The Perfect Score

The trouble with that option, though, was that while it would certainly impress her, it wouldn’t impress her in a way that fit in his overall plan of attack. Go when she asks, and he’s simply some male sap doing her bidding. But go in an hour or so—when she’s buried in hardware and frustrated—and suddenly he’s the hero. And all the more sexy for it.

“So tell me about her,” Steph said, coming to the table with a glass of wine for her and a Coke for him. Mike glanced at the clock, evaluated how much time he had before Mattie hit maximum frustration, and nodded.

“I met her the day I moved in,” he said, starting at the beginning. He told Steph the rest of it, too. All of it. From the heat of desire he felt when he looked at Mattie to the secret plan he’d overheard in the laundry room.

Steph took it all in without saying a word. He knew she understood the depth of his emotion. Mike wasn’t the type to fall hard and fast, but he was the kind to believe in love at first sight. His parents had seen each other from across a lecture hall as freshmen in college, and had been gloriously in love ever since. His family was close-knit, and unlike so many families these days, “family” included all the various extensions, including especially his grandparents.

Grandma Jo and Grandpa Fred had moved in across the street when Mike was eight. He’d grown up in the thrall of family, and he knew that he was stronger for it. More, because his grandparents’ relationship was just as strong as his parents’—and had happened just as quickly—Mike had always craved a deep love and a long-term relationship. Silly, perhaps, to base personal dreams on the love life of his family members, but Mike saw how happy his parents and grandparents were.

He’d explained all that to Steph years ago. And she knew better than anyone that Mike had yet to find his perfect woman. So for him to be so frazzled so quickly…well, that was saying a lot.

He described Mattie and her plan, and when he was finished, Steph leaned back in the chair, nodded slowly, and simply said, “Interesting.”

“That’s it? I tell you that the first woman who’s really sparked my interest in the last year is looking to ratchet up her sex life, and all you can say is interesting? How about ‘Wow, what an opportunity you’ve stumbled across?’ Or ‘Gee, what lucky star were you born under?’”

“Or maybe ‘Boy, have you got your work cut out for you,’” she said, looking at him gravely.

“You’re kidding, right?” he said, wondering what had possessed her to be so negative.

She rolled her eyes. “Mike, you used to be a lot less naive. Or am I wrong about your intentions here?”

“My intentions,” he said, feeling utterly old-fashioned, “are completely honorable.”

“Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it? She’s looking for a wild fling. A bit of experience between the sheets. She said her ex was a dud, right? That means she’s looking for a good time. And she’s not looking for commitment.”

He frowned; she had a point.

“And did she come on to you at the pool?” Steph pressed. Mike had to admit that she hadn’t. “Well, there you go.”

He held out his hands, hoping he demonstrated just how much he didn’t understand what she was talking about.

Steph sighed and rolled her eyes. “Straight guys are just plain dumb,” she said. “Obviously, she already has someone in mind to play stud.”

“Or she’s just not attracted to me.”

Steph shook her head. “No way,” she said, loyally. “You’re irresistible.” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head. “No, the only reason our little friend wasn’t playing Flirt Girl with you is that she’s saving up for someone else. So your job, my friend, is to convince her she’s got her eye on the wrong guy.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t have been better off keeping his mouth shut. “And exactly how am I supposed to do that? Chocolate? Roses? Get her drunk and screw her brains out?”

“Not a bad plan,” Steph said, without skipping a beat. “But I think your best approach is to just ease your way into her life. Find out who she’s going after. And then make sure you’re in position to fill in the gaps if her plan stumbles.”

“And why would it stumble?” he asked.

“Who knows why these things go awry? But if she’s already in the mind frame of seduction. And if you’re already in her life. Well, then, wouldn’t her natural reaction be to turn to you?”

“You’re devious. You know that, right?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I know. The question is, am I right?”

He thought about that. About getting close to her. About the fact that Mattie Brown was the kind of woman he’d enjoy hanging out with. Talking with. Taking long walks with. And, of course, he’d enjoy running his hands over her naked body and driving her positively wild. That was a given.

But the friendship aspect? Yeah, he wanted that, too. And if by being her friend, he could be her lover…

His fingertip slowly traced the rim of the margarita glass. “Yeah,” he said slowly, after he’d thought it all over. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

I HATE PRESSBOARD. THAT fake wood with veneer on it filled with packed sawdust that weighs umpteen million pounds.

So far, I’d managed to chip the corners of two pieces, strip the screw-hole out of a third piece, and mutilate my toe by dropping yet another piece right on it. All in the name of a lateral filing cabinet I didn’t want for a job I didn’t want.

Honestly.

And I was all the more irritated because my sister had called earlier, just to say “Hi,” she’d said. But when I’d told her about my furniture dilemma, she’d immediately launched into a narrative about how her boss had insisted she not work at home. He wants her to have a life, he said. And to make sure she was comfortable whenever she did have to work long hours at the office, he gave her an astronomical furniture budget and told her to go for it.

Even in furniture, Angie wins out. I tell you, it’s enough to drive a girl batty.

I shoved thoughts of my sister out of my head, and instead focused on the mess in front of me. What I needed was help. Immediately, an image of Mike filled my head. Nice Mike. Cute Mike. Mike with the awesome upper body.

I shook myself. Bad Mattie. Bad. Bad.

Still…I did need to get that margarita glass back. And if he asked me what I was doing—and if I told him I was having a heck of a time assembling some furniture—and if he offered to help me out…well, who was I to say no?

Having thus justified seeing him one more time, I stood and headed to the door. I paused to check my face and hair in the mirror I keep hanging there, decided I looked respectable if not awesome, and pulled open the door to reveal the man himself.

“Mike! I was just coming to see you!”

He held up my margarita glass. “Desperate to get it back?”

“No, of course not,” I said, even though that had totally been my planned excuse. “I, um, was hoping you could give me a hand.” I stepped back from the door and ushered him in.

He brushed past me, glanced around, then turned to face me directly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but did a sawmill erupt in here?”

“Very funny.” I plucked the glass out of his hand. “Will you help me if I offer to fill this back up for you?”

He flashed me a grin, charming, but with a hint of mischief. “With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”

Since I’m not a fool, I immediately slapped an Allen wrench into his open palm and pointed him toward the instructions (balled up under the television stand where I’d kicked them in a fit of pique.) He scored points by not even looking at me funny as he bent to dig them out.

I retreated to the kitchen to make the margaritas.

Not that retreated really describes it. The apartment is only about seven hundred square feet consisting of a big rectangle filled with a living area, a dining area and a kitchen area, pretty much all open to each other unless you’re standing way back by the fridge.

Between the dining area (carpeted) and the kitchen area (tiled) were two stairs leading up to a tiny bathroom on the left and a decent-size bedroom on the right. That’s it. End of grand tour.

It’s not much, but you’d think differently if you saw the check I wrote every month. Studio City doesn’t come cheap.

All of which is to say that even though I couldn’t see Mike the whole time, I could hear him. And it felt nice and cozy—and scarily domestic—to be working in the kitchen while he was shuffling pieces of wood and muttering to himself.

Since making margaritas requires little more than dumping ice and alcohol into a blender and pressing On, it didn’t take me too long to whip up a batch. Even so, in the short time that I was gone, Mike had managed to assemble an entire base section of the cabinet.