Bachelorette for Sale by Gail Chianese

tabloids. Still it was more than she knew about him, which was his name and that he liked dogs.
    “You look beautiful tonight,” he said.
    “Thanks. Have you ever eaten here before?” She had no idea what to say, so she blurted out the first thing to come to her mind.
    Jason’s gaze was focused on the table. His hand slowly spun the coaster around and around, but the edges of his mouth turned up. Yeah, as far as opening conversation lines went, it was lame. At least she tried.
    Those oh-too-serious eyes met hers. “No, actually this was Dave’s recommendation. I was fine with Taco Bell.” He held her look, steady fingers never missing a beat in their slow rotation of the coaster.
    Sensing more behind the statement than mild teasing, she maintained eye contact and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell the owner I said so, but while this place is excellent, I would have been happy with Taco Bell.” Looking around to make sure no one was in hearing range, she continued, “I’ll let you in on a secret, TB and I have been carrying on a secret affair for years.”
    “Why the secret?”
    “Because of my best friend, Tawny. Her mom would kill us if she knew we ate that ‘garbage.’ And it’s not like her mom’s an awful cook. She’s amazing. Her tortillas melt in your mouth and her salsa is addictive. There’s just something about TB that keeps calling me back, and I can’t walk away for long periods of time. So there, you know my darkest secret.”
    “Somehow I doubt it.”
    The waitress arrived with their drinks, salsa, and fresh-baked chips hot from the oven and still steaming. Jason ordered shrimp fajitas. Turning to Cherry, the young girl waited, pen poised.
    “I’d like the enchiladas banderas, please. Hold the beans and rice. Instead, I’d like it served with a mix of lettuce and tomatoes with a small side of sour cream and pico de gallo. Also, no onions, guacamole, or jalapeños. Shredded chicken only and please ask the cook to use flour tortillas, not corn.” The waitress mumbled she’d try and started to step away. “Oh, wait, on second thought, can you ask the chef to skip the white sauce and make two with green sauce and one with red?”
    She turned back to Jason, who sat with his beer halfway to his mouth, eyes wide, an eyebrow cocked, and a strange tilt to his lips. “Did you enjoy being on a reality show?” he asked.
    Le Sigh . Here we go .
    He took a long pull on his beer. The muscles contracted as the liquid slid past his lips and down his throat, taking her mind on a pleasant side trip imagining the feel of his cool mouth on her hot flesh.
    Whoa . Chill , girl . Giving herself a small shake to clear her mind, she focused on the question at hand. “Yes and no. Are you from Providence originally?” Pulling her margarita closer, she sipped the sweet drink while studying him over the rim of the glass.
    “From the west side. I bet being on a TV show was exciting, having all those people waiting on you, taking care of your every need, traveling to exotic locations. Tell me the truth, do they stage some of it, you know, tell you what to say or do?”
    She threw back the rest of her margarita in one swallow before signaling the waitress for a refill.
    “I’m curious”—she accepted the new drink with a polite thank-you before continuing—“if Mr. Farber did the bidding, why are you here tonight instead of him?”
    Another long pull on his beer had her fascinated with his throat muscles as they worked, not so much that she didn’t notice the deliberate stall tactic or the sudden shift of eye contact away from her. Puh-lease, she didn’t date twenty-five guys and not learn a thing or two about reading the opposite sex. Mr. Jason Valentine was about to tell tales. The question was, would it be a little white lie or a big fat fib?
    “I was answering Mother Nature’s call when your bid started and asked him to stand in for me if I didn’t return in time.” His mouth might have