such a promising day. Waiting for Rob to call, the dog episode, the choking incident, her mother’s letter. She laughed morosely. Her mother would never have forgiven her if she’d died at themall—well, maybe in Nordstrom’s, but certainly not in the food court.
She closed her eyes, trying to pinpoint her unease, and Ken Medlock’s face came to her. Why did the stranger push her buttons? Because he challenged her authority? Because he made her feel inept? Because his intriguing presence mocked her decision to become more intimate with Rob?
Rob. Such a nice man. So…predictable. Nice and predictable. The kind of man a woman could depend on to be faithful. In these days of disposable families, fidelity and trust were high on her list of characteristics in a lasting partner. Rob never looked at other women when they were out together, and he never bragged about a colorful sexual history. He was a gentleman.
She poked her tongue into her cheek. Well, he didn’t call her “ma’am” in a rolling Southern tongue, but he was a gentleman nonetheless. Georgia tried not to dwell on the fact that while Rob never flirted with other women, he never flirted with her either. Because after last night, perhaps that part, at least, would change.
She stared at the phone, willing him to call and end the suspense. She counted to one hundred, but it didn’t ring. She counted backward from one hundred, but it still didn’t ring. Disgusted with herself for literally waiting for the phone to ring, she picked herself up, changed to loose shorts and a T-shirt, then went for a power-walk. Hoping to fatigue her muscles enough to induce sleep, she tried to outstride her plaguing thoughts. Last night she had slept like thedead—the satisfied dead—but tonight looked doubtful.
The exercise provided enough solitude to rehash her sudden and seemingly persistent lapses in judgment—the infamous call, jeopardizing her job, lashing out at a lawman. Around and around her mind spun, dredging up more remorse on each pass. This was why she’d always been a good girl, had always followed the rules. Because she was no good at being naughty. At this age, the most debauchery she could successfully aspire to was exhibiting bad manners.
She returned an hour later, winded and perspiring, to find her apartment almost as warm as the outdoors, and her message light flashing. With fingers crossed ridiculously, she pushed the Play button.
“Thank you for buying this Temeteck product! This is a test message to allow you to adjust the volume. Press ‘1’ if you don’t want this message to play again.”
She cursed and stabbed the “1” button, then stalked over to her blasted thermostat. “Eighty degrees?” she mumbled. “It’s eighty degrees in my apartment.” She turned the knob until sixty-eight appeared on the display, but when she released it, the number flashed back to eighty, and there it remained.
Recognizing an impending breaking point, Georgia forced herself to take ten deep breaths of stale, hot air before she called the landlord. Even more irritated at not reaching a live person once she did call, she left an unladylike message about the broken thermostat.
Under the rush of a cool shower, she leaned into the wall and allowed the water to run over her neck and shoulders until she felt somewhat refreshed. Morethan anything, she needed food in her stomach and a good night’s sleep. In the morning, she’d have a better perspective on today’s unsettling events.
But when her eyes were still as big as silver dollars at two in the morning, Georgia remembered the old saying about a clear conscience being the softest pillow.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the cordless phone, working her mouth back and forth in thought. Suddenly, the answer came to her. She would call Rob and leave a message of apology on his machine for him to listen to when he arrived home. She’d been too forward, and she’d made them both uncomfortable.
She closed her eyes, trying to pinpoint her unease, and Ken Medlock’s face came to her. Why did the stranger push her buttons? Because he challenged her authority? Because he made her feel inept? Because his intriguing presence mocked her decision to become more intimate with Rob?
Rob. Such a nice man. So…predictable. Nice and predictable. The kind of man a woman could depend on to be faithful. In these days of disposable families, fidelity and trust were high on her list of characteristics in a lasting partner. Rob never looked at other women when they were out together, and he never bragged about a colorful sexual history. He was a gentleman.
She poked her tongue into her cheek. Well, he didn’t call her “ma’am” in a rolling Southern tongue, but he was a gentleman nonetheless. Georgia tried not to dwell on the fact that while Rob never flirted with other women, he never flirted with her either. Because after last night, perhaps that part, at least, would change.
She stared at the phone, willing him to call and end the suspense. She counted to one hundred, but it didn’t ring. She counted backward from one hundred, but it still didn’t ring. Disgusted with herself for literally waiting for the phone to ring, she picked herself up, changed to loose shorts and a T-shirt, then went for a power-walk. Hoping to fatigue her muscles enough to induce sleep, she tried to outstride her plaguing thoughts. Last night she had slept like thedead—the satisfied dead—but tonight looked doubtful.
The exercise provided enough solitude to rehash her sudden and seemingly persistent lapses in judgment—the infamous call, jeopardizing her job, lashing out at a lawman. Around and around her mind spun, dredging up more remorse on each pass. This was why she’d always been a good girl, had always followed the rules. Because she was no good at being naughty. At this age, the most debauchery she could successfully aspire to was exhibiting bad manners.
She returned an hour later, winded and perspiring, to find her apartment almost as warm as the outdoors, and her message light flashing. With fingers crossed ridiculously, she pushed the Play button.
“Thank you for buying this Temeteck product! This is a test message to allow you to adjust the volume. Press ‘1’ if you don’t want this message to play again.”
She cursed and stabbed the “1” button, then stalked over to her blasted thermostat. “Eighty degrees?” she mumbled. “It’s eighty degrees in my apartment.” She turned the knob until sixty-eight appeared on the display, but when she released it, the number flashed back to eighty, and there it remained.
Recognizing an impending breaking point, Georgia forced herself to take ten deep breaths of stale, hot air before she called the landlord. Even more irritated at not reaching a live person once she did call, she left an unladylike message about the broken thermostat.
Under the rush of a cool shower, she leaned into the wall and allowed the water to run over her neck and shoulders until she felt somewhat refreshed. Morethan anything, she needed food in her stomach and a good night’s sleep. In the morning, she’d have a better perspective on today’s unsettling events.
But when her eyes were still as big as silver dollars at two in the morning, Georgia remembered the old saying about a clear conscience being the softest pillow.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the cordless phone, working her mouth back and forth in thought. Suddenly, the answer came to her. She would call Rob and leave a message of apology on his machine for him to listen to when he arrived home. She’d been too forward, and she’d made them both uncomfortable.
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