Summers' Love, A Cute and Funny Cinderella Love Story (LPC Romantic Comedy Series) (2 page)

We don’t need tougher background checks on gun buyers, Kate wanted to say. We need better background checks on our dates.

“Check out the testimonials on the inside of the brochure,” she said instead. “Some of them are quite chilling. I’ll be right back with the snacks.”

Kate intercepted Roger in the hallway. He was on hands and knees, crawling to the guest bedroom.

“Where do you think
you’re
going?”

“To curl up and die.”

Kate grabbed her brother by the collar and hoisted him onto his feet. “Stop being such a drama queen and get those drinks.”

“Promise me you’re done, Sis. That after tonight this stun gun business is over.”

“First, I have to win that Caribbean vacation. Then you can quit.”

“Technically speaking,” Roger countered, “Nassau isn’t in the Caribbean.”

“Technically speaking, I don’t care. Punch, cups, napkins and hurry.”

Kate returned to the living room with a tray of refreshments.

“Try the gorgonzola crostini,” she suggested. “Goes great with the bruschetta.” While the women filled their plates, Kate asked, “So, ladies … what’s your worst nightmare?”

Kate feigned concern as the women answered.

“Trip to the emergency room without insurance.”

“Repeal of Roe v. Wade.”

“Jimmie Johnson winning another championship.”

All eyes turned toward a large woman with rooster-red hair and freckles. Picking at a pumpernickel seed stuck between her teeth the woman added, “Hey, so I’m an Earnhardt fan. Big deal.”

“Me too,” another guest chimed in. “But I’m beginning to think Junior will never win a championship.”

“He’s too nice,” “Red” offered. “The boy needs to push people out of the way like his daddy did.”

“I get the impression all he wants to do is ride around and finish in the top five,” said a pharmaceutical rep Kate had met only the day before.

Kate loudly cleared her throat. “Can we get back to my question?”

A dollop of dip dropped onto Red’s electric blue spandex pants. She scooped it up with her napkin. “Worst fear? I’d have to say it’s waking up at night and finding some stranger in my bed. Saw on the news where that happened to a woman in Gaithersburg. She heard a noise, rolled over, and found this fat naked guy snuggled up next to her, snoring. After hearing about that, I thought about buying a handgun, but I get custody of my boys every other week. My oldest is a hothead, like his dad. I’m afraid he might accidentally shoot his brother.”

“You’re right to be cautious,” said Kate, producing a forced look of concern. “Buying a handgun is a huge step. In addition to the costs, background check, paperwork, license fees, and the fact that you’re basically buying into the whole male violence culture, there’s the real possibility that you will actually have to shoot someone. That’s why I love my stun gun.” She cuddled it in her upturned palm. “In a way it’s better than a handgun because it doesn’t actually kill the perp—only makes him
wish
he were dead.”

“I saw on the news that some states are trying to ban them,” the pharmaceutical rep, whose name Kate hadn’t even bothered to get, piped in.

“That’s only because overzealous law-enforcement types have given stun guns a bad name,” Kate countered. “But I will say, Tasmania Tasers has a terrific lobbying group on the Hill working to keep personal protection devices legal and available. Here, feel how light the Exterminator is.” Kate handed the weapon to the rep. “And it has a range of twenty feet.”

The young woman clutched the pistol-grip handle and pointed the gun at Kate’s entertainment center.

“Careful,” Kate warned, “the black button you have your finger on is … ”

Shiny metal talons exploded from the gun. The barbs barely missed Kate’s television but snagged her beautiful custom window treatments.

With cheeks reddening, the drug rep placed the gun on the coffee table. “Sorry.”

Kate, eyeing her now-drooping drapes, remained upbeat, though she felt the corners of her smile sag a little. “That particular model comes in four colors: pacific blue, cayenne red, twilight pewter, and opal. And for an additional $35, you can order a matching suede carrying case.”

“Why would I want that?” Red asked.

Kate eyed Red’s over-stuffed pants and too-tight white tank top. “So it doesn’t clash with your ensemble.” Although in Red’s case it wouldn’t matter.

“So how does it work, exactly?” the rep asked.

Kate walked to the window and removed the talons from the curtains. “These darts embed themselves into the assailant’s skin. The wires send a surge of voltage through his body, shocking his central nervous system, and thus disabling his motor functions. With the attacker paralyzed, you have plenty of time to call 911, although if you want you could reload and fire again.” She grinned. “Just depends on what kind of mood you’re in.”

“How much?” asked Red.

“The Exterminator sells for $645.”

Red dunked a shrimp in horseradish sauce and smacked her lips. “I can buy a lot of pepper spray for that amount of money.”

Kate sensed the momentum shifting. There was a herd mentality to these parties, and Red had established herself as the alpha female.

“True,” Kate conceded. “But with chemical sprays you have to hit ’em in the face. In windy conditions the spray can blow into
your
eyes, giving the assailant exactly what he wants—a helpless female.”

Red sucked sauce from her knuckles. “Still … that’s a lot of money.”

“But a lot less than a trip to the emergency room. Not to mention way cheaper than the cost of a rape kit which, if you do not have insurance, you’ll have to pay for yourself.” Inserting a fresh CO
₂
cartridge into the Exterminator, Kate said cheerfully, “Now, who else wants to give it a shot?”

The drug rep glanced over at Roger who stood leaning against the doorway. “We’re not going to shoot your brother, again, are we?”

Kate shook her head. “No, no. Roger’s had enough excitement for one evening. But I do have a mannequin set up in the hallway.”

“I don’t know if I want to waste my time shooting cardboard cutouts,” said Red. “Anyhow … I was hoping to swing by Page Me Books before eight and get my favorite author’s latest.”

“You mean Stu Summers?” the drug rep blurted out. “I love his novels. He
so
gets women.”

Red dunked another shrimp in the horseradish. “I especially liked how, in
Puppy Love,
Rachel’s ex-husband died when his sailboat mast hit the power line. That was awesome.”

Kate repacked the wires and darts and placed the Exterminator on the coffee table. She was losing them. “Come on, gals, who’s first?”

“Hey, I have an idea,” said the drug rep. “Let’s
all
go down to the bookstore and get an autographed copy. It’ll be like we’re having our own book club.”

“Count me in,” said Kate’s hairstylist, Alycia.

“Me, too,” seconded a woman from Kate’s building, a flight attendant named Sue.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Kate said with a sigh that was not one hundred percent professional. “He’s just a guy writing trashy romance novels. What could he possibly know about love?”

“Oh, honey,” Sue said. “It’s obvious you’ve never read any of his books.”

“You’re right about that. I only read
serious
literature.
Jane Eyre
, Jane Austen, Janet Evanovich.”

“Not me.” Red filled her plate with crackers and cheese dip. “The steamier the better.”

“Besides, his books
are
serious literature,” the drug rep added, then looked around at everyone. “At least I think they are.”

Kate, sensing her large sale slipping away, tried to regain control of the conversation. Any minute now, they’d veer into a discussion of dating disaster stories and the party would dissolve into a therapy session. “You really think this guy’s books are that good?”

Heads nodded.

“And that an autographed copy of his book is more important than you learning how to protect yourself from a sexual assault?”

Heads vigorously nodded.

“Okay, then how about if I do this. If each of you agrees to buy either the Exterminator or the smaller Silent Assassin tonight or one of the other quality Tasmania personal protection devices, I’ll toss in an autographed copy of what’s-his-name’s latest novel.”

“I don’t know,” said Red. “$345 is a lot of money.”

“$345 is the retail price for the Silent Assassin. The Exterminator is $645,” Kate corrected her guest. “And don’t forget it comes with a free DVD explaining the top ten self-defense tactics every woman should know.”

“It could be a collector’s item someday,” the drug rep remarked.

“A stun gun?” said Red.

“No, silly. Stu Summers’ book. I heard he’s lost that loving feeling.”

“We should be so lucky,” Kate grumbled. “Show of hands,” she said with a raise of her voice. “Is everyone on board with the Silent Assassin and this guy’s book? Do we have a deal?” Kate counted hands as something akin to euphoria swept over her. “Okay sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Stepping into the hallway she pulled her brother aside. “I am putting you in charge. Don’t let anyone leave, not a soul.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the bookstore. I’m going to win this contest, Rog, and this author fellow is going to help me.”

* * *

Minutes later, Kate burst through the doors of Page Me Books. After cruising past the cash registers, she joined a long line of women snaking around racks of books. At the far end of the room behind the book-signing table stood a gargantuan poster showing a deeply-tanned man with a smile that reminded Kate of the one Tom Cruise managed to flash in every movie he’d ever made. In the poster the man wore a white, button-down collared shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, jeans, and bare feet crossed at the ankles. Behind him stood a yellow beach cottage with pink railings and purple shutters, which was something akin to her dream escape.

A store employee lingered near a long table stacked with hardback books. When Kate reached it, she counted out fourteen and watched as the employee waved a barcode scanner over the back cover of each one. He presented Kate with two bags. These she placed on the floor beside her. With a loud sigh that caught the attention of the employee, Kate leaned out of line to gauge the length of her wait. As she did, the author behind the table looked up. Their eyes caught and he smiled at her.

Her heart leapt.

The man had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

Chapter Two

Page Me Books occupied half of a basement warehouse that once served as a hospital during the Federal Army’s humiliating retreat from Manassas, Virginia. The names of Yankee wounded remained etched in the worn brick columns supporting rough-hewn ceiling beams. At least that’s what the store’s owner told shoppers. In truth, the original inscriptions of Yankee soldiers had long since faded, but in an effort to retain the rustic feel of the building, the owner had paid for the restoration and enhancement of the original signatures. This was one reason Page Me Books remained one of Georgetown’s most popular bookstores.

The other reason was Stu Summers.

Stu believed in love at first sight. He believed in new romances and slow dances, the power of a sunset and the passion of two hearts becoming one. He believed in selfless, long-suffering love—the kind of love that prompted a man to abandon his career, dreams, and position on the church softball team in order to rescue the woman of his dreams. Stu believed in long walks on the beach and quiet evenings on the front porch; the nervous anticipation of a first kiss and the heartache of a final goodbye. But mostly Stu believed in love. Unconditional to-have-and-to-hold-till-death-do-us-part love.

He had to.

Stu was a romance writer.

And romance readers
loved
all that about him.

Or at least they loved Stu’s strong male protagonists who, despite heroic strength and stamina, always died. Often tragically. Stu’s men perished in the slums of Bangkok and jungles of Sumatra, in the tent cities of Calcutta and on the frozen tundra of Siberia. Stu’s fans—women mostly—loved his fallen heroes, and the deader the better. They also loved Stu’s dimpled cheeks, piercing blue eyes, and salt-and-pepper curls; his perfectly polished teeth, and the casual way he tossed his bangs back when he smiled. And Stu smiled a lot because that’s what rich, single, and successful authors do.

But Stu was not smiling now. Now he sat hunched forward, listening to the voice on the phone yelling at him through his Bluetooth earpiece.

“This is a joke, right? This manuscript?” Blair Dalyrimple, Stu’s new editor at Little Brown Pelican Publishing, made no effort to conceal her frustration. “Is this your attempt at making me look bad for deep-sixing your product placement idea?”