Love and Romance, etc.

A Free Newsletter for romance novel lovers
By Bonnie Williams


LARE ISSUE # 13:

The Lonely Guys

THE LONELY GUYS

A Romantic Comedy Series
By Bonnie Louise Williams
Meet the Kinsey brothers...
Four strikingly handsome brothers.
A father who has gone missing.
A blind cat...that keeps impregnating the neighborhood females.
And an old, dilapidated house.
-And these guys haven't had a date in months, all because of a rumor
about a family curse....that rendered all of them, umm, well—
impotent...except for the cat.
Can these attractive guys find their dad, keep their house in one piece,
and find true love (or lust) along the way...despite the curse?
Or are they destined to remain...The Lonely Guys?

Episode 7

The Hot Date

"Wearing pantyhose stinks."

Emma struggled with the silky black "slim-shaper" nylons— Yeah, you
look slimmer because you can't eat once they're on. She managed
to get both feet inside the garment then nearly fell on her face. "I'm going
to kill the man who invented these," she groaned, when her thumbnail
snagged the "panty" in the pantyhose. "Agh! And if he's already
dead—I'll kill his descendants."
 
Pumpkin tried to wind her plump body around Emma's legs. "Listen
to me, Pumpkin. Only a man would create such masochistic under
things for women to wear. After all, it was men who created the
corset, didn't they?" Pumpkin didn't care. She just wanted her
growing tummy rubbed.

 

Emma took a break from the torturous task and glanced at the simple
black dress on the bed—required attire for a first date. Hey, she read
chick-lit. She knew the drill. And if she intended to wear it, she had
to fit her butt into the nylons.
 
She had them up to her knees when the phone rang and she nearly
tripped while hopping to the phone. "This better be important," she
groaned into the receiver. "You've just interrupted my contortionist act."
 
"Sorry I'm not there to see it," said a deep, sensual voice.
 
"Blake?"
 
"Hi. Uh, there's been a slight change of plans."
 
"Hmm, let me guess." She planted her butt on the edge of the bed. "Your
house was demolished by a meteorite and you can't make it?"
 
A masculine laugh sounded through the phone.
 
Oh, darn it! Why did he have to have a sexy laugh?
 
"If only," he said. "But no. We had an unexpected visitor this evening
and I'm running a little late. Would you mind meeting me at Ben's Diner?"
 
"Ben's Diner?" she said skeptically.
 
"Yeah. I'll be there in forty minutes."
 
"Okay." Whatever.
 
"Great. See you there. Oh, and would you mind wearing that silky
little green number you had on yesterday?"
 
"Dream on."
 
He laughed again. "Well, a man can dream, can't he? Bye, Emma." The
jerk was still laughing when he hung up.
 
"Ben's Diner? Not exactly the most romantic place in town." Emma
wrinkled her nose. "Pumpkin, I'll be damned if I'm going to wear
pantyhose if we're just going for burgers and fries. I should have
guessed he'd choose something like the diner." Maybe her mother
was right. But Emma would prove her mother wrong even if it killed
her. It was the principle of the thing.
 
Pumpkin hopped onto the bed, made two circles around the center
of Emma black dress, then settled in for a nap.
 
"Yeah, you're right. I don't need the dress either." Emma tugged
off the pantyhose and promptly threw them in the trash. If they were
going out for burgers, she required burger attire. She decided a
thread-bare pair of jeans would be appropriate, and because she
was feeling particularly obnoxious, Emma put on a pair of hiking boots
and a t-shirt her brother gave her as a gag gift for her birthday last year
that said "I Love Curly" across the chest.
 
She took the fancy combs out of her hair, brushed out the curls, and
pulled it back in a ponytail. "There, that should do it, Pumpkin. At
least I'll be comfortable while I'm trying to keep Blake Kinsey's
hands to himself." She scratched Pumpkin behind the ears and a loud
rumbling came from her kitty throat. "Feel free to make a nest of that
dress. I doubt I'll ever be tempted to wear it again."
 
Forty-five minutes later, Emma was desperately trying to remain ticked
at Blake Kinsey. "So what if he's a fantastic kisser." No, don't think
about that. She circled Ben's Diner parking lot a second time and
finally found a space for her car. Ben's was the town hang-out, and
evenings were usually busy. She flipped the visor down to check her
face in the mirror. Why was she bothering to check her lipstick?
Because, this was the town's most popular place for busy bodies,
plus she was getting edgy. First date butterflies, that's all. After
one last look— Who was she kidding? Besides, she wore jeans
and a t-shirt...she wasn't trying to look attractive—was she?
 
Emma got out of her car and walked through the glass double doors
of the diner. The usual smell of Jose's meatloaf and Betty's apple pie
was overwhelming. Ben met her at the host podium. "Hey, Ben. I'm
supposed to meet someone here." She noticed several heads turning
in her direction.
 
Ben straightened his posture and cleared his throat. "Yes, Madame.
Your table is ready."
 
Madame. He wasn't wearing his usual brown pants and plaid shirt.
Though his thinning hair still looked disheveled, his black pants were
ironed and he wore a white oxford shirt. "Are you feeling all right, Ben."
 
"Fit as a fiddle," he said. "Right this way."
 
"O-kay." She spotted two of her clients as she followed Ben toward
the rear of the diner. One stopped arguing with her husband long enough
to stare at Emma. The other woman sat at a window booth with her
teenaged daughter. They both leaned toward each other lowering their
voices to a whisper. Emma felt an odd sense of apprehension settle in
the pit of her stomach.
 
Ben escorted her to the last table and she stopped in her tracks—stunned
by what she saw. The table sat in the corner with a window at the side
and back allowing the customers a pleasant view of the city. But that's
not what shocked her. The table was not the usual "diner" ware. This
one was elegantly decorated with a flowing white tablecloth, candles,
and a breathtaking all-white centerpiece with an unusual assortment of
snapdragons, roses, and carnations that gave the bouquet an almost
luminous quality. All tied neatly together into a translucent green vase,
it nearly took the breath from her lungs.
 
Emma shifted her gaze to the man standing at the end of the table and
her heart made an energetic lurch. Blake. He wasn't dressed in jeans
as she'd expected. In fact, he looked devastatingly handsome in his
charcoal suit—minus the tie. She felt a hot ache grow deep inside her
and tried to ignore it. The man was pure sensuality and it was maddening.
 
He scanned her critically, raised an eyebrow, then beamed at her with
approval. Darn him. Her outfit was meant to put him off. Instead, he
seemed to approve of her choice of apparel. Normally she'd never be
caught dead wearing anything remotely hideous or offensive—not that
Curly was offensive—but she'd had it drilled into her brain at an early
age to be mindful of appearance when out in public.
 
Blake walked over to her, took her hand in his, then gave her a quick
kiss on the mouth. "Hi," he said. "I hope you like the table. If not we
can always sit somewhere else."
 
Was he kidding? "Um..." Emma was still mesmerized by the seductive
twinkle in his irresistible chocolate-brown eyes and silky smooth voice.
"I thought...I mean...Oh, God."
 
There was a long silence among the customers. She tried to swallow the
uncomfortable lump forming in her throat. The tension building around her
made her anxious and self-conscious. She suddenly felt guilty for wearing
jeans and disappointed that Blake wasn't. Leave it to her to get the signals
crossed. Lord, help her if her mother could see her now? Chances are,
her mother would hear about it one way or another, but if she saw what
Emma wore right now—out of the house—she'd never hear the end of it.
 
"You okay?" Blake asked as he tugged gently on her hand. He led her to
the table and pulled out her chair. Even the chairs, she noticed, had been
adorned with white ruffled cushions for the occasion. "Thank you" was
all she'd managed to say.
 
Was that Ida Brown, the town busy body staring at her? Of course it
was. Emma nearly groaned aloud. Now her mother would definitely
know everything.
 
"I asked around to find out what your favorite food was," he shrugged.
"I was surprised to discover that Belgian waffles with strawberries were
your favorite. Rosy said you could eat them any time of day. So I got to
thinking, I could take you anywhere within a fifty mile radius of town, but
you'd never find a better waffle this side of the equator then Ben's place.
So here we are."
 
She stared at him in wonder and felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through
her. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
 
The talking and chattering started up again. Emma thought she heard
whispers of "...her mother wouldn't...and that house" and "...disgraceful...
wearing jeans?" Emma even thought she heard several sexually suggestive
comments from the men. She felt a shudder of humiliation and embarrassment
that quickly turned to anger—mostly at herself. Why couldn't one single thing
come easily for her? Everything she'd gained in her life took ten times more
effort then for most people. She wanted to remain angry with Blake—but
it wasn't his fault that she'd jumped to a hasty conclusion about his character.
Among other emotions racing through her brain, shame was now added to
the mix.
 
Panicked thoughts rioted through her—her mom would be furious—her
clients might harass her— her brother would never speak to her...
 
Blake sat down across from her and smiled. She suddenly wanted him to
find her desirable, which she was certain he couldn't with her outdoor-slob
gear. She quickly looked away.
 
She couldn't handle this. It was all just too much. Anxious to escape,
she mumbled a feeble "I'm sorry" as she stood up and ran for the door.
 

LOVE and ROMANCE, etc.
By Bonnie Williams
Copyright 2005
Bellflower, CA 90501
www.LoveandRomanceEtc.com
photo of Bonnie