Just Her Type (37 page)

Chapter
5

“Grrrr,” Jaimie ground out
as she brought her trot on a treadmill down to a brisk walk. “I could’ve
strangled him!”
 
A dose of
endorphins usually lifted her mood. After leaving Shangri-La she’d bypassed
the
Butler County Bee
newsroom
for a pit stop at Spunky’s Funky Gym. But after a forty-five minute jog, her
emotions still boiled over.
 
She
didn’t like the effect Mitchell Malone had on her. He had pressed, no jabbed,
her darn buttons like no stranger had before.

“He really has you going.” GinaMarie, one of her
closest friends, strolled into her cool down on a neighboring treadmill after
taking in Jaimie’s recount of her run-in with a rival. “What does he look
like?”

Jaimie didn’t respond.
 
It was pointless rhapsodizing about
Mitchell’s sexy honey-brown eyes. And his body
. Lord, that body!
 
Lethal and more than enough to drive any woman to distraction. She
lifted the towel from the treadmill’s console and looped it around her neck.
“He’s an arrogant, sexist jerk. I should’ve told him just where he could shove
his ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart.’
 
So
what difference does it make what he looks like?”

 
“Oooh-la-la.” GinaMarie’s glossy black
curls bounced. “Looks that good, huh?”

“Geez, I don’t know. I guess he’s all right…
if
you go for that type.”
 
Ninety-nine percent of the female
heterosexual population with half-decent vision would.

“If he’s gorgeous, there’s a chance all this heat
is not just because he pissed you off. Maybe you want him.”

“Ha!” Jaimie scoffed.

“You want him,” GinaMarie replied
matter-of-factly.

“And I hope he got a real bad rotisserie-chicken
sunburn today, running around half naked! Yeah!”
 
Jaimie reached for her plastic water
bottle to take a drink. “And I doubt that I’m his type anyway,” she muttered.
 
“I’m sure he’s that too-cool-for-school
sort, who prefers the uber sexy, babelicious kind.”

 
Jaimie
plucked at her gray sweatpants and oversized gray T-shirt mottled with sweat
circles, definitely in stark contrast to the scraps of leopard-print GinaMarie
wore. “I can see him going for you.”

“My dance card is full, and you’re too hard on
yourself. I don’t have anything, you don’t have, but you’re always so busy
hiding yours. Friend to friend, you could stand to tweak the gym attire.”

“I come to the gym to work out. This is
functional
workout wear.”

“So the rest of your wardrobe couldn’t possibly
use a little more flash, sass, and razzamatazz.
 
And for the record, fanny packs are for
old ladies, tacky tourists, and Girl Scouts during their cookie drive.”

“It’s practical.” Jaimie didn’t mention that it
also had great sentimental value. It was the last thing her father had given
her before he died. He’d purchased it for their last family camping trip.
“Besides, I don’t believe in wasting a lot of money trying to keep up with
every fashion trend that strolls down the runway; that’s all.”
 
Though she was a sucker for sexy
lingerie, her choice of undies was certainly none of GinaMarie’s business.

“Well, nobody can rock those matronly separates
quite the way you do,” GinaMarie teased.

“Okay Gucci’s hoochie, but remember, a designer
label on a too-tight, too-short, too-skanky outfit doesn’t make it any less
tight, short, or skanky. “

“We’re the same size; feel free to borrow my
clothes anytime you want to spice up your love life.”

“And you’re free to borrow mine when you’re ready
to be taken seriously.”

GinaMarie flapped one hand, breezily dispensing
her version of
whatever
. “I don’t
think you should write off…What was his name again?’’ She pressed the button to
stop the rolling treadmill belt.

“Mitchell.
 
Mitchell Malone.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you so hot
and bothered over anyone.” GinaMarie stepped off the treadmill to stretch on
the floor. “Correction. I’ve
never
seen you this hot and bothered over
anyone.”

“I am
not
hot and bothered! Must I look at every man I meet as a potential opportunity?”

GinaMarie chuckled knowingly, pretzeling her torso
left, and then right in a thorough stretch. “Aaah, that feels good.’’ She
scissored her legs as far apart as physiology would allow before easing her
face down until her nose was just a hair from the floor. She rolled over on her
back and performed her Chinese splits move that made the guy jogging on a
nearby treadmill zip backward and crash into the sissy squat rack.

GinaMarie smiled and winked at Jaimie.

Envy bubbled inside Jaimie.
 
Whether it was her adventures in the
sack (marathon fellatio) or the latest wacky exercise class (extreme shot put,
anyone?), GinaMarie loved to brag about her superhuman prowess. While Jaimie
was the cardio queen, her own joints would snap, crackle, and pop like Granny
Mac’s if she attempted anything beyond the basic warm-up stretches or bicep
curls with the lightest rainbow-colored dumbbells. “You’re a chiropractic
nightmare.”

“Careful, that green is clashing with your gray.”

“If the good Lord meant for me to touch my toes he
would’ve put them on my knees.”

 
“You’re awfully snippy today.”

 
Jaimie joined GinaMarie on the floor.
 
“So? Isn’t everyone entitled to having a
bad day? This one is courtesy of Mr. Malone.”

“I like this feisty side of you. All fired up. The
two of you…” She snapped her fingers. “It’s on!”

“We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

“With both of you going after the same story, your
paths
will
cross again. No telling
what could pop off then.”

Jaimie narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, I’d like to ‘pop
off’ his knee caps.”
 
She folded
into an unexceptional hamstring stretch.
 
Mitchell had induced these malevolent thoughts. Proof that he was
nothing but trouble.
 
And the last
thing she needed was someone turning her cool head and blowing her chances of
getting that Reuben Richardson exclusive. This
had
to work out. Her family counted on her. Her younger sister
needed help supplementing her academic scholarships and government grants. No
way was Jaimie going to let Kendal sink into debt with student loans or try
juggling a load of classes
and
a
full-time job as she had. With night courses squeezed between two work shifts,
it had taken Jaimie twice as long as most people to earn a bachelor’s degree.
And the constant fatigue had affected her GPA. Then there was their grandmother
to think about. Granny Mac, who recently moved into Kendal’s old room, brought
her cantankerous disposition, Bruce Lee DVD collection, pint-sized hound from
hell, and the balance of her medical bills not covered by Medicare with her.
But with a position at
the
Examiner
Jaimie could make it all work.
 
Her
mother, Sharlene, had been too scattered and irresponsible to hold on to any
job for long after Jaimie’s father died almost a decade ago. The life insurance
had been poorly managed until Jaimie took over the role of money manager.
 
A huge responsibility for a girl of 17,
but she’d quickly honed an impressive knack for stretching a buck. After
college, she’d become the primary breadwinner.

“Hey, you want to see Mystic Sensations with me
and Tricia tonight?” GinaMarie asked as she gawked at a tall, buff guy who
sprinted by. “We’ll grab a bite first, and then head over to the jazz club on
the riverfront.”

Jaimie stood to balance on one leg for a quads
stretch. “Uh, well, I don’t know if I can make it. I’ll have to check my
planner.’’

“Here we go again.”

“I’ve just been a little busier than usual, that’s
all, with my job and freelancing on the side.” But Jaimie had also spent most
nights at home watching Lifetime movies, playing Scrabble, and refereeing
childish spats between Sharlene and Granny Mac.
 
The pair couldn’t agree on the color of
tap water if their lives depended on it.
 
They’d squared off in an ongoing war of in-law wills since Jaimie’s
mother and father swapped “I do’s.”

GinaMarie would not drop Mystic Sensations. She
trailed Jaimie to the women’s locker room.
 
“C’mon, it’s about time you got out of that house and had some fun with
people your own age.
 
You’ll dry up
baby-sitting your mother and Granny Mac every night. When was the last time you
got out? And Tricia’s last Mary Kay party doesn’t count.”

GinaMarie
 
believed Jaimie’s dedication to family bordered on obsession.

“Hey, this Mr. Malone might be there,” GinaMarie
added.

Jaimie turned the dial on the combination lock and
a mental image of her towel-clad rival flashed.
No
.
No
.
No
.
 
Now was not the time to get distracted by titanium abs and pecs and…

GinaMarie waved a hand before Jaimie’s face. “Hey,
where did you go just now?”

Jaimie blinked and opened the locker to remove her
gym bag. “I know where I can’t go and that’s to see Mystic Sensations tonight.
I’ve got to get up early tomorrow to head up to Grundieville.”

“Eww.”

Jaimie checked her watch and dropped on the tiled
floor to remove her cell phone from her fanny pack stashed inside the gym bag.

“Don’t tell me. Checking up on your folks again?”

Jaimie made the fifth call home that day. “You
know how they are.” She tapped the number; her mother answered after the first
ring.
 
Granny Mac had left for a
prayer meeting at the church so Jaimie had time to shop. “Hey Ma, do you need
anything from the grocery store? I’m making a stop there, but I’ll be home in
time to play cards before
we pop in a
movie
. And oh, don’t forget to take the chicken out of the
freezer.”
  

“You’re cooking, too?” GinaMarie rolled her eyes.

Jaimie tapped off her cell phone and tucked it
away. “What?”

“You treat those two like children.” GinaMarie
stopped yanking a sweatshirt out of her own gym bag. “So you’re going to
Grungy-ville tomorrow.”

“
Grundieville
.
Now, now, be nice. There are good, hardworking people in Grundieville.”

“Reuben Richardson.
 
Right?”

Jaimie stood and removed her damp sweatpants.
“You’ve got it.”

“I’m surprised that man hasn’t had you arrested
for stalking.”

“Believe me, I can think of a dozen things I’d
rather do. But Grundieville is the site of this big four-day paintball
tournament. Word has it Richardson signed up.”

GinaMarie peeled out of her tiny leopard crop top.

“Grown men and women will get decked out in
camouflage duds and carry toy air guns. They’ll run around like raving lunatics
splattering each other with paint pellets.”

“Can you stand the fun?” GinaMarie said dryly as
she jiggled the handle of her locker. “Well, at least it’ll get you out of town
and a much-needed break from the family for four whole days.”

 
“As
bad as I need this shot at Richardson, I’m a little nervous about leaving Ma
and Granny Mac alone for that long.

“What about work?”

“Wrapping two comp days for overtime around the
weekend.”

“Cool beans. Well, better find a cage of carrier
pigeons if you want
mobile
communication.”

“What?”

 
“I
hear consistent, solid cell signals in those parts are almost nonexistent.”

“I just hope the house is still standing when I
get back.”

Chapter
6

The next day, Jaimie
caterwauled to the radio as she guided her Focus along a small curving two-lane
road.
 
The crystalline day, perfect
for a road trip and a new opportunity to latch on to Richardson, made her smile.
Just what she needed to put that Shangri-La fiasco behind her.

The highway leading to Grundieville had been thick
with traffic. Patches of flat, barren fields, and monotonous billboards
provided few distractions. She’d found the plotted back roads virtually
traffic-free and scenic. The paintball adventure required an extra punch of
confidence. Her knowledge of the game was limited to what she could glean from
brochures, but how hard was an adult version of Capture the Flag?
 
She shrugged off all niggling doubt,
cranked up the radio, and tapped out the beat on her steering wheel.

Just up the road a tall broad-shouldered man
caught her attention. There was something familiar about him so she slowed the
car to match his purposeful, long-legged stride. Her passenger side window
descended.
 
“Mitchell?”

He stopped, sucked in a deep breath, and stood
there, relief washing over his handsome face.

“What happened? Why are you walking?”

“My car conked out on me. She ran out of gas.”
Mitchell stepped closer to her Focus.
 
Sweat beaded on his smooth skin, darkening the armpits of his green
short-sleeved shirt.

“Is that so?”
  
she asked with a lilt as her lips
curved into a smile. She took far too much pleasure from his mishap, but she
knew exactly where he was headed.
 
So much for her hot Richardson tip. “Well, Grundieville is about
what…eighteen, nineteen miles up the road here? Hmmm, let’s see, walking at a
nice clip, you might get there just before dusk.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“I know you're not headed to Grundieville for the
tourist attractions. I'd aid and abet the competition if I helped you out,” she
teased, knowing full well she didn't have it in her to desert him.
 
“But if you ask nicely, with lots and
lots of cream, sugar, and cherries on top, I might, just might, be persuaded to
reconsider.”

“Forget it.” Mitchell clenched his jaw and resumed
his march onward,
 
too proud for his
own darn good.

“If you'd rather walk...”
 
Jaimie gunned the engine. Well, as much
as one could gun an old Focus.
 
Her
rear tires kicked up a cloud of dust as she took off. About a half mile up the
road, she checked the rearview mirror.
 
Mitchell had stopped in his tracks, shaking a fist at her.
  
She jammed the brakes and shifted
to a zippy reverse until the car flanked him again. “Forget something?”

“I can't believe you were going to leave me here!”
His nostrils flared and his words came out in jerky little spurts.

She replied sweetly enough to set his teeth on
edge, “All you had to do was ask for a ride.”

“No, you wanted me to
beg
for a ride. I’ll
hike all the way back to Corrinth first.” His eyes darkened and the planes of
his face took on a virile intensity.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”
 
Jaimie released the lock on the
passenger side.

“A little less gloating would be nice.”

“You think I'm gloating?
 
Ha! That's rich coming from you.
 
So are you getting in?”

Mitchell grumbled, scrunching his long legs inside
the tight interior. She guessitmated that he stood about six foot three. At
least. Though much taller than the average American woman, Jaimie felt
diminutive and more feminine with this solid hunk of male flesh beside her.

“Something wrong?”

He shuffled his feet as his knees knocked against
the lower dashboard. “Adjusting to your little Hot Wheels, that's all.''

“Feel free to hotfoot it if this ‘Hot Wheels’ is
too uncomfortable for you.” Jaimie gave him a sideways glance. The temperature
inside the Focus rose a few un-weather-related degrees, but she nixed turning
on the air conditioner. Too obvious.
 
His proximity and the scent of his
perspiration mingled with cologne made her hyper aware of him.
 
“So, you ran out of gas, huh?''

“Yeah, sometimes I get a little too distracted to
notice—”

“Something as insignificant as a gas gauge or
low-fuel warnings ,” Jaimie interrupted him with more than hint of
condescension. “Who leaves town without checking their gas? Don’t you have a
cell phone?
 
Not a details sort of
guy, huh?”

Mitchell pressed his lips together and sucked in a
deep breath. “Had to leave the car on one of the smaller roads that branches
off from this one. And I couldn’t get a signal for my cell phone.”

Jaimie had taken the needling too far so she
softened her tone to get more intel. “Can happen to the most conscientious
among us—especially when preoccupied.
 
And I'm sure you were very
preoccupied.
 
You're on your way to
Grundieville, right?”
 
She paused.
“On a mission, perhaps?”
 
The
mission to screw up her plan to connect with Richardson first.

Mitchell secured his seatbelt over his brick wall
of a chest and broad shoulders. “Yeah, I'm on a mission to see that bronze pig
on display in the town square.”

“Oh, right, the flying sow,” Jaimie chirped with
what she hoped was grating perkiness. “I can’t wait!”

“And please, cut the bogus Suzie Sunshine act. My
car conked out on me, and I had to walk for miles in the blazing heat.”

“Why are you headed for Grundieville?”
 
Jaimie needed to hear him say it.

“As if you didn’t know. The paintball
tournament.
 
Richardson. This
weekend he's mine.”
 
Mitch poked his
chest for emphasis.

“Not if I get him first.” Jaimie reached inside
the glove compartment for her sunglasses and pushed them over her eyes, the
gesture a symbol of the shield she needed to erect between them.

They rode in silence until she pulled up to Pac
’N’ Snac, a rinky-dink convenience store with two old-fashioned gas pumps out
front.
 
She plotted her next
move.
 
She’d done her good deed for
the day. She had every right to ditch Mitchell’s butt right there and get back
to the business of sniffing out Richardson.
 
Mitchell had been remote and sullen for
most of the ride, and he’d climbed out of the car without tossing so much as a
thank-you her way.

***

Inside the Pac ’N’ Snac,
Mitch quizzed the store clerk so he could make arrangements for alternate
transportation, but had little luck. Grundieville had one taxi driver, someone
the clerk called “Junebug,” who was unavailable at the moment, and Mitch’s cell
phone still refused to cooperate. He quickly shopped for a few toiletries he didn’t
bother to pack for his mad dash for Grundieville, assuming he’d make a pit stop
at a store. He pitched a toothbrush, a mini tube of toothpaste, and
mint-flavored dental floss inside his handheld shopping basket.
 
As he passed the large glass storefront,
he caught sight of Jaimie. She’d shoved her sunglasses on top of her head just
to give him the stink eye from the front seat of her car. That woman had one
funky attitude on her.

Mitch still simmered from the tension-laden
barbecue at Travis’s the day before so the last thing he needed was some
ill-tempered female, balancing a boulder-sized chip on her shoulder.
 
They’d obviously gotten the same lead on
Richardson again, which pissed him the hell off, but he had to admit that
little coincidence ultimately worked out in his favor. She couldn’t have shown
up at a better time, whacking twenty miles off his unexpected hike and rescuing
his dogs from the unyielding wrath of a too-new pair of Cole Haans.
 
She twirled a lock of her hair around
one finger. The day before she had worn a tight bun. Today, it cascaded down
her back like a gleaming black curtain. In the car, his fingers had twitched to
touch it.
 

Jaimie wore denim overalls, dingy sneakers, a
Spunky’s Funky gym T-shirt, and a ratty little macramé bracelet. Pretty
face. Actually very pretty. And the body looked even better than he’d initially
assessed. That’s when it hit Mitch. She reminded him of that one actress, who
was equally adept at doing her own stunts in kick-ass blockbuster action flicks
and gliding down red carpets like a high fashion model.

However, it was obvious Ms. Jaimie did not put
herself out primping and preening. Again, her face appeared war-paint free.
Though he dug the berry-colored lipstick she’d worn the day before, her kisser
was just as sexy sans artificial coloring.

“Hey mister, we’ve got a four-for-one sale on ice
scrapers,” the young clerk behind the cash register barged in on Mitch’s
thoughts, pointing to a prominent display situated on the counter.

“Ice scrapers? It’s late May.”

“Hence, the four-for-one special.”

“I’ll pass.” Mitch pitched additional items inside
his handheld basket as he moved toward the checkout counter. “I’m looking for a
place to crash for a few nights. Any recommendations? Hotels? Motels? Inns?
What’s Grundieville’s best?”

“Got one nice inn in town, the Bluebird,” the
clerk told him. “You can try there, but it’s a long shot. We’ve got a lot of
out-of-towners in for that paintball tournament, but who knows? You might get
lucky.”

“Directions?” he asked as he checked his phone
again. Still no signal.

The clerk reached for a pad and pencil. “Here,
I’ll write’ em down for you.”

“No, just tell me.”

“Get back on the road out there, heading north,
then take the right on Elm, then a sharp left on Boll Weevil and another right
on Freemont. Oh, and then turn left at Pearlie Mae’s diner. You sure you don’t
want me to jot it down?”

“Nope. Got it.”
 
Mitch paid the clerk and made his way
toward the exit with his stash, which included an empty gas can. When he
stepped outside he immediately felt Jaimie’s arctic glare. But he had a little
something in his bag guaranteed to take the chill off.

***

Jaimie impatiently tapped
the steering wheel and watched Mitchell mosey out of Pac ’N’ Snac as if he had
all the time in the world.
 
It would
serve him right if she made him eat her dust again. Who did he take her for,
anyway?
 
Boo-Boo-the-chauffeuring
fool?
 
He could’ve called a taxi
while in that convenience store. Why waste valuable time driving him back to
his car when she could get at least a good hour’s jump on him? But instead of
seizing the opportunity, she sniped, “Aren’t you going to say thank-you,
Mitchell?”

Mitchell set his gas can on the ground and ambled
over to her window. Her gaze roamed from his lips to his fingers as he worked
three shirt buttons free.
 
Rivulets
of sweat trailed from the curve of his jaw, down his neck, and pooled in the
deep crevice dividing gym-carved pecs.

Mitchell bent from the waist, his gaze locked on
hers. “I was going to say thank-you as soon as we got back to my car.” He moved
in close. So close she noticed luminous flecks of gold in his light brown
irises. “And only my father calls me Mitchell. I prefer Mitch.”

The
prince
of
presumptuousness!
 
“
We
are done as far as I'm concerned.
 
This is the end of the road. You’re on your own. And the day we met you
told me your
friends
call you Mitch.”

“So you're just going to leave me stranded out
here?”

“Get a taxi,
Mitchell
,”
she said, practically taffy pulling the last two letters of his name into a
third syllable.

“Look around you. Grundieville makes Mayberry look
like Vegas.
 
I could walk back to
Corrinth in the time it's going to take for Junebug, the town mortician-notary-
cab driver, to head back this way.
 
He's in the middle of embalming the Widow Tillery so I don't think he
can help me out at the moment.”

She lifted one brow and sniffed, “How do you know
all that?”

“The store clerk told me. Apparently this is
Junebug’s day to work the funeral home.
 
You see, I did try to make other arrangements so I wouldn't have to
detain you any longer,” Mitchell told her. “I understand if you have to
leave.
 
I'll figure something out.
You go on ahead.”
 
He reached inside
his bag and removed a package of Hostess Dings Dongs. “Thought you might need a
sugar boost right about now.” He passed Jaimie the snack cakes and a liter
bottle of water to wash them down.

“Tokens of your appreciation or a bribe?” Jaimie
wanted to appear hard and in charge, but she reached for his offering.

“Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me so
far,” Mitchell offered with some reluctance. “Especially under the
circumstances. You go ahead. I’m good. Again, thanks.”
 
He appeared rumpled and humbled, so
obviously playing the pity card as he trudged to the pumps.
 

As he filled the gas can with premium unleaded
something nudged Jaimie’s conscience. “Hurry up, would you?
 
I don't have all day,
Mitchell
!”

He went back inside Pac ’N’ Snac to pay for the
gas before settling on the front seat of her car again.

“About my sweet tooth?” Jaimie asked, trying to
make polite conversation. “What gave me away?”