Oz
by
Ann Warner
“You’re too nice for your own good,” her
sister said when Glenda told her she was going to the wedding with
Steven. “He’ll find someone to talk to. I heard two-hundred guests.
You’re the one who won’t know anybody. Besides, when it’s over,
it’s over.”
All true. But when she told Steven she
wasn’t going to see him anymore, and he realized that meant no date
for the wedding, he’d been so upset, she hadn’t had the heart to go
through with it. He’d begged and she’d caved.
So here she was, with Steven walking toward
her carrying two flutes of champagne. It was too bad, really. He
was actually quite handsome, not to mention reasonably intelligent,
and charming when he wanted to be. But, as far as she could tell,
his passion was all reserved for his favorite sports teams.
“Another bachelor bites the dust.” Steven
handed her one of the flutes and took a sip as he examined her.
“You’re looking good this evening.”
She blinked in surprise. It wasn’t just that
the mint-green camisole and peacock blue skirt she was wearing were
considerably less expensive than the other gowns; it was the
colors. Steven had failed to mention this was a black tie and
pastel event. She was as out of place as a parrot in a flock of
flamingoes.
Steven’s attention to her appearance was
short-lived. He drank his champagne and scanned the room. Then he
touched her arm saying he’d spotted someone he wanted to talk
to.
She allowed herself to be led through the
crowd toward, it turned out, the best man. She’d already noticed
him during the ceremony and decided his relaxed, humorous
expression made him considerably more appealing than the
classically handsome groom with his deer-in-the-headlights
stare.
“Flemmie, good to see you again.” Steven
flourished his almost empty flute in Glenda’s general direction.
“Meet Glennie.” That was Steven for you - hated being called
Stevie, but if he were introduced to the Pope, he’d call him
Bennie. She’d found it amusing at first, but anymore it grated on
her. It was a relief to know that after tonight it would no longer
be an issue. The man Steven had introduced took Glenda’s hand.
“It’s Geoff Flemington, actually. How’re you going?”
“Glenda Lewellen.” And she wished she were
going home. Soon. By any means possible. Is that what he meant?
“Flemmie’s an Aussie,” Steven said.
Well, that explained the accent and the odd
greeting.
She examined Geoff Flemington as he and
Steven chatted. Though shorter and more compact than Steven, he
gave an impression of quiet strength and commanding ease that
Steven lacked. But the intelligent look in his eyes was his most
attractive feature.
“So how’re the Maggies doing this year?”
Steven asked.
“You mean the Pies?” Geoff said. “They
compete for the Premiership in a week.”
“Pies? Premiership?” she looked from one man
to the other. “You aren’t talking about a culinary competition,
right?”
Geoff grinned at her. “Pies, short for
Magpies. Australian football, love. Premiership is like your Super
Bowl.”
Well, of course. It had to be sports if
Steven was interested. Never date a man you meet at a ball game
unless you’re willing to change your life’s focus to ... well,
balls.
“Flemmie used to play for the Ma...Pies,”
Steven said. “Now there’s a game for you. No protective gear, no
time-outs. Just flat-out, non-stop action.”
It sounded appalling. She glanced away, no
longer interested in the conversation, or either man.
“So what’re you doing with yourself these
days, Flemmie?” Steven said.
“Genetic research.”
Glenda blinked in surprise, turned back to
look at Geoff Flemington, and struggled to readjust her thinking.
Football and genetics, now there was a combination for the
ages.
“How about that,” Steven said. “Glennie does
research, too.” Geoff gave her a questioning look.
Finally, a topic other than
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