“Where the hell have you been?”
“Malibu.”
Silence. Then, “What the hell are you doing in Malibu, and more importantly, why am I not there with you?”
“I’m here with Brent. It’s a long story.”
“Oh, fine. You don’t answer your cell, you don’t answer my texts, you ignore my e-mails. I’m imaging fates worse than death, and you’re off in Malibu with some … Brent? Brent who?”
“Brent Maddox.”
Candy’s snort was eloquent. “Okay, Jen, where are you really?”
“I’m in Malibu. With Brent Maddox. Really.”
Pause. “You’re serious.”
“Remember that e-mail you dared me to write?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So because of that e-mail—you remember, the e-mail that got published?—Brent showed up on my doorstep Tuesday night.”
“Brent Maddox showed up on your doorstep. And you didn’t call me?”
“I didn’t have a chance before he dragged me off to dinner.”
“And I’ll bet you put up a major struggle, too.”
“Don’t start, Candy. I’m warning you.”
“Warning me? You had dinner with a dreamboat in Malibu, you should be thanking me. On your knees.”
“Dinner wasn’t in Malibu, it was at Henri’s.”
“Swear to God? Deets, girlfriend. Don’t make me hurt you. And you damn well better not leave out the parts about you got from Henri’s to Malibu, and why you’re still there.”
“How do you think I got to Malibu, Candy? What could’ve possibly possessed me to do something so out of character?”
“He dared you.”
“Bingo.”
“And the terms of the dare? Start with the sexy stuff.”
“Gutter brain. He dared me to stay with him a week. Get to know him and see how the other half lives.”
“Geez, Jen. I feel for you, but I can’t reach you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Except … you, Malibu, rich, gorgeous hunk of male. I don’t know how you can stand it.”
“Listen ....”
“And may I just say, ‘Way to go, girlfriend! Woot!’”
Jen sighed. “I don’t know why I bothered to call.”
“Bite me. I mean, what is your major difficulty here? Sex god and sunshine. All you have to do is relax and enjoy yourself.”
“Says you. You’re not rubbing elbows—” and other body parts—“with a guy who should come with a warning label.”
“You’re trying to make me jealous, right? That’s okay, I'm bigger than that. Almost. Take a risk, Jen. It’ll be good for you.”
“In what sense?”
“In the dinosaur extinction sense.” Candy sighed lustily. “A week with Brent ‘The Babe’ Maddox. That ought to do it. What have you been up to?” Jen could almost see the bobbing eyebrows, painted-on moustache, and fat cigar.
“Shopping on Rodeo Drive. Tennis at—”
Candy interrupted with a groan. “No, no, no! Please tell me you didn’t make Brent Maddox play ‘I’m Sorry Tennis.’ So called because nine times out of ten you hit the ball over the fence and feel constrained to apologize while your opponent chases it down.”
“I tried to warn him. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind chasing the ball. Unlike some people I could mention. And I’m pretty sure that got me out of the second set.”
“Proving chivalry isn’t dead. What’d you do besides run the man ragged around the edges of a tennis court?”
“Well, we’re supposed to go out on his sailboat tomorrow.”
“Oh, God. Give him my cell number. I’ll warn him.”
“Ha-ha. I’ll try not to lower the boom on him.” Whatever a boom was. “Will you stop acting like I’m a catastrophe about to happen? I’m not that klutzy.”
“Are we forgetting the rollerblade incident?”
“Candy?”
“Yeah?”
“If you want to hear about Brent, we’re going to change the subject. Now”
“Only trying to do my civic duty, but have it your way. So. Does he look as yummy in person as he does in his pictures?”
“Yummier.”
“Tell me more! And be specific.”
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