Just One of the Guys(37)

“Arteriovenous malformation,” she says with ominous relish.

“Hm. Well, it looks like a varicose vein, if that’s the same thing,” I tell her, rising. “Anything else?”

“Yes. There’s a self-defense class being taught at the Y tonight, and I want you to go. I had this great idea,” Pen says, settling back into her chair. “Heroes of Eaton Falls. We can interview this teacher—Ryan something, I have his name somewhere. He’s dedicated to women’s safety, wants women to be able to protect themselves—” here I snort “—that sort of thing. And then we can move on to the usual firefighter-cop thing, a few Scout leaders, maybe someone who rescues animals. What do you think?”

“Sure,” I say. “Sounds nice.”

“It’ll sell more papers, too. Subscriptions haven’t fallen recently, but they sure as hell haven’t budged, either.”

“Well, hero stories always do sell more papers,” I acknowledge. “That and murders.”

“You have a bunch of rescue workers in your family, don’t you?” she asks, lurching upright. “Maybe we can do a story just on them! The O’Neills of Eaton Falls. Family of Heroes. Heroes Are a Family Tradition. Heroism Runs in the Family.”

Heroism runs in the family to a point, I think, remembering Kim from the toy store. Still, I feel that familiar tingle of pride and irritation. “Well, obviously, I’d have a conflict of interest, writing about my family for the paper I work for.”

“True enough, true enough. Okay, well, if we go with that one, I’ll assign a freelancer. But let’s run with the firefighter thing, just not one of your relatives, okay?”

“Sure,” I say. I don’t mind. Firefighters certainly deserve their credit, even if they do sit around bickering like a bunch of old women half the time. “I know a few guys who would probably talk to me for a story. And there are a lot of other heroes we could unearth, not just the usual suspects. We could do people who work with special-needs kids, the good Samaritan who helped you fix your tire in the rain, that kind of thing. What do you think?”

Pen likes it. We talk a little more, then I head back for my desk. Alan is leaning over Angela, and she’s as far as she can get from him without actually breaking through her cubicle. “Ange, can I see you a second?” I ask.

“Yes!” she exclaims, bolting past Alan to my area. I wait a second until Alan returns to the news desk and picks up the phone.

“I don’t have anything, really,” I say. “Just thought you could use rescuing. Think of yourself as little Pippin, me as noble, flawed Boromir, killing all the Uruk-hai in a desperate attempt to save you.”

“You girls really need to get out more,” Pete comments as he walks past. We ignore him.

“Thank you,” Angela says. “Alan’s a nice guy, but…”

“I know. He’s no Aragorn.”

“He’s not even Gimli,” she says, referring to the four-foot-tall dwarf from our favorite movie trilogy.

“Do you want to grab lunch today?” I ask.

“Sure!” she answers immediately.

“One o’clock?” I ask.

“Sounds perfect. I should get back to work. I’m putting together a page on make-ahead meals,” Angela says. She pauses. “Um, just one more thing, Chastity.”

“Sure,” I answer, tipping back in my chair.

“I happened to see you at Singles Grocery Shopping,” she says in a whisper, blushing attractively.

“I’m not g*y,” I interject.

“Oh, I know!”

“Just wanted to get that out there.”

“No,” she continues. “Um, I was wondering if your brother was seeing anyone.”

“Matt? No, he’s not, actually!” I lurch upright. “He’s great. Have you met him?”

“I just saw him at the store that night,” she murmurs, her face fuchsia. “And I caught a glimpse of him at the race last weekend.”

I pause. “Matt didn’t go to grocery night.” Then realization dawns. “Do you mean Trevor?”

“The guy who kissed your mom? Brown hair? Great smile, dark eyes?”

My heart stutters. “Yeah, that’s Trevor Meade. He’s not my brother. Family friend, that’s all.”

Angela’s face is hopeful. “Oh, okay. Well, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

My sulky inner child protests. You can’t have him. I’ve loved him since I was ten years old, damn it! And then there’s Perfect Hayden. I haven’t heard what went on with that. “Um…I’m not sure, but I don’t think he’s seeing anyone at the moment, Ange.” She bites her lip and smiles, and my heart sinks even further. “Want me to put out some feelers?”

“That would be great,” she says. “He’s really gorgeous. I mean, one look and I could feel…you know. That tingle.”

“Yes,” I admit, forcing a smile. “He’s…very appealing.” There is no reason for me to object to Angela’s interest. Trevor and I are dear friends. Have been for years and years and bleeping years. Oh, and the woman he once loved, who broke his heart, is back in town. Truth be told, I’d rather have Angela dating Trevor than Perfect Hayden. At least Angela’s nice.