had been broken a dozen years back when he’d taken a hockey puck in the face. It might be a little crooked, but hey, if a woman expected perfection, she’d have to provide it herself. He knew for a fact Frannie had a scar down one arm from the surgery it had taken to put her arm back together after an attempt to go around the moon on the playground swing set years ago. Man, he’d almost had heart failure that day. He and Rick had been baby-sitting Frannie when she’d tried that little trick. Rick had accused a wailing Frannie of doing it on purpose just to get them in trouble. It hadn’t been the first time. Or the last. And here she was, back at it again, obviously determined to draw him into this latest batch of nuttiness.

But he digressed. He was intelligent and decent-looking. Hadn’t Debi…Dulci…whoever, gotten all rhapsodic over his eyes? Like she’d never seen the color blue before. Drew almost snorted. Go figure. It was a simple factor of genetics. His mother had blue eyes, his father’s eyes were brown, but he obviously carried a recessive gene for blue. Drew had just as obviously gotten it. Simple. No big deal. Try telling that to Deirdre. Yeah, that was it, Deirdre.

At least he had an eye color. Frannie’s license said brown, but that was only because they had to fit her into a category. Her eyes were this oddball color only a woman would have a name for—toffee, toast or maybe café au lait. Drew rolled his eyes. Who thought up these names anyway? he thought with a sneer. And that was just the inside part of her iris. Then there was this darker band around the edge. Dark chocolate bark or something. Whatever.

And furthermore, even though scrupulous honesty would have him admitting that he might have just missed making the six-foot mark, any engineer in the world would tell you that a small margin of error was allowable and you’d still meet specs. At five eleven and three-quarters he was six foot plus or minus a quarter of an inch, so he claimed six feet. Totally within code and definitely un-short.

A growl built up in his throat. “Seems to me you’re asking for an awful lot. What’s the guy going to get in return? Who’s going to marry a little bit like you? A man wants a woman he doesn’t have to worry about losing in the sheets at night. An armful, you know? Something it would take more than a spring zephyr to blow away.”

“I am not that little,” Frannie responded stiffly.

Ah, so she could dish it out, but couldn’t take it.

“And there you go again,” she added. “Is sex all you think about?”

“Me and my half of the world’s population. Yeah, pretty much.”

Frustration rang in Frannie’s voice. “Don’t you want someone who can create a home? Do you ever worry about character, personality, intelligence, humor, for God’s sake? Don’t you want to share a good laugh with a woman you care about?”

“Not when I’m in bed with her,” Drew fervently assured Frannie.

Frannie threw up her hands in exasperation. “Oh, for crying out loud.” She rose and snatched up the plate of cookies she’d brought as a bribe.

“Hey!” Drew protested.

Frannie didn’t relent. “Nothing deeper than surface appeal matters to you,” she said. “You just said so. You couldn’t possibly care that I also bake the best oatmeal cookies in a three-state radius.”

“Food is another basic need, right up there with sex. A man’s got to keep his strength up, after all. And they’re okay,” Drew allowed, not wanting to feed her ego. She gave him enough of a hard time as it was. “Even if they do have raisins in them. It would be too bad if they went to waste.”

“I’ll freeze them. Take them in my lunch.”

“All right, all right. I’m sorry, already. Put the cookies back and we’ll talk. Sheesh. Women are so sensitive.”

“We are not.” Frannie hesitated, then reluctantly sat back down. She kept the cookies in front of her, her arms curled protectively around the plate. “So come on now, Drew, give. Seriously, what’s a guy looking for when he’s ready to settle down?”

Drew squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. The topic had him on edge. “Look, Frannie, every guy is different in what they find attractive in a woman. Just like every woman is different. Didn’t I hear you telling Rick the other day that your friend Annie was wasting her time on some dweeb? That you couldn’t figure out what she saw in the guy?”

Frannie thought. Okay, he had a point, but it wasn’t enough to get her to release the cookies. She wanted some guidelines here, not a cop-out. “All right, so generally speaking what’s likely to interest a guy enough to get him to the altar?” Meanly, she picked up a cookie and waved it in the air a couple of times before nibbling delicately at the brown edge.

Damn her, Frannie knew him too well. Drew shifted uncomfortably once more. For most of the past fifteen years, ever since Drew’s family had moved to St. Joseph, Michigan, Andrew and Rick had been inseparable. Five years younger than her next oldest sibling, Frannie was obviously the family’s much-adored bonus baby. He and Rick had baby-sat Frannie too many times to count. They’d driven her to piano lessons, softball and dance. Drew had helplessly patted her back while she’d cried on Rick’s shoulder after the break-up with her first boyfriend and uselessly assured her the jerk hadn’t been good enough for her. Heck, he’d marked the seasons by the color of the rubber bands she’d picked for her braces each month at the orthodontist. Red and green in December which made her look like her teeth were growing moss, but better than the orange and black she’d favored in October.

In all that time he’d spent watching her grow, Drew had never once realized that she’d been watching him as well. The little brat knew the edges were his favorite part. Just look at her savoring his edge.

Drew would have to be under particularly diabolical torture before he’d admit that her cookies were, in fact, the best in town even if they did have raisins. Heck, they’d have to stake him to an anthill and disassemble his remote control before his very eyes. The problem was, he’d only had a handful before Frannie’d gone into her snit. Previous to that it had been a long dry spell of nothing but store-bought. The injustice of it sang through him. Drew wracked his brain for something Frannie would consider worthy.

“Okay,” Drew finally said. “I’ll tell you what. Leave the cookies here. Brain food, you know, and I’ll think about it. I’ll come over to dinner some time in the next few weeks and we’ll talk.” He raised a hopeful eyebrow.

Frannie eyed him with disgust. Man, Drew gave her no credit at all. He still thought of her as a gullible twelve-year-old who’d fall for the old Tom Sawyer’s I’m-having-such-fun-whitewashing-this-fence-but-if-you-pay-me-enough-I-might-let-you-do-it-instead gambit. He and Rick had used that ruse whenever her mom had assigned them a task to be done while they baby-sat her. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Half a dozen cookies now, the rest on delivery of the goods, no later than this weekend or the deal’s off. And I’m not cooking for you. I’ll pay my own way, but we’re going out.”

Damn, but she was a tough little negotiator. You had to respect that about her. He and Rick had taught her well with all their stupid pranks. He had nobody to blame for this but himself. “You want to talk about this in a restaurant? Where anybody and their brother can listen in? You know how close tables are in those places.”

Frannie thought about that and nodded. “All right, I’ll cook. In fact, we’ll grill. You bring the steaks and the wine. I’ll do the salad, bread and dessert.”

Drew scowled. Evidently he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. He also suspected it was probably the best deal he was going to get, so he nodded his head in agreement. “Okay. I’ll get back to you when I’ve…what?” Frannie was vehemently shaking her head and frowning.

“This Friday. My place. Seven o’clock.”

“Frannie,” he explained patiently, “This Friday is part of March Madness. Intercollegiate basketball play-offs, you know? Rick made me kick money into a pool thing he started. Frankly, I don’t think Villanova can do it, but it was all there was left and you never know so I…now what?”

“No excuses. This Friday, seven o’clock, or no cookies. If you’re good maybe I’ll let you check the score once or twice.”

“Man, you’re a pain.” But Drew really, really wanted those cookies. He was a scientist. He’d taken several different types of chemistry. He still had lab nightmares all these years later. One thing Drew knew for sure, he could weigh and measure with the best of them. But when he attempted cookies, no matter how carefully Drew doled out the ingredients, they simply didn’t hold a candle to Frannie’s. Actually, it was a major point of frustration for him as he’d seen her in action in the kitchen. Frannie would have flunked chem lab, any science lab, that was for sure. She just sort of threw things together. And whatever it was always turned out well. “All right, all right. This Friday. But I get a dozen cookies up front.”

“Eight.”

“Ten.” Drew casually inched his hand toward the cookie plate.

Frannie cradled the plate more closely. “Nine.” She started counting them out.

“Okay. I think I read somewhere that for attracting a mate, we’re all operating on a subconscious instinctual level. We only think we’ve gotten civilized over the eons.”

“If you’re trying to tell me men still operate on caveman level, I’m not all that surprised. I will not, however, take it kindly if one of them tries to conk me on the head and drag me home by the hair.”

Drew snorted. “You haven’t got enough hair to get a good grip.”

Frannie patted her short crop of curls protectively. “Short hair is easy to take care of as well as very stylish.” She sniffed disdainfully. “Shows how much you know about fashion.”

“Guys like long. We don’t care if it’s fashionable or not.” Drew gathered his booty in front of him.

Frannie covered her plate with plastic wrap and rose. “If you don’t care about what’s in, why is your hair so carefully mussed up today, in that bedhead style guys are so into right now?”

Drew sat back, disgusted. “You asked, I answered. Leave my hair out of it. How big is your waist?”

“My waist?”

Drew waved away her puzzled look. “Never mind. We’ll get into it come Friday.” If he couldn’t get any more cookies out of her right now, he wasn’t going to waste his ammunition.

“What about my waist?” Frannie wanted to know.

“Friday,” Drew reiterated and shooed Frannie out the door so he could enjoy his treat in peace. Women. Go figure. Tell them what they want to know and they argue. Drew shoveled a cookie up and into his mouth feeling slightly aggrieved. Now he had to spend the next few days thinking up ways for a member of the opposite sex to trap one of his own. Talk about disloyal. He’d sold out to the enemy with barely a whimper. A handful of cookies was all it had taken. Disgusted, he crunched down hard on another one. “Well, too darned bad. They’re all grown men. They can fend for themselves. If one of them gets caught, he probably deserves it for being so stupid as to fall for all those female ploys.”

Frannie drove home proud of herself. She’d started the process. Subtlety was lost on a man like Drew—actually on most men, she decided as she signaled a left turn and left his street behind. You had to hit them over their hard, fat heads to get their attention. She’d done that.

“Ought to be interesting to see what he comes up with,” she told herself as she turned again, right this time. Frannie came up to a red light, drummed her fingers as she waited. “At least I’ve got him thinking about marriage. That’s something.” She accelerated as the light changed. “And if he still refuses to open his eyes and see what’s right in front of them, I swear I’ll use whatever he tells me to find myself somebody who will appreciate me. See if I don’t, the unappreciative bum.” Frannie pulled into a spot in front of her neat little frame one-story. “And I’ll tell you something else. When and if that man does wake up, he’s going to have some serious making up to do. Serious making up.” And she sniffed in self-righteous justification as she walked up her front walk.

Late Friday afternoon she was still sniffing at regular intervals at the male population’s thick-headedness in general, one Andrew Wiseman’s in particular. “Wiseman, hah!” Frannie spat as she pounded the sofa-back cushions back into shape in anticipation of his arrival. Setting the scene was important, after all. “There’s a misnomer if ever there was one. Blindman is more like it. Andrew Stupid-head has a certain cachet as well.” The sofa beaten into submission, Frannie surveyed the room, hands on her hips. Even if it was on a subconscious level, she wanted Drew to see the kind of home she could create.

Satisfied with the room check, she started down the short hall to her bedroom. “Obviously, I must have a very perverse nature to find the man this appealing. But I’ve got to make my play now before somebody else snaps him up. He’s within shouting distance of thirty, for heaven’s sake, he should be more than ready to settle down. I’d always planned to be the one standing in front of him when he woke up. Where the heck did that silk teddy go? Ah, there it is and my…yes, got that too.” She headed out of the bedroom and into the bath.

“Well, I just can’t wait any longer,” Frannie said as she reached in to turn on the shower. “His social life is too darn active and he still treats me like I’m his little sister. Not after tonight,” she vowed as she stepped into the steaming stall. “Not after tonight.”

Drew fidgeted out on Frannie’s front stoop before he rang the bell. He checked his fly, made sure his shirt was tucked in and even checked his hair in the reflection in the front door’s small inset decorative glass pane. Disgusted with himself, Drew poked the buzzer. It was just Frannie, for God’s sake. Still, for some odd reason he’d felt compelled to go home after work for a quick shower, his best jeans and a clean shirt. When he’d stopped at the supermarket to pick up the steaks he’d had the most inexplicable, ridiculous urge to pick up a bunch of flowers. Now what had that been all about?

Drew shook his head as Frannie opened the door. A couple of the guys at work had been passing around some kind of bug. Maybe he was coming down with it. That could be why he felt so weird, couldn’t it? Look at Frannie, she hadn’t fussed, for God’s sake. She was covered from neck to below her knees in some kind of voluminous apron thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear an apron before,” he said as he dubiously studied the object. She was all but drowning in yards of fabric but then again, she was a little bit of a thing.

“I had a conference with a parent after school,” Frannie blatantly lied. All was fair in love and war, after all. Not only had there been no conference, she’d never have worn the tight, short skirt hiding under the apron to school at all. She taught second grade. If Drew thought about it once he got a gander, he’d realize that with all the floor work she did with such young children any kind of skirt, let alone this abbreviated version, would be fairly impractical. But Drew’s thoughts rarely ran along the mundane or everyday practicalities of living. If it didn’t have to do with recycling sludge, it got no more than cursory notice. She figured she was safe. “I didn’t have time to change from my good clothes if we were going to eat on time, and I do have a tendency to be a bit messy in the kitchen.” Truth was, she’d put the skimpy hug-your-rear thing on just to bother Drew.

Frannie was sloppy when she baked. He’d have hated her for a lab partner, true enough, even though her product was worth the mess. It was a logical explanation and Drew nodded. Then Frannie turned around and walked in front of him. Holy cow! Thank God he was still holding the beer he’d bought instead of drinking it, Drew thought. He’d have choked for sure. He sputtered anyway. “Uh, it was a conference with a mother, right?”

“Hmm?” Frannie rolled her hips even more with her next step. The contrast between the loose apron and the peeks he got at her snugly encased rear with each step she took had been carefully checked for effect in the mirror. She hoped he swallowed his tongue. Look at him standing there in those tight jeans and that white knit shirt with the camel-colored stripe right across his pecs. He’d done that on purpose. Everybody knew light colors made you look bigger and that horizontal strip was nothing but a blatant attempt to draw attention to the breadth of his chest. Well she’d noticed. A long time ago, she’d noticed. Frannie wasn’t the slow one here.

“What is that thing supposed to be under there, a skirt? It’s missing the whole bottom half if it is.” He stared at her butt and cleared his throat. “A mother conference, right? Not a father conference?” Drew inhaled much-needed oxygen. “They let you wear stuff like that around little kids? Oh, boy.”

“Drew, this skirt is no shorter than a pair of shorts and you’ve seen me in those before. Surely you knew I had legs.”

“Well, yeah, but…” He gave up.

Dinner was eaten in a not-quite-companionable silence. Drew was on edge, like he was on a first date or something, but couldn’t understand why. By the time dessert was produced Drew was sure he was coming down with something. He’d been feeling hot ever since Frannie had finished fussing in the kitchen and taken off the apron thing. Of course, Frannie had had him going in and out of the cold grilling the damn steaks and everybody—other than Frannie evidently—knew that wasn’t good for you. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen her dressed up before. Frannie tended to live in jeans or shorts and an oversize T-shirt. But surely, in all those years, there must have been some other occasion when she’d gussied herself up when he’d been around.

Eighth-grade graduation, Drew remembered. A white dress with a big sash and daisies in her hair.

Frannie’s body had changed since eighth grade. Big time, it had changed.

Andrew had sighed in relief when he’d seated her. The table hid that cute little rear he’d had no idea she had. But his relief was short-lived. Taking the chair across the small table from Frannie he was faced with her, um, Frannie’s um…well, chest.

And what a fine chest it was. Nicely delineated and showcased by a snug, thinly knit sweater. Drew had a hard time not staring. Surely that hadn’t cropped up overnight. He wasn’t just getting sick. Those two handfuls had taken a while to appear. He’d evidently been out of it for quite some time if he was just noticing now that Frannie was a woman. Damn it, he didn’t want to think of Frannie as a woman. She’d been like a sister to him for years. Suddenly he felt awkward around her. It wasn’t right for him to be noticing her chest. Not right at all.

“…other night.”

“Hmm? what?”

Frannie sighed and set a nice big warm chunk of gingerbread slathered with real whipped cream in front of Andrew. “Are you feeling okay, Drew? You’ve been in your own little world most of the night.”

Drew grabbed her hand before she could retreat. “Feel my forehead, will you, Frannie? It’s warm, right? I feel hot. I think I’m running a temperature.”

Dutifully, Frannie felt his forehead with the back of her hand. Then, just to be mean she brushed a lock of hair back off his brow. His answering little shiver pleased her. “No, you don’t feel overly warm. Must be something else. I’ll check the thermostat, but I know it’s set at seventy.”

Drew didn’t think he could stand watching her hips swing in that excuse for a skirt. “No, that’s all right. I’m okay. Sit down. Let’s talk.”

So Frannie sat. She also deliberately leaned slightly forward and pressed her arms together. Color rose on Andrew’s cheeks as cleavage popped.

He cleared his throat. “So, anyway, I, uh, thought of something.”

Frannie gave up torturing him and dug into her gingerbread. “The waist thing?”

“Right. That. Now, as I recall, waist measurement is supposed to be a certain percentage of the hip measurement in order to attract a guy.”

“What?”

“Yeah, seriously. Sixty percent, I think, but it could have been seventy. Whatever, it was important to a guy who’s looking for someone who can successfully support a pregnancy. On a subconscious level, of course.”

“Of course.” Even on a subconscious level, men made no sense. “So it doesn’t matter how thin or fat you are so long as your waist-to-hip proportion falls into the right category?”

Andrew thought about it. “I guess. I mean, it’s not like I’m a sociologist or anything.”

No, it wasn’t like he was a sociologist or anything. Drew Wiseman was an environmental engineer, and a darn good one at that. Fifteen years ago, when he’d first started coming around, Frannie had been nine and in the third grade. Drew had been fourteen and starting high school a year ahead of schedule. Skinny and small, he’d needed a friend, and her brother had taken the new kid under his wing. In exchange, Drew had seen Rick through four years of math, chemistry and physics. Oh yeah, Drew was bright and he’d been unfailingly tolerant of Rick’s little sister. For Frannie, Drew had just been sort of…there, another male in her life trying to tell her what to do, just like her four brothers.

Drew’s growth spurt had come late, not until seventeen. Girls matured earlier than boys and Frannie had been a bit advanced anyway. Her hormones had kicked in right around that same time. She’d noticed him all right and had harbored secret hopes for twelve long years. Secret hopes she’d never told another soul, certainly not her brothers, who’d have teased her unmercifully.

Well, a dozen years later, she was seriously considering giving up. Drew seemed hopeless, although she thought there’d been a few positive signs tonight. Still, the bottom line was Frannie wanted a family. Time to go to plan B.

Frannie smiled to herself. Putting plan B into motion had the plus of making Drew squirm as she asked personal questions. It also had the added advantage of letting him know she was soon to be off the market. Maybe, just maybe, it would wake him up to the positive gem that had been right under his nose all these years. Oh yes, she intended to enjoy this.