Two Wrongs Make a Right Read online

  As she finished arranging the sweets on the tray, the doorbell rang. She squared her shoulders and turned the lock, ready to relive the night’s events. Her two best friends pulled her into a hug.

  “He’s a dick. A dick brain. A brainless dick.”

  “Why don’t you tell us how you really feel?” Megan asked Raynie, and then turned to Quinn. “But she’s right. He was never good enough for you.”

  Raynie released her and stepped back. “What’s wrong with him?” Grabbing Quinn’s shoulders she spun her around. “What’s not to love? Dark brown eyes. Midnight hair. I’d kill for your looks. Besides, in my profession, people expect me to be exotic.”

  “With my pale skin, not sure I’d consider myself exotic, but whatever I am, it isn’t the look Brad wants.” From the amount of pastries and champagne she’d had, a weak smile was all Quinn could muster. “I’m an idiot. I convinced myself a proposal was coming, but he never intended to marry me. To make matters worse, he tried to sell me his condo.”

  Hands on hips, Raynie backed away and scowled. “Are you kidding?”

  “I hope you gave him a piece of your mind.” Megan’s face pinched and she rested an elbow on the counter. Quinn was thankful for their support.

  “I did better than that. Thanks to him, we have refreshments.”

  Raynie picked up a cookie and poked a small bite into her mouth. “How’d you swing that?”

  “He offered to let me order anything I wanted for dessert. I guess he thought that would soften the blow. So I did, and his expression? Priceless.”

  “Oh my Lord. Is that Dom Pérignon?” Megan’s brows lifted, and then she picked up the bottle for closer inspection.

  “Yep. I guarantee he will never forget tonight. It cost him hundreds, and he deserved it.” Quinn’s face lost color. “Oh no. My mother. I’ll bet she’s already told all her friends I’m getting married. I can hear her now. She’ll say this is my fault.”

  “Don’t worry about her.” Raynie passed a glass to Quinn and waved the idea away. “Part of your problem is you’ve spent most of your life trying to please Mommy.”

  Quinn took the plate of goodies in one hand, her drink in the other, and strolled to the sofa with her friends following. She set the treats down, picked up an éclair, held it in midair and stared at it. “There is nothing better than French pastries.”

  “You’d better slow down,” Megan said. “I don’t want you to overdose because of Brad.”

  Quinn turned to face her. She should be so lucky. Megan married her high school sweetheart, and Charlie was one of the best men on the planet. If anyone deserved him, it was Megan. She raked a long auburn curl behind her ear, and Quinn eyed her with envy. The red-haired beauty always looked great. Even now, without a drop of makeup, her skin glowed and her blue eyes sparkled with intense interest.

  In contrast, Raynie rotated husbands like a circus carousel. What man could resist a blonde with emerald eyes, not to mention her perfectly portioned body? She twirled around, her tiered skirt swishing with the movement, and the eyelet ruffle on her off the shoulder blouse fluttered in concert. “I should do a reading.” She rummaged in her purse and produced her deck of Tarot cards.

  “No.” Quinn wagged her head. Her last reading had been in college, and even though she didn’t believe in the ability to see the future, having the death card show up every time was enough to refuse. “If something else bad is going to happen, I don’t want to know.”

  Raynie stacked the cards on the table and sat next to Quinn. “Brad makes me so mad. Men can be such jerks.”

  “I thought my future was set.” Quinn wiped her eyes. “I’d marry Brad, and we’d have two-point-three kids, two cats and a dog. Now, I’m back to square one. Well—minus one since I don’t have a man waiting in the wings.”

  “That’s easy to fix.” Megan emptied her glass and smacked her lips. “There’s a woman at work who joined Marriage Minded, that local dating website they advertise on channel three. She got married within six months. You should register.”

  Meeting total strangers didn’t appeal to Quinn. That’s why she couldn’t believe she was considering it. “Am I that desperate?”

  “Yes, you are.” Her Tarot friend glanced up from shuffling. “Let’s discuss the real reasons you’re upset. First, you invested a lot, with no return. Except this delicious champagne.” She lifted the glass as if toasting. “Second, like your mother, you’ll start menopause by forty. Last, that curse gives you a small opening to get hitched and pregnant.” She elevated her voice for effect. “And a teeny-tiny window if you want more than one baby. So yeah, you’re desperate.”

  “I say forget the marriage part.” Megan flapped her hand. “Adopt or go to a sperm clinic. In today’s world that’s the trend anyway. A woman doesn’t need a man to have children.”

  “I don’t want my child’s daddy to be some number from a sperm bank. What if I chose a popular donor? It’d be a nightmare for my kid to find out he or she had five-hundred siblings.”

  “Damn, talk about Christmas shopping hell,” Raynie said.

  “Maybe I should try the dating site. I guess I have nothing to lose.”

  Stashing the cards back in her purse, Raynie regarded Quinn. “Let’s fill out your profile and get you started down Happily-Ever-After Road.”

  Quinn’s stomach knotted, her throat went dry, and her chest tightened. Did she want to meet a strange man? What if her date was a murderer, stalker, or worse—a vegetarian? She emptied her flute in one big gulp. “Yeah and hope I don’t end up in the ditch.” This might be the biggest mistake of her life.

  Raynie opened Quinn’s laptop and pulled up the site. “You need something catchy to get attention. How about—I’m a hottie and ready to party?”

  Quinn groaned. “Absolutely not.”

  “Single and ready to mingle?”

  “No. Sounds like I want sex.” She stopped. She wanted sex. Good sex. Hot sex. Down and dirty sex. It’d been years since she’d had that kind. She took another sip of champagne to cool the heat rising up her throat.

  Raynie didn’t give up. “We can go with Quinn’s my name and writing is my game.”

  Megan eyed her. “List the basics. You know, native Texan, works in media, loves bohemian style, cooking, and music—what else?”

  “I love cats.”

  “Yeah, add that, and the desire to have children.” Megan glanced at her watch. “Crap, we’ve got to go, or I’ll never get out of bed in the morning. This takeover deal at work is killing me.”

  Raynie slid the laptop across the table and stood. “Well, if you were a lowly shop owner like me, instead of Miss Human Resources of Galaxy Marketing, you wouldn’t have to worry about punching a time clock.”

  “Some days I wish was anything but that.” Megan lifted her purse and headed to the door.

  “I’ve submitted the basics,” Raynie said. “I bet you’ll have little engagement rings popping up immediately.”

  The mention of the one thing Quinn had expected from Brad, caught her off guard for a moment. She drew a sharp breath. “Rings?”

  “That’s how they notify you of an interested party.”

  “Okay. Thank y’all for coming.” Quinn stood at the door and watched them drive away. They’d been a good distraction, but now sadness washed over her. All her marriage dreams with Brad, squashed. Tears came again.

  Minutes later, she got control and went back to her laptop to concentrate on her work assignment. Could she do justice to a Valentine article with her heart broken? She wasn’t in the mood to write about romance, but if she documented her dates from Marriage Minded she could pitch the idea to her editor. If he agreed to a series, it might cement a promotion in place, and act as therapy to get over Brad.

  Alice Mabry planned to retire in a few months, and her long running column, Ask Alice Anything, would be up for grabs. If Quinn landed the gig, she’d be set. A big raise wasn’t the only benefit. The chance of the Associated Press picking u
p one of her columns could be a real coup. It might develop into talk show appearances. Radio interviews. Freelance work. A book deal. The possibilities were endless. With those thoughts churning in her brain, she opened a blank document and typed.

  Why in today’s world does a modern-minded career woman have such a hard time finding the right mate?

  She stared at the sentence, backspaced to erase, and started again.

  In today’s world, finding the perfect balance between family and career is the hardest challenge women face.

  The cursor pulsed as if to say, what next? To be fair, she shouldn’t limit her focus to females. Men faced the same problem or there wouldn’t be enough of them to go around. Both sexes searched for love and happily-ever-after.

  After taking time to do some fact-checking, she typed again.

  Incarcerated for life, even Charles Manson is engaged. So why can’t an average, single, successful, professional thirty-something do the same? Given that scenario, we’d all have a better chance of finding love if we were in prison.

  It was good. Except the last part. Love in the joint could mean something different than what she wanted to convey. She deleted and re-typed.

  Given that scenario, we’d all have a better chance at matrimony if we were in prison.

  That was a good beginning. Hooked the reader. And was serious, but with a hint of wit and sarcasm. Sometimes a person had to find the humor to keep from killing someone. I’m not bitter. Quinn laughed out loud.

  The outburst brought Lucy and Ethel from their hiding places. Quinn remembered the day she’d gotten the pets from the shelter. The teenage helper kept saying how gray tabbies were the most beautiful cats… like ever. And it’d just be wrong, right? I mean like to separate sisters? Like how could a person do that? Quinn had laughed at the girl’s plea and adopted both kittens.

  She peered down at the felines. “Hey ladies, want to hear about my night? Brad didn’t ask me to marry him. He’s moving to New York. I know. You tried to tell me. Megan and Raynie too, but I wouldn’t listen.”

  Ethel jumped on the couch and rubbed her head against Quinn’s arm. Lucy circled her ankle. Pushing the laptop aside, Quinn brought both mousers onto her lap. “I have a great beginning to my article, and I’ve joined a site to find a suitable mate. What do you think?” Ethel rolled to her back, Lucy nipped at her, and Ethel squealed. “Oh, I should locate a crowd of men, yowl, and roll around on the floor? It works for you, but I’d look like I needed medical attention.”

  The cats bailed. Quinn made a quick sweep of the room, put up leftover pastries, and checked her profile again. There could already be rings. Sure. There’s a truckload of guys seeking a thirty-five-year-old spinster. Lord, she hated that word, but if she wanted to admit it or not, that’s what she was. At least it sounded nicer than Old Maid.

  She clicked on her profile. Whoa! Three diamonds! She settled deeper into the sofa and pulled up the first inquiry. Macho Jokester. His photo confirmed the macho part. Broad shoulders, which she loved. Six feet, one inch. Another plus. Nice smile, too.

  Moving down to hobbies. Anything outdoors. That might deduct points. She wasn’t an outdoorsy type. Fishing and hiking were okay, but she disliked camping and hated hunting. Killing animals for sport was something she couldn’t tolerate.

  Job: computer programmer. That explained the outdoor stuff. After staring at a screen all day, the guy needed a change of scenery. Next category.

  What I’m looking for in a woman: Age between 25 and 40. Crazy for rock & roll. Secure career. Enjoys travel. Interested in a long-term relationship. Wow! This guy shows real promise. Marriage Minded might be the answer.

  What I can offer: Faithfulness. Long, slow kisses, midnight massages, someone to share in cooking and household chores. She tried to wrap her head around such a perfect match this soon, and chided herself for being reluctant about joining. Twirling the mouse wheel to the last section on the page, she read the entry.

  The most private thing I’m willing to admit: I’m sterile. I just have a fun gun. Lord Jesus. Biggest deal breaker of all. But if she were interested in a jolly shooter, Macho Jokester filled the bill, but she needed a man who shot live rounds. Delete.

  Bachelor number two. This time she’d play it safe, skip the basic information and move right to his reveal. I’m fantastic at liberating your pleasure wave. Quinn gagged. Seriously? She wondered if that pervert got any responses. Delete.

  Inquiry number three reveal. I’ve never had sex with a man. Was he attempting humor? Delete.

  She closed the laptop with more force than she’d intended. A hot bath always worked wonders, but she wasn’t sure if it could wash fun gun, pleasure wave, and sex with a man from her brain. She decided not to let the first applicants spoil her mood. Once she agreed to join the site, she committed. Besides, the profiles she’d read proved there was plenty of material for her articles. That’s how she needed to approach this. Embrace the good, the bad, and the perverted. They all had a story to tell, and she was the journalist to write them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dak Savage knew there was safety in numbers when breaking up with someone. An audience made a woman think twice before causing a scene. Well, most of the time, but not always. Eight years ago, he’d ended up with a glass of wine in his face, before Carmen stormed out of the restaurant. Then there was Bridget. The memory of her on the floor kicking and screaming like a spoiled toddler still made him shiver.

  Staring across the table at Shelly, he wondered what kept him from falling in love with her. She was a beautiful girl, but beyond the bedroom, they had nothing in common.

  In his twenties, quantity had been more important than quality. But now at thirty-eight—he stopped. The number reminded him the big 4-0 waited around the corner, and he’d never been in love. Not even close. Never had his heart broken. Not a single time. What did that say about him? He didn’t consider himself a playboy, but was he so shallow that he couldn’t invest enough in a relationship to let it develop beyond casual? Had he done that with Shelly?

  Her green eyes brightened, and she licked her frosted pink lips. The knowledge of what they were capable of sucked the thoughts from his brain.

  “Why don’t we go away next weekend? Back to that little B&B we visited last month.” She tossed her blonde curls for effect and took a deep breath. Full breasts rose from her low cut scarlet dress, as if pumping up a bicycle tire. Bicycle. Red bicycle. Damn, I loved that ride. He blinked. Man, if he was imagining his first bike while she was giving him that come-and-get-me look, then he was doing the right thing for sure.

  “You’re a beautiful girl, Shel.”

  She fluttered her long thick lashes like pine needles swaying in a breeze on the first day of hunting season. “We’ve been dating three months now and…”

  “Four.” She wiggled fingers in the air. “It’s been four months.”

  “Yeah, and it’s been great, but…”

  She sat up straight and threw her hand in front of her body as if directing traffic. “Wait! But what? Are you breaking up with me?”

  “C’mon. Admit we’re wrong for each other.” He leaned forward, rested his arms on the table, and searched her expression for possible retaliation. She wasn’t reaching for her water or wine. A good sign, so he started again. “You’re twenty-five. The year you were born I was wearing parachute pants and getting down with Milli Vanilli. Aikman and Irvin still played for the Dallas Cowboys.”

  Now she leaned forward and her bosom strained against the low-cut fabric. “I know who Troy Aikman is.”

  Dak forced his eyes back to her face. “Only because he does commentary on TV. By the time you were thirteen, you were listening to Jenny from the Block, and I was trying to make it home from a tour in Iraq.”

  “I can’t believe you’re dumping me. We’re so good together.”

  Dang, he needed to hurry up with it before he changed his mind. The music and candlelight were getting to him, not to mention the promise h
e saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Lately, I feel old when I’m with you. That’s not fair to either of us.”

  “You’re not old. You’re mature. Just my type. Sure, you’ll argue I want a daddy figure, but I promise you, I don’t. Men my age are more concerned with their trucks than they are pleasing a woman. Maybe we don’t share the same pop culture, but we’re compatible. You can’t deny that.”

  This wouldn’t be easy. Those lips. Those boobs. Steeling his shoulders, he stood his ground. “You’re right. We have fun, but we’re better as friends.”

  She started to say something but must have thought better of it because she closed her mouth, then scooted her chair away from the table. Thrusting her chest out, she flourished her hands as if presenting her body as a prize. “Take a good look. Are you willing to give all this up? Be sure. Be very sure, because I won’t be on the market long.”

  For a moment, he weakened, but then reminded himself that he’d never have stronger feelings for her. “I understand, and I wish you the best. Still friends?”

  “As if. I should have suspected something was up when you asked me to meet you here. Mark my words. There will come a day when you regret this. You know what they say. Hindsight is 50/50.”

  Dak smiled. “20/20.”

  “What?”

  “Hindsight is 20/20, not 50/50.”

  “Whatever. I suppose this is where I leave.” She stood and hiked her purse over her shoulder. “See you around, Savage.”

  As she walked away, he wondered if he’d made the right decision. Every guy in the room turned to follow the sway of her hips. She was right. She’d be off the market before the week ended.

  ~~*~~

  The next evening, Dak palmed a glass of whiskey and relaxed in the chaise. Relief washed over him. Shelly was history, and other than the loss of sex, he was happy. She didn’t understand. To string her along when his only interest was physical would be wrong. He switched his gaze to watch the moon climb above the trees. Ash branches cast familiar shadows across the lake. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t anywhere more peaceful than the view from his back deck. He loved this place. Having built the log home with his own hands, a deep sense of pride swelled in his chest during these quiet moments.