Loose Screws by Karen Templeton Page B

ever going to have anything to do with another man, ever again, you understand. A fact that Prudence and Sanity, in their prim little lace-collared dresses and white gloves, remind that hussy as they snatch her back from the brink of disaster, shrieking something about frying pans and fire and let’s not go there, dear.
    Of course, even if they hadn’t stepped in, my mother did. I may have legs, but she has that whole Earth Mother/Goddess thing going on, and once Bill catches sight of her, I might as well go ahead and leap onto the tracks, nobody would miss me.
    I watch her—or more important, I watch his reaction to her—and I think, Jeez-o-man…a body could get knocked down by the waves of sexual awareness pulsing from this man. Except then he turns back to me, and his smile widens, and the tide heads for my beach, and I think, whoa. Okay, so maybe Billy Boy is just one of those men who gets turned on by every stray X chromosome that crosses his path. Either that, or just when I finally give up trying to figure out what It is that provokes the kind of male response Nedra has effortlessly provoked her entire life, It lands in my lap.
    Talk about your lousy timing.
    â€œI happened to stop by the house today,” Bill was saying with a whiter-than-white smile aimed at first my mother and then me, “and Mother said Ginger was coming up to pack up some things from Greg’s?”
    So Billy Boy talks to Mama, huh? Interesting.
    â€œYep. That’s the plan,” I say, firmly telling my hormones to stop whining. “So I need to stop by someplace to get some boxes….”
    â€œDon’t worry about it.” He takes the bags from me. Winks. Starts walking away, which I presume is our cue to follow. Although the wink was kinda irritating, I can’t help but notice he has a cute tush. When I glance at my mother, I have a sneaking suspicion she’s thinking the same thing. Between my clacking mules and my mother’s clomping Dr. Scholl’s, we are making a helluva racket heading for the stairs, so much so I almost miss Bill’s saying over his shoulder, “We can load up everything in the Suburban, if you like, and I can drive you back to the city.”
    There is a God.
    Thanking my almost-brother-in-law profusely, we tromp down the stairs and over to the car, which is only marginally smaller than the QE II. Excited barking emanates from what I can just make out to be a hyperactive golden retriever in the back seat.
    â€œDamn.” Bill frowns at my outfit. “I hope my bringing Mike isn’t a problem?”
    I give a wan smile, shake my head, trying to dodge the effusive beast as he rockets out of the car when the door’s opened, frantic in his indecision who to kiss first. We settle in for the ride to the Munson home—Mother has luncheon prepared for us, Bill says—my mother and I briefly skirmishing over who would sit in front. She wins.
    No matter. I’d much rather have the dog than the man, anyway. Mike plops his entire front half on my lap once we’ve scrambled in, happy as, well, a dog with a human to use as a cushion. I sigh.
    We start off. As always, it takes my head a while to adjust to the disproportionate ratio of cement to trees out here. But then, wiping dog pant condensation off my arm, something occurs to me.
    â€œOh, God. Greg’s not there, is he?”
    I see Bill shake his head, his nearly black waves long enough to actually graze his linebacker shoulders. I believe the appropriate adjective to describe him is studly. His cologne is a little too strong for my taste, his attitude a bit too self-assured. And overtly supporting the enemy camp is a little ballsy, even for me. But, hey, the man has a car and is willing to cart me and all my crap back to town. He could sprout fangs and fur at the full moon for all I care.
    â€œAll I know is he’s in seclusion for a couple weeks. Nobody knows where.” Gray eyes