squeezing the steering wheel and dipped his chin close to
the bulging muscle, showing off like a body builder. “Oh, there’s plenty of effort.
You don’t get to bat these eyelashes without being able to bench two-fifty.”
“There’s no way you bench two-fifty,” Maddie scoffed. “That’s just something guys
say at bars.”
“You calling me a liar?” He was challenging her, but the smile was there and she felt
more like she wanted to kiss him than kill him again.
“Maybe a little white liar. But yes. My brothers always say stuff like that, and it’s
always a crock. I read somewhere that sixty-nine percent of men think they are in
shape and in reality only thirteen percent are.”
“Do you think I’m in shape, Maddie?”
He was such a tease. When he talked to her like that, with that deep, rolling suggestive
voice, she felt all quivery and shaky inside.
“You know I do.” She looked out the window, hating to admit how attracted she was
to his body. It seemed wrong, somehow, insulting to him, to just be hot for him because
she wanted him for sex.
He laughed. “See. That’s the great divide, right there.”
“What is?”
“You probably feel guilty because you only want me for my body and you shouldn’t.
Feel guilty, I mean.”
She smiled her encouragement. “Go on.”
“I don’t feel the least bit guilty for wanting your body . . . and you probably think
I should. Feel guilty, I mean.”
He kind of had a point. She twisted her lips the way she always did when something
rankled. “But . . .”
“Mm-hmm.” He looked at her for a few more seconds, then focused back on the turn that
was coming up after the straightaway that had taken them through the wide valley north
of Bangor.
“I think it’s the ‘only’ that’s the sticking point.”
It was his turn to encourage her. “Yes?”
“Yeah. I mean, think about it.”
He smirked. “I’ll give it a shot, Post.”
“You know what they say about hiding your lamp under a bushel, Gilbertson.”
“Point taken. Go on. I’ll try to keep up.”
She rolled her eyes. “I just mean telling someone that you only want them for their body is kind of like telling a chef how to cook. It’s a package
deal. It’s a whole recipe. You can’t just walk into a restaurant and stroll into the
kitchen and say, more oregano, I hate onions.”
“Sure you can. People order like that all the time.”
Maddie smiled. “But they don’t really like to eat.”
He laughed hard. “You might have a point.”
“Seriously.” She was warming to her theory. “If you want to bang some chick—”
“Maddie—”
She swiped her hand to cut him off. “You know what I mean. One night stand. Whatever.
Don’t trip me up. I’m on a roll.”
He smiled. “Go on, then.”
“I mean, if you want to just use someone for sex, there has to be something about them that you want . . . not just their flesh.”
“This is a deadly dangerous conversation. You might be painting me into a corner so
I’ll say something you’ll use against me.”
“Oh, cut it out. Consider this the all-clear or whatever you would call it in the
Army. All bets are off. Say what you will. I won’t hold it against you.”
“Women always say that.”
Maddie shook her head in dismay. “Darn it, Hank. Who are ‘ all these women ’ that you keep talking about? It’s so annoying!”
“Simmer down, tiger. I just meant, that’s always the way when the women I have dated —and banged—in the past drew me into the quicksand of let’s-have-a-real-discussion
type discussions. Maybe you are different.”
“Talk about quicksand. If I say, ‘Yes, I am so different from other women,’ then I
am some arrogant twit. If I say, ‘No, I’m just like that. Tricky. Wily. Trying to
trap men into saying all sorts of stuff they don’t really mean . . .’ Doesn’t leave
me much wiggle room.”
“Okay, okay. Go back to your
the bulging muscle, showing off like a body builder. “Oh, there’s plenty of effort.
You don’t get to bat these eyelashes without being able to bench two-fifty.”
“There’s no way you bench two-fifty,” Maddie scoffed. “That’s just something guys
say at bars.”
“You calling me a liar?” He was challenging her, but the smile was there and she felt
more like she wanted to kiss him than kill him again.
“Maybe a little white liar. But yes. My brothers always say stuff like that, and it’s
always a crock. I read somewhere that sixty-nine percent of men think they are in
shape and in reality only thirteen percent are.”
“Do you think I’m in shape, Maddie?”
He was such a tease. When he talked to her like that, with that deep, rolling suggestive
voice, she felt all quivery and shaky inside.
“You know I do.” She looked out the window, hating to admit how attracted she was
to his body. It seemed wrong, somehow, insulting to him, to just be hot for him because
she wanted him for sex.
He laughed. “See. That’s the great divide, right there.”
“What is?”
“You probably feel guilty because you only want me for my body and you shouldn’t.
Feel guilty, I mean.”
She smiled her encouragement. “Go on.”
“I don’t feel the least bit guilty for wanting your body . . . and you probably think
I should. Feel guilty, I mean.”
He kind of had a point. She twisted her lips the way she always did when something
rankled. “But . . .”
“Mm-hmm.” He looked at her for a few more seconds, then focused back on the turn that
was coming up after the straightaway that had taken them through the wide valley north
of Bangor.
“I think it’s the ‘only’ that’s the sticking point.”
It was his turn to encourage her. “Yes?”
“Yeah. I mean, think about it.”
He smirked. “I’ll give it a shot, Post.”
“You know what they say about hiding your lamp under a bushel, Gilbertson.”
“Point taken. Go on. I’ll try to keep up.”
She rolled her eyes. “I just mean telling someone that you only want them for their body is kind of like telling a chef how to cook. It’s a package
deal. It’s a whole recipe. You can’t just walk into a restaurant and stroll into the
kitchen and say, more oregano, I hate onions.”
“Sure you can. People order like that all the time.”
Maddie smiled. “But they don’t really like to eat.”
He laughed hard. “You might have a point.”
“Seriously.” She was warming to her theory. “If you want to bang some chick—”
“Maddie—”
She swiped her hand to cut him off. “You know what I mean. One night stand. Whatever.
Don’t trip me up. I’m on a roll.”
He smiled. “Go on, then.”
“I mean, if you want to just use someone for sex, there has to be something about them that you want . . . not just their flesh.”
“This is a deadly dangerous conversation. You might be painting me into a corner so
I’ll say something you’ll use against me.”
“Oh, cut it out. Consider this the all-clear or whatever you would call it in the
Army. All bets are off. Say what you will. I won’t hold it against you.”
“Women always say that.”
Maddie shook her head in dismay. “Darn it, Hank. Who are ‘ all these women ’ that you keep talking about? It’s so annoying!”
“Simmer down, tiger. I just meant, that’s always the way when the women I have dated —and banged—in the past drew me into the quicksand of let’s-have-a-real-discussion
type discussions. Maybe you are different.”
“Talk about quicksand. If I say, ‘Yes, I am so different from other women,’ then I
am some arrogant twit. If I say, ‘No, I’m just like that. Tricky. Wily. Trying to
trap men into saying all sorts of stuff they don’t really mean . . .’ Doesn’t leave
me much wiggle room.”
“Okay, okay. Go back to your
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