You Dropped a Blonde on Me (18 page)
Len’s stare was purposefully blank. “Yep.”
Maxine nudged her shoulder. “Oh, c’mon. Just a little hint about what he said.”
“Not a chance.” She yanked the rec center door open. “Go on, Mistress of All Things Bingo. Finish up in there. You up for the diner afterward? Or do you want to go home and put some more ice on that nose? Your mother told me what happened. Tough crowd, the over-fifty-five set, eh?”
The events of the long evening settled between her shoulders in the way of a sharp ache. “Do you mind if I take a rain check? If I keep scooping enough poop, it might be my treat,” she enticed.
“Deal. But promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t wear that color ever again, and pluck your eyebrows. They look like hamsters. Love yourself, sweetie. With a pair of tweezers or a jar of hot wax.”
Maxine giggled when she flipped her friend the bird, heading back into the rec center, feeling considerably lighter than she had just three hours ago.
“Miss Wiiiiigggllles, c’mon. Make potties for Auntie Maxine,” she coaxed the small, fuzzy Pomeranian who stared blankly up at her like she was making demands in a foreign language.
Settling on her haunches, Maxine ran a hand down along Miss Wiggles’s fur-coated spine, chucking her under the chin. “Auntie Maxine’s beat, punkin’, and her nose could really use a frozen T-bone followed by an ibuprofen chaser. So let’s make poo and call it a night. Whaddya say?”
Miss Wiggles leaned into her hand for a brief moment then sat back on her haunches, too. Slipping to the ground, Maxine dropped her ass to the pavement with defeat and sighed. Miss Wiggles hopped in her lap to snuggle.
Maxine held up the Ziploc bag. “See this, Miss Wiggles? We have to fill it up. Please?” she whimpered. Her nose whimpered right along with her by way of an angry throb. A quick glance in the rec center bathroom mirror had revealed dark purple bruising and an ugly, mottled yellow blotch on the left side of her cheek.
“Are we experiencing potty malfunction, Miss Wiggles?” a deep voice asked, the speaker stepping into the light of the globed street-lamps lining the sidewalks of Leisure Village.
Her stomach gave a fierce lurch when Campbell offered his hand to help her up. She found her eyes falling to the tight fit of his jeans where his thighs met his hips, and bit her lip. Placing her hand in his, she rose upward, Miss Wiggles securely tucked under her arm. His arm went to her waist when she stumbled, because really, whose legs wouldn’t crumble like dry cookies in the presence of all that hottie?
Their bodies met, touching, molding to each other as if they’d always done so. Maxine grimaced when her hips decided they liked Campbell’s just fine. His muscled thighs, aligned with hers, left her wondering what they would feel like minus a pair of stonewashed jeans.
Oh.
Nice time for her libido to fire up.
“How’s that nose?” he asked with his arm still bracing her.
“Do you think purple and yellow blotches are a good look for me?” she asked back on a hard swallow. His chest. It kept distracting her. Jesus Christ in a miniskirt, his chest was so okay to stay pressed against hers until her death, when rigor mortis set in.
The hand she’d placed on his arm to steady herself persisted, internally begging her to allow its fingers to skim the planes of his pecs. She swayed.
Campbell tightened his grip, his long fingers splaying across her waist. “I think what really gives me goose bumps is the red mixed in with all those blotches. Very appealing.”
“So what you’re saying is it’s not working with my outfit.”
He chuckled. “Only if you’re Rainbow Brite.”
Maxine chuckled, too. Nervously.
And then there was silence again, Miss Wiggles sighing a deep sigh of contentment against Campbell’s shoulder, mirroring Maxine’s internal sigh.
Campbell’s eyes stared into hers directly, unblinking, as though he were taking in every inch of her face and memorizing it.
God. What a sucky memory she must make right now.
The evening pulsed between them. Crickets chirped. The street-lamps hummed.
Expectation came, went, and came again in her stomach full of cartwheeling Olympic gymnasts. She couldn’t help but think about Len’s mystery conversation with Campbell. Was this man, so smart and funny, kind to the elderly, good with animals, and hot to boot, really interested in her? And if so, why? She didn’t have a lot to offer. In fact, had she ever had anything to offer other than her twenty-two-inch waist and a nice rack?
As the silence ticked on, and her mind raced, Maxine decided Len had read too much into Campbell’s inquiries.
Her stomach sank again. Why would a man this together, this flippin’ good looking, ever ask her out? If he’d asked Len about her, it was out of curiosity because of all of the village gossip. Who wouldn’t be curious about the neurosis-laden, almost divorcée who’d gone from riches to neon yellow sweat suits and eyebrows like caterpillars?
When Campbell finally spoke, it was as he was letting her go, stepping backward. “C’mere, Miss Wiggles,” he almost cooed, taking the dog from her trembling fingers and setting her on the grass by his feet. “Let’s make some magic, young lady,” he coaxed the preening Pomeranian.
Disappointment led Maxine’s eyes to stray to the ground for a mere second before she lifted them to his, purposely—with resolve. There’d be no lying down and dying because someone didn’t ask her out on a date she’d made up in her own mind to begin with.
Her shoulders squared at this mini-milestone. There’d be no weeping and wailing either. Rejection sucked sometimes, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Not nabbing a date with a man she probably wasn’t ready to date anyway was just fine.
So bummer that.
When she finally unlocked her “I never wanted to go out with you anyway” gaze from his, and her eyes strayed back to the ground, Campbell asked, “So, Max. How about that cup of coffee? Maybe tomorrow night? Seven sound good?”
Yeah, rejection wasn’t the end of the world. But acceptance did have a woo to the hoo factor to it. Not a big woo. Just a little hoo. “Where do you want to go?”
“The diner maybe? Wherever we go, I promise it’ll be well lit and have plenty of people.”
Maxine giggled. “I—I’ve . . . I haven’t been on a date since leg warmers were still popular. I guess I just don’t know what to say. I mean, it isn’t that I don’t know what my answer’s going to be. I just mean that you caught me off guard. Sort of. Oh, and not in a bad way. Just off guard, you know?”
Oy.
The smile he flashed was playful with no hint of the dangerous glint he’d had in his eyes earlier. “Just say yes. Yes, Campbell, I’ll have a cup of coffee with you. Maybe two if you keep being so damn cute and charming.”
Her heart skittered, and her hands searched for something to do other than throw themselves around his neck in high-schoolish gratitude. So silly. It was only coffee.
On a deep breath that made her bangs puff upward, she responded. “Yes, Campbell. I’ll have coffee with you at a well-lit place with lots of people around.”
She noted his expression never wavered, but his eyes glittered. He handed Miss Wiggles’s leash to her with a grin that made his five o’clock shadow appear rakish in the lamplight. “So I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, Max.”
As she took the leash, their hands brushed, creating an electric current of excitement in the pit of her stomach once more. “O—okay . . . tomorrow.”
Campbell caught her chin, caressing it with his thumb. “You ice that nose, okay?” he reminded before capturing her lips, molding them to his with a sweetly hot sizzle of blood rushing to her ears. It lasted maybe only twenty seconds or so, no longer than the last kiss they’d shared, but long enough to awaken those dormant hormones so long overlooked.
This time a sigh did escape her lips, and a sinful chuckle of confidence released from his. When she was able to open her eyes, he’d begun to saunter away. “Don’t forget to scoop that poop,” he said, laughter threading his words.
Maxine gave a quick glance to where Miss Wiggles sat beside her feet, quiet as a church mouse, a pile of some of her best magic right beside her. She bent to scoop it up and deposit it in the bag, retrieving the dog to give her a quick snuggle. “Is there anything that man can’t create with just a wink and a smile?” she asked her.
Setting Miss Wiggles back on the sidewalk, Maxine took her time bringing the Pomeranian home to her owner, Mrs. Kniffen. She needed a moment to absorb the idea that she was going on a date, time to assimilate how she was going to broach the subject to Connor.
She needed to do more than just absorb and talk this over with Connor—she needed a lot of things. First, a much-required fashion intervention. “Miss Wiggles? When you’re going on a date for something as casual as coffee, is it acceptable dating etiquette to wear a sweat suit?”
Miss Wiggles snorted her apparent disapproval, trotting happily beside her toward home.
“But it’s a festive color. Purple. Don’t you like purple?” The Pomeranian let a visible shudder roll down her spine.
Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t have a whole lot to choose from except what she borrowed from her mother. Almost all of her wardrobe, accessories, and cute shoes were long gone. Lacey’d probably had a poolside bonfire with them back at the mini-mansion. Right next to those stupid silver saw palmetto trees she’d once babied like she’d given birth to them.
“So tell me, Miss Fashionista, how do you feel about housecoats on a first date? You know, like the ones with the big flowers on them and the snaps down the front?” This time, Miss Wiggles growled low.
Maxine rolled her eyes at the persnickety Miss Wiggles.
Hater.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives on really, really sucking it up: When on a tight budget, Walmart and other various discount chains can be your moth-eaten pocketbook’s friend. Yes,
you
must do your own shopping. No, there are no personal shoppers to carry your purchases. No one will offer you beverage and sustenance in the way of wafer-thin crackers with goat cheese whilst you peruse fine outerwear. However, this
is
the place where you’ll find affordable foods and two-fer deals, and finally, yes, you must push your own cart. The indignities, eh? Go forth and purchase feminine hygiene products at discount prices. “Welcome to Walmart.”
Adam hunched down in his rented car in the Walmart parking lot, observing the woman he’d finally identified as Maxine Cambridge, and forced himself to focus on why he was in Riverbend in the first place.
But his thoughts kept straying to Len—her hot accusation that he was some two-bit PI for Finley Cambridge. Her vehement defense of her friend made him smile.
She was intense, sexy, and devoted to, and protective of Maxine.
Now that he had the information he needed, he should be focused on doing what he came to do and getting out of Dodge.
So why was he pulling out of the Walmart parking lot and driving in the direction of Lenore’s office?
“Okay, Maxie. This,” her mother said with widespread arms clad in a plaid button-down shirt, “is
Super Walmart.
It’s the best place in town to shop when you’re on a budget. Well, sometimes you can get a real bargain at the Stop & Shop on chuck roast, but Walmart has everything, household items, small appliances, clothes. All sorts of bunk.”
Super Walmart.
It’s the best place in town to shop when you’re on a budget. Well, sometimes you can get a real bargain at the Stop & Shop on chuck roast, but Walmart has everything, household items, small appliances, clothes. All sorts of bunk.”
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