How To Get Your Man

“I don’t think you’ve got to worry,” Dalton said as they stepped into the crisp evening air outside the Home Center.

She shrugged. “I hope not.”

He indicated a beat-up Toyota parked in front of the store. “So, you want a ride back?”

“No, thanks, I can use the walk.”

“Eight blocks? With your arms full like that? Come on, Bon. It’s cold out here.”

A cold front had moved in, and it was crisp, even for November. “Don’t worry about me.” She opened her purse to stuff the paint samples in but lost her grip on the strap and the whole thing dropped to the ground.

How To Seduce Your Dream Man was, of course, the first thing to plunk out onto the sidewalk.

“Let me help you.” Dalton bent down to help gather the things that had spilled.

“No—”

But it was too late. He took the book in hand and stood up.

“How to seduce your dream man?” He looked at the book, then at Bonnie, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Her cheeks flamed. “It’s not mine. It’s for a campaign I’m working on.” She snatched the book away from him and shoved it into her purse, not caring what she bent, broke or shattered in doing so, just as long as it was out of sight.

“A campaign.”

“Yes. For a very important client.”

“Hm.” He went to his car and opened the back door, saying over his shoulder, “Hell, I could tell you a hundred ways to get a guy right now. For the sake of your client, I mean.”

“Like…?”

He put his bags on the seat, shut the door and came back to her. “Like stop dressing like an old lady.”

“Me?”

He moved fractionally closer and she felt his warmth move into her space. “Yeah, you.” He reached over to undo her top two buttons. His fingertips brushed against her skin, leaving a small trail of tingles after his touch.

Her breath caught in her throat and for just a split second she felt like a blushing teenager.

She stepped back. “Keep your hands off me!”

He gave a laugh. “You’ve been saying that since high school. Loosen up a little.”

She swallowed hard, still reeling from her reaction to his touch more than his impertinence. “You’ve been saying that since high school.”

He gave a rakish grin. “But I meant something different back then. Back then I was just trying to help me. Now I’m trying to help you.”

“I think you even said that in high school.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Man, if I’d known you were actually listening to what I was saying, I would have been a lot more careful.”

“You probably should have been anyway.” She wondered if he remembered the one single night they’d spent together as well as she did. She wondered if he knew it had been her first time and that when he hadn’t called her back, it had made her feel cheap and tawdry.

“I’m going,” she said, taking a step away. “See you later.”

He watched her for a moment, frowning. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.” She wasn’t about to admit she was still holding on to a hurt that he’d inflicted eleven years ago. “I just want to get walking.”

“Bon—” He came up behind her and took her by the arm, turning her to face him. “What’s wrong?” His face was serious, still. Handsome in the twilight.

“Dalton, nothing’s wrong. Can’t a girl get some exercise if she wants to? It’s a nice night, I just want to walk.”

He studied her for a moment and she stood still under his scrutiny. “If that’s all it is.”

“That’s all it is,” she assured him.

“Because I didn’t mean to say anything that would hurt you.”

It wouldn’t be fair to make the man pay for a mistake the boy had made so long ago. She gave a smile. “Careful, Dalton. Someone might think you care.”

His blue eyes narrowed, tweaking laugh lines she hadn’t noticed for a long time. “Does someone actually think I don’t?”

Her throat went tight. So did her chest. That he could elicit this kind of response from her troubled her more than anything else. “Don’t go soft on me.”

He shook his head, a smile denting his cheek. “I’d never do that.”

Well, she’d set herself up for that one. “Go home, Dalton.” She turned and walked away, feeling his eyes on her back until she finally heard his car rumble to life and drive past her.

Only then did she relax.

The next day, Bonnie discovered that Leticia Bancroft’s mirror-breathing technique was a disaster.

Bonnie had never realized before just how hard it was to breathe consciously. In when Mark breathed in, out when he exhaled. It took so much concentration, she could barely think about anything else.

Maybe if they’d been lying quietly in bed—a scenario she liked—she could have done it, but with him sitting at a table in front of her, moving every once in awhile to get papers or artwork or whatever, she couldn’t keep up.

When he eventually looked at her and asked if she was hyperventilating—his hand hovering over the telephone, ready to call for help—she decided to give up.

“It was so embarrassing,” she said to Paula later that night at Bungalow Billiards, a little dive of a bar in Tappen. “The idea, as I understood it, was that this was supposed to create a subconscious feeling of comfort in him. It wasn’t supposed to make me look ill.”

Paula downed a big gulp of beer. “Frankly I think all of this makes you look ill. Think about it, you’re reading a book on how to make a man fall in love with you!”

Bonnie squeezed a slice of lime into her club soda. “I’ve been back here for five years, working five days a week in a bustling metropolis that you would think would have men to spare, yet I’ve met no one interesting. Mark is the first guy I’ve really thought might be It. I mean, if you look at his stats, he’s perfect for me.” She shrugged. “I’ve got to do what I can.”

“His stats? What about chemistry?”

Bonnie shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no, chemistry has failed me far too often. I’m not listening to that anymore. I’m listening to my head on this one, and my head tells me Mark is perfect for me.”