Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(9)

And then you have every blind date my mother has ever set me up on over the years. Although I wouldn’t exactly call them “blind dates,” since in this town you pretty much have to check with your grandmother before going on a date to make sure you aren’t in some way related to the other person. No one I’ve ever dated has been a stranger. We all grew up together, we all went to school together, and everyone knows someone who is related to someone else. I never complained about these dates she set up for me, never got up and walked out on my date, even though I was tempted to several times. I dutifully sat through each and every meal, movie, trip for ice cream, and one disastrous Sunday afternoon of ice fishing where I was stuck out in the middle of the lake for hours with Jasper Reynolds, who always pulled my hair in kindergarten, and did nothing on our date but talk about how much he loves his mother and how, when he gets married, he’d continue living in her basement because he could never go a day without her meatloaf.

And let’s not forget the whole teacher thing. I was actually pretty good at that though. I would never have quit my teaching job, no matter how much I didn’t like it. That’s just not what I was brought up to do, which means no matter how uncomfortable working at EdenMedia is, I know I have to stick with it. I do have some money set aside that could tide me over for a little while, but I can’t just not work. What would I do, sit home all day staring out the window, hoping for a glimpse of Brent?

Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

Closing the back door of my car with a bump of my hip, I cradle the box of equipment tightly to my chest as I turn around, coming to an abrupt halt when I glance over at my neighbor’s front yard.

Speaking of the handsome devil…. Wait, not a devil. He’s not evil. He’s not bad. He’s perfect and wonderful and sweet and—

Brent stands up from a bent-over position where he was pulling weeds around the flower beds in front of his porch and stretches his arms high above his head, arching his back and twisting and turning at the waist to work the kinks out.

I’m frozen in place as I stand here blatantly staring at his shirtless torso. Under normal circumstances, I would have quickly looked away and ran into my house, but something about spending time with people who read dirty things into a microphone for a living—and were being told to put more feeling into those dirty things—seems to have altered my brain. And now all I can hear is Narrator Steve in my head with his deep, soothing voice.

“Brent’s muscular body glistens with sweat after a hard evening of working on his flower beds. His faded jeans rest low on his narrow hips, showcasing the indents in his waist. My tongue darts out, wetting my parched lips as I wonder what his skin would taste like.”

The box of equipment slips from my grasp and tumbles to the ground before I can even attempt to stop it. I knew I should have parked in the alley garage behind my house, but it was just easier to park along the curb in front so I didn’t have to carry this box so far.

Why in the world didn’t I throw this stuff in the dumpster like I was told?

I was so busy running as fast as I could out of EdenMedia at the end of the day that I shoved this stupid box into my backseat, figuring I’d just toss it when I got home. Now this box is going to be the death of me.

Brent’s arms drop back down to his sides, and he jogs over to me when he hears the commotion of the box smacking the ground and everything spilling out of it at my feet, including…

Oh no! Please, God, no!

Ducking my head to hide the blush I feel heating my cheeks, I quickly squat down and try to shove everything back into the box before he gets to me, particularly the book Jessica must have shoved in there when I wasn’t looking. A half-naked man, similar to the one heading right for me, smirks up at me from the cover of that stupid thing, and my arm darts out to grab it right as Brent gets to it first.

I watch in complete mortification as he bends over and grabs the book, and then I do everything I can to avoid eye contact. I finish shoving the cords, microphone, and other odds and ends back into the box and stand, hugging it to my body and keeping my downcast eyes on the box like it’s filled with the most interesting things I’ve ever seen.

Don’t look at his bare chest, don’t look at his bare chest…

“Sleeping with my Secretary,” Brent muses as he flips the book over in his hands and studies the back cover. “Interesting reading you’ve got here.”

Where is a giant hole in the ground that will open and swallow you up when you need it?

“It’s not mine!” I blurt, finally lifting my head to stare at a spot over his shoulder, refusing to look anywhere between his head and the waist of his jeans for fear that Narrator Steve will start another commentary in my brain. “It’s research for my new job at EdenMedia I started today. I was thinking about quitting, but I’m not a quitter, and Jessica put that book in this box from a drawer at the office that I’m now referring to as the Garden of Eden Drawer, because it’s filled with temptation that will send me straight to H-E-double hockey sticks.”

Oh jeez. Not only am I rambling; I sound like a person trying to sell door-to-door religion. What is wrong with me?

Brent chuckles, and the sound of it does all sorts of things to me that are appropriate for the book he’s still holding in his hand, but not appropriate for sidewalk chitchat.

A few hours at EdenMedia and I’ve already been tainted, getting all tingly when a man laughs. By this time next week, I’ll probably be selling my body on a street corner and my mother will have disowned me.