Page 23 of Pity Present
The room fills with nervous murmurs before the quiet mumbling of confessions fills the air. I look up at Blake before unconsciously fluttering my eyelashes. I mutter, “I’ve always wanted to date a lumberjack.”
His smile is as slow as cold molasses pouring from a jug. Then he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Me too …”
CHAPTER TWELVE
BLAKE
I can’t get Molly and Kyle’s story out of my head. They’re sure to catch readers’ interest. Titles for the piece start to pop into my mind. “Dumped!” “Karma Calling!” Or maybe simply, “Second Chances?”—although Molly doesn’t strike me like the type who would ever forgive a betrayal like Kyle’s. Even so, there isn’t a person alive who wouldn’t be invested in seeing how things turn out between these two star-crossed ex-lovers.
My problem is that Molly is so incredibly endearing, all I want to do is talk to her and get to know her better. I come short of admitting that I’d like to date her for myself because I’m sure as heck not going to write about my own social life. In an attempt to break this crazy tension between us, I turn and look around at the attendees of tonight’s event and ask her, “Which guy here looks like he’s a lumberjack?”
Molly takes a sip of her drink before letting her gaze wander. She finally points across the room at a bearded man wearing a flannel shirt. “Him?”
“That’s your type?” I ask, surprised she’s not interested in someone more refined looking—someone like me, perhaps.
Her head moves from side to side before she answers, “You didn’t tell me to find someone who was my type. You told me to find a lumberjack. Not all lumberjacks are created equal, you know.”
I can’t help but smile at her wit. “Find a guy you think you might be interested in getting to know better.”
She looks up at me from under her long eyelashes before turning toward the assemblage of hopeful singles. Then she points at a man wearing a dark business suit. I inexplicably hate him on sight. “I suppose he looks interesting.”
“Interesting. That’s it?”
Molly glares at me. “Who do you see me with?”
I look from one group to another before gesturing toward a guy who’s probably about five seven. He’s wearing glasses and a sweater vest. “What about him?”
Molly’s lips curl into something of a sneer. “I don’t think so. I like my guys taller.”
“But you’re only, what? Five-six?”
She slams back the rest of her drink before dropping her glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “Are you only interested in women over six feet?” she asks brusquely.
“I wouldn’t have much of a selection, if that was my criteria.”
“Nor would I have a big variety if I was determined to date men only an inch taller than me.”
“It’s not necessarily a height thing,” I lie. Pointing to the guy I picked for her, I add, “He looks smart and thoughtful. I bet he’d never cheat on you.”
Molly’s eyes narrow to the point where only the barest slits remain open. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him, but you have to go talk to the woman I pick for you.”
Fortunately, I’m not actually looking, and therefore have no problem agreeing. “Go for it.”
Scanning the room, Molly settles on a woman I’d guess was a librarian in Victorian times. She’s wearing a cardigan sweater overa turtleneck and her skirt is so long it’s nearly brushing the top of her shoes. “Her.”
“She looks very nice,” I tell her. “Dependable.”
“You could do worse than dependable,” Molly says. “Trust me on that.”
“Meet me back here in ten minutes?” I ask. “You know, so we can compare notes.”
Molly rolls her beautiful blue eyes. “Fine.” Then she wanders off in the direction of the least threatening man in the room. In turn, I head toward her choice for me.
When I arrive at the woman’s side, I smile and ask, “Are you having a nice time?”
Her posture jolts upward before she answers, “Not at all. How about you?”
I decide to come clean. “This kind of thing isn’t really my bag.”
