Worth the Risk(5)

“My last one, Grayson Malone.”

“Last one. You say that so casually, like you haven’t been drooling over nineteen fine-looking men for the past week.”

“I haven’t. I’ve only gotten to Skype with nine of them. Rissa took the other half.”

“Wait. Hard-ass Rissa is helping you? I thought she was resentful of you being there. Why would she help you?”

“Because my being here and succeeding also means she gets to keep her job, so . . . she wants to help.”

“What you mean is that she wants to keep you under her thumb and micromanage everything you do so you don’t mess up.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“At least she’s helping some, resentment or no resentment. Just tell me that you’re the one who’s responsible for all the men and for rubbing down all the beefcakes. Oiling them up. Vetting their, uh, sexiness credentials?” Leave it to Zoey to think about that.

“Technically, we’ve split everything. The men and the workload. She’s responsible for the copy and the website, and I’m in charge of garnering more advertising and press releases to get more attention.” I pass the fire station and give more than a passing glance to the men washing the engine. “Once we finish informing them they are officially finalists, get a new photo, have them write a more personal blurb for the site, what have you, then we can move on to the next round of voting.

“You’re talking to me here, Sid. That’s way too much technicality. Can we just get straight to the more pictures part? Do you need a fluffer to come on set and keep them, er, occupied?”

“You aren’t fluffing anything, and most of them are married.”

“Damn. All jokes aside, have any had serious potential?”

I shrug. “Are they handsome? Of course. But there hasn’t been one that has that holy shit appeal I’m looking for. The Mr. All American that will reel women in, with a little bit of rough edge to him that will keep them intrigued, and some kind of heart-wrenching story that will make women want to help fix him and make him all better.”

“You mean what every woman is looking for? Good luck with that.”

“I mean . . .” I struggle to put words to my explanation. “You know when you see a man who makes you stop in your tracks and just stare?”

“You’re a picky bitch, so that rarely happens.”

I ignore her comment and continue. “Exactly. If I can find a man who can stop me and make me stare and who has a good story—widowed, champion for kids’ rights, something that will tug on heartstrings—then I know I’ll be able to use him as the face of the contest.”

“You want a man who women can’t help but want to fix and then fuck.”

“Eloquent as always,” I say through a laugh.

“Just have them take their shirts off. That will get some attention. A hot body that makes women clench their thighs—or imagine his face between them—will win out over a sappy story any day,” she adds.

“Yeah, yeah.” I laugh. “But remember, this is mostly a magazine for moms.”

“Moms like sex, too. How else did they become moms?”

“Okay, so I’m looking for a hot man who will make your thighs clench and who breaks your heart. What else?”

“The total package.”

“The total package,” I repeat in a heavily sarcastic tone. “You say it as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to find.”

“There’s always this Grayson you’re off to meet.”

I want to tack the word “again” on to her statement because I know Grayson Malone from Sunnyville High School. Or, should I say that I used to kind of know him? Quiet. Resigned. Into academics. A lot on the scrawny side. Or maybe that was one of his two brothers? I try to put a face with his name but fall short.

“True.” It’s the best I can come up with.

More clicking of her keyboard. “What’s with his picture?” She must have gone to the contest site. “How has he been voted into the top twenty? The picture is taken from such a distance you can barely see him. He’s in a flight suit while all the other guys are shirtless. He has a helmet and goggles covering his face and everyone else is smiling big. Where’s the skin? Where are the abs?”

“Yeah. Well. Flight suit? Nothing says sexy like a rescue pilot. I guess the lack of a visual leaves it all up to the imagination, and that’s what some women like.”

“Rescue pilot may say sexy to some. I’m sure the dad part says hell-to-the-no to you.”

“I’m not that bad,” I muse as I turn down a tree-lined street, the perfect picture of suburbia with manicured lawns and bikes on driveways. I don’t think this neighborhood was built when I left, but then again, I was very limited in the places I ventured back then.

“Ha!” She exaggerates the sound. “A man tells you he has a kid and you leave smoke tracks trying to get away from him.”

“Whatever. You’re lucky I love you, or else I wouldn’t put up with this crap from you.”

“You do love me.” The line falls silent, and I wait for her to say whatever she has to say. “Look, I know you’re there because of me. I know you missed the interview because you were taking care of me instead of taking care of yourself. Thank you.”