The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever by Jennifer Tate Page A
Authors: Jennifer Tate
Ads: Link
white
stretch-Lincoln rental at her Bridle Path estate. She stepped
inside, and Belinda began to twitter.
"What a marvelous dress, and look what you've
done to your hair. It's adorable—don't you think, Sheik?"
Greg, who had zeroed in on Sandy's breasts,
managed a sheepish grin. "Yeah, love em," he said.
Sandy knew that men found dress discussions
painful—it was a topic for the ladies room. Now, however,
reciprocal compliments were mandatory. "Belinda, and look at you!
You look fabulous! Sheik, you keep your hands to yourself."
"What? And ruin Belinda's evening?" Greg
deadpanned.
"Speaking of ruining evenings, where's the
grasshopper guy."
Greg chuckled, and gave her a wink. "We're
picking him up last. He lives on the way to the pre-prom."
"You mean I have to go to his door and get
him?"
"Not my date," Greg said.
* * *
Brad thought he'd swallowed the bluebird of
happiness when he saw Sandra Manderville get out of the limo, and
walk toward his house. A form-fitting, black-satin dress, with
white trim, hugged her in all of her interesting places—stopping
both top and bottom as soon as decency permitted. Black designer
nylons combined with her short black hair to complete the
effect—drop-dead yummy!
I don't believe that Sheik. How'd he pull
this off?
When the knock came, he was ready. He flung
open the door, grabbed Sandy around the waste, and kissed her.
She looked as if cardiac arrest would have
been preferable to what was happening to her. When she swung, he
sidestepped her blow, and caught her wrist. "Steady Sandy," he said
as he worked to keep a grin at bay, "you're trying to hurt in a no
hurting zone. And besides, I knew nothing about this. 'Twas the
Sheik who set you up."
* * *
Sandy stomped back to the limo with Brad
trailing along behind her. Not surprisingly, the limo door was
locked. The window opened a couple of inches.
"I'm sorry! You have to believe me! I didn't
know!" came Belinda's plaintive cry.
"Not half as sorry as your Sheik's gonna be
when I get my hands on him!"
"Hey," Greg said, "it could be worse. At
least we have all the Champagne we can drink, compliments of the
Grasshopper."
"You got this grasshopper guy a date with me
so you could get free Champagne?"
"Even you gotta admit that the poor guy
wasn't faring very well on his own."
"He called me a horses ass, and a mouse."
"And now you know that you're the second
mouse."
"OK Sheik, what the hell is this second mouse
shit!"
"Sandra, just take a look at that
Grasshopper. You've lucked out! Everyone knows it's the second
mouse that gets the cheese."
Sandy glanced over at Brad, and her heart
softened a little. He did look kind of sexy—like 007—in his white
linen dinner jacket, black vest, ruffled white shirt, and classic
black bow tie. His light-brown hair was now short, brushed back and
gelled, his mouth offered a Tom Cruise sort of grin, and he had
that 'V' for very sexy shoulder and waist alliance that she was so
fond of. If hockey doesn't work out for this one, she thought, he
has a future as a male model. Why do men look so scrumptious in
formal wear? It's enough to make a poor girl give up crocheting for
less noble pursuits.
"Grasshopper, tell Sandy you're sorry," Greg
said.
"You're a very sexy mouse," Brad
ventured.
Greg opened the limo door. "See, Sandra, he's
sorry. So now you can get back in if you promise to behave...."
The very sexy mouse was still floating
following her first date with a college man. Robert was a couple of
years older than she was, and he knew what he wanted. She had been
more than ready, but what if she hadn't been? No means no, as
everyone knows. But how does a girl say no to a college man without
implying that she still wears a training bra?
Sandy had learned a thing or two on her date
with Robert. One thing she'd learned was that The New Joy of Sex
was accurate in its upbeat assessment of the world's most popular
recreational activity. Unfortunately, Robert was inconsiderate.
He'd left
stretch-Lincoln rental at her Bridle Path estate. She stepped
inside, and Belinda began to twitter.
"What a marvelous dress, and look what you've
done to your hair. It's adorable—don't you think, Sheik?"
Greg, who had zeroed in on Sandy's breasts,
managed a sheepish grin. "Yeah, love em," he said.
Sandy knew that men found dress discussions
painful—it was a topic for the ladies room. Now, however,
reciprocal compliments were mandatory. "Belinda, and look at you!
You look fabulous! Sheik, you keep your hands to yourself."
"What? And ruin Belinda's evening?" Greg
deadpanned.
"Speaking of ruining evenings, where's the
grasshopper guy."
Greg chuckled, and gave her a wink. "We're
picking him up last. He lives on the way to the pre-prom."
"You mean I have to go to his door and get
him?"
"Not my date," Greg said.
* * *
Brad thought he'd swallowed the bluebird of
happiness when he saw Sandra Manderville get out of the limo, and
walk toward his house. A form-fitting, black-satin dress, with
white trim, hugged her in all of her interesting places—stopping
both top and bottom as soon as decency permitted. Black designer
nylons combined with her short black hair to complete the
effect—drop-dead yummy!
I don't believe that Sheik. How'd he pull
this off?
When the knock came, he was ready. He flung
open the door, grabbed Sandy around the waste, and kissed her.
She looked as if cardiac arrest would have
been preferable to what was happening to her. When she swung, he
sidestepped her blow, and caught her wrist. "Steady Sandy," he said
as he worked to keep a grin at bay, "you're trying to hurt in a no
hurting zone. And besides, I knew nothing about this. 'Twas the
Sheik who set you up."
* * *
Sandy stomped back to the limo with Brad
trailing along behind her. Not surprisingly, the limo door was
locked. The window opened a couple of inches.
"I'm sorry! You have to believe me! I didn't
know!" came Belinda's plaintive cry.
"Not half as sorry as your Sheik's gonna be
when I get my hands on him!"
"Hey," Greg said, "it could be worse. At
least we have all the Champagne we can drink, compliments of the
Grasshopper."
"You got this grasshopper guy a date with me
so you could get free Champagne?"
"Even you gotta admit that the poor guy
wasn't faring very well on his own."
"He called me a horses ass, and a mouse."
"And now you know that you're the second
mouse."
"OK Sheik, what the hell is this second mouse
shit!"
"Sandra, just take a look at that
Grasshopper. You've lucked out! Everyone knows it's the second
mouse that gets the cheese."
Sandy glanced over at Brad, and her heart
softened a little. He did look kind of sexy—like 007—in his white
linen dinner jacket, black vest, ruffled white shirt, and classic
black bow tie. His light-brown hair was now short, brushed back and
gelled, his mouth offered a Tom Cruise sort of grin, and he had
that 'V' for very sexy shoulder and waist alliance that she was so
fond of. If hockey doesn't work out for this one, she thought, he
has a future as a male model. Why do men look so scrumptious in
formal wear? It's enough to make a poor girl give up crocheting for
less noble pursuits.
"Grasshopper, tell Sandy you're sorry," Greg
said.
"You're a very sexy mouse," Brad
ventured.
Greg opened the limo door. "See, Sandra, he's
sorry. So now you can get back in if you promise to behave...."
The very sexy mouse was still floating
following her first date with a college man. Robert was a couple of
years older than she was, and he knew what he wanted. She had been
more than ready, but what if she hadn't been? No means no, as
everyone knows. But how does a girl say no to a college man without
implying that she still wears a training bra?
Sandy had learned a thing or two on her date
with Robert. One thing she'd learned was that The New Joy of Sex
was accurate in its upbeat assessment of the world's most popular
recreational activity. Unfortunately, Robert was inconsiderate.
He'd left
Similar Books
