Show time!

Amanda looked hurriedly at Joe, shirt untucked, but chest untouched, and she was still all ironed and buttoned. “We don’t look like we’ve been doing anything!” she wailed. The doorbell rang again. “This is supposed to look torrid. Avery has to think he doesn’t stand a chance.”

Joe lowered his voice. “This was your idea. What are we supposed to do? Get a little down and dirty on the carpet and just let Avery walk right in?”

The doorbell rang for a third time.

“I’m coming,” Joe yelled, still standing several feet away from Amanda, looking completely untorrid.

“Look, if this were a real date, what would Avery expect to find?” She wanted to know exactly what was the current fashion for being found in flagrante delicto.

Joe’s smile was slow, but smoky. “Babe, if this were for real, you’d be lucky to have your socks.”

Wow.

Dear Reader,

I love New York; I have always loved New York. However, there seems to be a whole side to the city and the people that gets forgotten in all the glamour and glitz. And that was my inspiration for Joe, all surly exterior and tough-guy looks, but who can still see great things in an ordinary world.

I started writing this story before September 11 of last year, and finished it afterward. Joe changed as I started telling his tale. He wasn’t as carefree, nor was he as prone to crack jokes; he even got a little cranky. Yet in his character I found something special and strong, something warm and vibrant, willing to fight against all odds.

That something was the spirit of the city. This one’s for you.

Kathleen O’Reilly

Books by Kathleen O’Reilly

HARLEQUIN DUETS

66—A CHRISTMAS CAROL

Just Kiss Me

Kathleen O’Reilly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

1

BACK ME UPON THIS, PLEASE!

Joe Barrington refocused on the tiny letters that were precisely inked into the cocktail napkin, working to scramble the letters into a happier meaning.

Well, she’d actually done it. After twenty-one years of fighting her own battle in futility, she had decided to ask for his help. He should tell her no.

His mouth even formed the words, but when Joe looked up and stared into the fathomless blue eyes of Amanda Sedgewick, he knew he was as perfectly cooked as the Manhattan restaurant’s world famous pâté de foie gras.

Damn. Well, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“No,” he mouthed the words. He shook his head, just in case she missed what he was saying.

“Please.” Amanda mouthed back him, shooting one of those helpless female looks that under different circumstances might have worked wonders on him.

However, he’d never been one of those knights who rode around saving damsels in distress. Nope. Not even close. There were chinks in his armor. Big chinks. Huge chinks.

With a heavy sigh, he stared across the pristine tablecloth at the proud visage of Dr. Avery Barrington, III, his big brother, who was currently studying the wine list like it was the Wall Street Journal. And there sat Joe’s biggest chink.

Avery. The whole world revolved around Avery.

Before Avery had reached the advanced age of eight, he had mapped out his entire future. Mainly because in elementary school, life really sucked for guys named Avery. First, he was going to become a doctor in order to get rich just to spite those bullies who picked on the Averys of the world. And second, to further their torment, he was equally determined to marry the most beautiful girl at Neil Armstrong Elementary, who just happened to be—Amanda.

It was a simple plan, and Joe applauded his brother’s single-minded pursuit of his goals. He’d achieved them all. Avery was a wealthy plastic surgeon, the bullies from grade school were gas attendants with beer bellies, he graduated at the top of his class from Columbia, he drove a German car, but for Avery there was still one big fly stuck in the soup.

Amanda.

The last time Joe had seen her was Avery’s high school graduation. Tonight he had been surprised to see she had developed a maturity that had been missing before. She was still gorgeous, but now there was a confidence in the way she held herself and the way she talked. Just like Avery.

Which brought Joe right back to the plea for help on the cocktail napkin. Well, whatever she wanted him to back her up on, it wasn’t going to happen. Joe firmly believed that Avery’s love life, sterile and lifeless as it was, was none of his business.

“Not my problem.” Joe stated his case categorically, meeting her eyes so there was no misunderstanding. For twenty-one years he had stayed out of the whole thing, listening to Avery rhapsodize about Amanda’s porcelainlike features, and thinking yeah, she was okay if you liked cool blondes with impeccable fashion sense.

But Joe liked his women with fire in their blood and sin in their eyes. He smiled, fondly reminiscing about his last date. Sometimes it was hard to believe he and Avery shared the same genes. Maybe they didn’t. It would explain a lot. Why Joe hadn’t got into St. Alban’s preparatory school, when Avery had. Why Avery wanted to make people well, and Joe just wanted to be around planes.

The wine steward came to the table and wisely, Joe and Amanda let Avery make the selection. Amanda shot Joe another meaningful look. “Please,” she mouthed again. Then she lifted her palms, a suffering angel. Right.

Avery placed the order, and then turned back to Joe. “What were you saying?”

“I was telling Amanda that, no, I’m not going to do anything with her cocktail napkin. Thanks very much for offering.” He passed the white paper back to her, wondering why she had even agreed to go out to dinner with Avery in the first place and even more mysteriously, why she had wanted Joe to come along.

Amanda smiled politely, took the napkin in her perfectly manicured hands and sat her water glass down top of it. Amanda never gave anything away. She was the perfect complement for his brother, the liberal sophisticate.

Everything except that mouth.

In a face composed of high cheekbones and unblinking eyes, her mouth was wild and wicked. Full, red lips that curled up slightly at the corners, as if she had a secret and you knew that no matter how you tried, you’d never discover it.

Joe knew Amanda had secrets, that there was a hidden piece of her that she never showed, and he didn’t know whether it was the poised exterior or the promise of that mouth that inspired his brother.

But that was none of his business.

Finally, she raised one eyebrow, a challenge. Then she turned to Avery, and brushed her hair back on her shoulders. Very smooth. Of course, Amanda was a lawyer, and she knew all the moves. “It’s not going to work,” she said.

Huh?

Amanda picked up her glass of wine and watched Joe, her mouth curving ever so slightly. He shifted, not liking that provocative smile blasting in his direction. She turned to Avery. “It’s time I was honest with you.”

About time. And that sounded like his cue to leave. Joe stood. “Excuse me. I’m sure you two need a little privacy. I’ll just take a train home.”

“No!” All traces of steel vanished from her voice, her blue eyes soft and pleading. Avery heaved a theatrical sigh.

Surely she didn’t expect Joe to stick around while she had The Talk with his brother? Not that Joe thought it would do a bit of good. Avery would never give up. He could bulldoze the entire third world if he put his mind to it, and Joe gave Amanda high marks for managing to escape un-dozed. So far.

“I think we need to tell your brother this together.”

We? There it was again. The whispered tone, that intimate look. Like lovers. A guy could get really used to that look.

And then it all clicked. Joe. Amanda. Lovers.

Holy Cow.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” he answered, every cell in his body flashing red-alert. There were some cells that were flashing more enthusiastically than others, and Joe shifted uncomfortably. He tried for a paternally disapproving voice. “You should have talked to me before you decided to bring this up.”

And still she stared at him, and he almost forgot his good intentions. He almost forgot Avery. Which was a hard thing to do.

Thankfully, the wine steward came, and placed the bottle of wine on the table, waiting for Avery’s approval. Then the ritual began. Avery sniffed, whirled, sipped and finally nodded. The steward poured everyone a glass and then departed in silence.

“What did you want to tell me, Amanda?” Avery asked.

Amanda shot Joe one last pleading look. He almost caved. He’d pretty well figured it out. Joe and Amanda, pretend lovers. Absolutely without question, the most harebrained scheme she’d ever had to get rid of Avery. Of course, Amanda didn’t do harebrained well, and Avery wasn’t very cooperative as a dumpee.

“Avery, I’m in love with Joe.”

Her harebrained skills were improving by the minute.

It was a valiant struggle not to spew cabernet all over the pristine, white tablecloth, but he managed. He’d thought she was proposing an affair, but no, this was Amanda. Of course the lawyer would want it all. She’d say she was in love. With Joe.

Was she nuts?

He took another hasty swallow of wine. He had really underestimated her this time. Who knew that beneath that cool exterior lurked Lucille Ball? No foul though, because, of course, Avery would never believe it.

Feeling rather confident of his prediction, Joe turned to Avery. Three. Two. One.

“Joe?” Avery spluttered, predictable as always. “You can’t be serious! He’s an airline mechanic.”

And so it goes. Joe sighed and began to butter his bread. “Thanks, Ave. Love you too, bro.”

But Amanda wasn’t done yet and if Avery wasn’t blood-kin, Joe would have felt sorry for her. “I am serious, Avery. It’s something I’ve been fighting for a long time.” She turned to Joe, her wicked mouth trembling. “Something we’ve been fighting for a long time. I can’t let you ruin this for me, Avery. I won’t let you ruin my one chance at happiness.”

Avery’s face was all screwed up and confused, not a pretty sight. “But why Joe?”

Enjoying himself now, and feeling quite safe, Joe took a bite. He couldn’t wait to hear the answer to this one.

She pushed at her perfectly coiffed hair as if a strand had fallen in her eyes, which of course, it hadn’t. “Because I’m tired of being restrained and constricted and having to iron my clothes.” She took a deep breath, the neckline of her white linen dress rising discreetly. “I want to stop worrying about what I say, and who I have to meet and whether my nails are done.”

Oh, she was good. If not for the plea for help on her napkin, he might have believed her. He wasn’t going to back her up on this tale, though. Avery might be pompous and stubborn and a little bit weird, but he was his brother. And if Joe had been named Avery, he might have turned out just like him.

“I don’t understand the connection between your nails and Joe.” Avery frowned and rubbed a finger against his brow.

“There isn’t one. There doesn’t always have to be a reason or an explanation. Sometimes things just are. Joe doesn’t worry about having to be something, he’s just happy being.”

Avery assumed his doctor face, which looked so much like their father’s. “Sounds damned irresponsible to me.”

It sounded pretty irresponsible to Joe, too, but he was impressed that Amanda had enough depth to figure that part of him out.

“It’s not irresponsible, it’s serenity,” she said.

He almost laughed out loud at that. Serenity? Sounded more like New Age crap. He wondered if he should interrupt now and put an end to the whole nonsense. He wouldn’t have his brother hurt. Though it pricked at him that Avery acted more appalled than spurned. Just for that, Joe leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

He’d stop it in a minute.

Avery smoothed out his napkin, then began folding it into precise triangles. “Serenity? You’re spouting that mystic mumbo jumbo, next you’ll be telling me you’ve decided to go off on some mission to find yourself. Amanda, you’re a beautiful woman. Be happy with who you are.”

“Avery, you’re a wonderful man, and I do love you in a special way, but I will never love you like that.”

“Well, of course you will. In time you’ll see sense.” Avery rummaged through his pocket for the package of stomach medicine he carried with him. He swallowed two white tables and turned on Joe, obviously deciding that Joe was somehow responsible for this. “You’ve seduced her, haven’t you? I should call you out.” Always the dramatic one—he got that from their mother—Avery stood and slapped his napkin on the table.

“Now, Avery, sit down. There’s no need to make a scene.” Amanda put a hand to his arm.

Magic words to Avery who despised making a scene. He obediently sat.

“Nothing has ever happened between the two of us.” She cast a calming smile in Joe’s direction. “Joe is much too honorable to do anything while you are so, um, fixated.”

Avery shot a questioning glance in Joe’s direction, and Joe nodded. Damn straight.

Amanda cleared her throat and squared her shoulders and pierced Avery with a steely gaze. “However, I think it’s time that you stepped aside, and let me and your brother be happy.”

Joe watched her, silently applauding her acting skills. It was easy to imagine her in the courtroom. “And for his considerable pain and suffering, my client deserves nothing less than ten million dollars….”

However, Avery, who never got picked for juries, still wasn’t buying it. He turned to Joe, using his doctor face again. “Is this true?”

Joe looked from his brother, who looked just a little smug, to Amanda, who looked just a little desperate. It was a tough choice and his conscience even tweaked him a bit. Avery’s dedication to Amanda wasn’t exactly fair to her, but Joe stood with his brother. Now and always. He might be irresponsible, but he was loyal to a fault. “Absolutely not. She’s lying. Don’t believe a word of it.”

Amanda twisted the spoon between her fingers, that one little move giving her away. She was ticked.

“Avery, can I talk to Joe alone please? He didn’t want to do this tonight.” She shot Avery a pleading look. “Just a few minutes.”

Avery frowned, looking displeased with the idea, but he was too polite to stay, so he stood, and stuck his hands in his tweed jacket. Looking as dignified as always, he scanned the dining room. “Well, it looks like Mrs. Hoyton-Spenser is awaiting her dinner companion. I suppose I should go say hello.”

AMANDA STUDIED her nails to buy precious time, and wondered if she shouldn’t have talked to Joe in advance. Of course he would have said no, which was why she had taken the coward’s way out and waited until he couldn’t say no. It was such a brilliant plan, though and she told him so.

“It’s brilliant. Why don’t you admit it?”

“You’re insane! What happened to telling him you’re not interested?”

Joe and Avery didn’t look a thing alike. Joe was dark. Dark wavy hair, tanned skin. Avery was golden. Fair hair and a determined gleam in his eyes. The blue eyes were similar though. Except Avery’s were placid and calm, like a cool, mountain lake. Joe’s eyes were exotic and dangerous, like the waters of the Caribbean.

“Do you know how many times I’ve told him that? You’re his brother, you know how he is. I can’t divert him.”

Joe pulled at his tie and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But this is ridiculous! Every other female in America knows how to dump a guy.”

“Joe, I’ve been dumping your brother for,” she looked at her watch, “twenty-one years. I like him. He’s sweet in a stuffy kinda of way. I’ve returned his gifts, made up excuses, gone out with other guys. Heavens, this is the first date I’ve been out on with him, and I made him bring you.”

“It’s the second. You went to the junior varsity football game with him at St. Albans.”

When did his memory get to be so good? “How did you know?”

“Avery talked about it for weeks. That night he was the envy of every guy who had ever beat him up. You always were doing nice things for him.”

“He didn’t deserve to be bullied like that.”

“No.” Joe stared off at his brother.

Amanda adjusted her forks. They were getting sidetracked. Both of them cared for Avery. “My point being, you’re the only way I know of to get him to move on with his life.”

Joe looked at her and raised his brows. “Get another guy.”

There’s the rub. Oh, she’d tried, but every date she’d ever been on could be summed up in one word: boring. Honestly, she was afraid she was boring. She didn’t want boring. She wanted Coney Island, with someone to teach her how to really live. She wanted a man who ate his jalapeños whole. And she’d found him. “Joe, I’ve tried dating other men. Nothing changed.”

Joe sighed. “Get married, then. I bet he’d get the message.”

“I’m not getting married just to get rid of Avery.” Marriage? She wasn’t ready to get married. Heck, she didn’t even want commitment. No, she wanted an affair, with a capital A. And she’d found just the guy. The perfect guy for a no-strings-attached, screaming good time. And the best part? Finally, Avery would leave her alone. Just thinking about an affair with Joe made her smile. They’d spend Sunday mornings lazing in bed, reading the paper, making love. She closed her eyes, feeling tiny tremors dance across her skin.

That wouldn’t do; she needed to stay focused. She opened her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. “Let me explain. What if we pretend to be passionately in love for say, two or three months? That’s all. I have tons of friends that I think would be perfect for him. I’ll fix him up, he’ll move on and then I’ll be free.”

He didn’t look convinced; really more skeptical than anything. “Why do you think he’ll move on?”

Why were men dense at the most inopportune times? “Joe, for you, he would step aside. It’s the noble thing to do. And Avery is nothing if not noble.”

Joe shook his head mutinously, as stubborn as Avery at times. “He’ll never forgive me.”

“In a few years, he’ll thank you.” She was completely wrong for Avery; they’d bore each other to tears. “Imagine this. We’re on a double date. I have a veritable cornucopia of sorority sisters who would enjoy the company of a prominent plastic surgeon. We’ll go to dinner and Avery acts rather dejected. She asks what’s wrong. He tells her he’s been betrayed by his brother and that his one true love is no longer true. He would love it!”

Joe raised his dark brows. Oh, he had such a great face. All lines and angles and a nose that he’d broken not once but twice. How could a woman not lust after a guy who’d actually broken his nose?

There she was, getting herself distracted again. She got back to the subject at hand. “Okay, so maybe I’m overstating things a bit, but you must admit, it has a certain Shakespearian flair that Avery would enjoy wallowing in for a while.”

“I don’t know.” At last, progress. He was beginning to waver.

“Joe, I’m not going to break down after twenty-one years and suddenly fall in love with him. It’s time for everyone to stop pretending that my future is preordained as Mrs. Avery Barrington.” She stared at her hands, nine perfectly polished fingernails and one that was short and ragged. She allowed herself one nail, but never more.

“Avery would never believe this. We have nothing in common. Hell, I haven’t seen you in ten years before tonight.”

“Avery doesn’t know that and besides, we spent our formative years together. That counts for something.”

“Going to the same church for ten years does not count as the basis for a relationship.”

“Opposites attract.”

“You’re not my type. Avery does know that.”

Ah, he’d overcome the emotional issues and was now moving to the logical. She had prepared her arguments for both.

“As it stands now, you’re right. But I think it’s time to live a little. Let my hair down, metaphorically speaking, of course.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and she studied his rough and callused hands, imagining what it would be like to feel their touch. The tremors began again. Joe was the kind of guy who inspired tremors, and fantasies. Wild, wanton fantasies that involved motorcycles and possibly leather.

Well, today she was going after her fantasy. “Joe, in the long run, this is the best thing for him. This can’t be healthy. He should be married, populating the world with little Averies that he can train in his image. I’m not the woman for him.”

“I don’t know. I think you both are perfect for each other.”

That’s what everyone else said, too. Frankly, she’d grown tired of it. “Then you don’t know me.”

“Guess not.” He cocked his head, studying her, and she wished he could see more inside her than just the facade. “Not going to do it, Amanda. I won’t hurt Avery.”

“Joe, you’re doing him more harm letting him waste his prime dating years stuck on me.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Joe, Avery is thirty. How many dates has he been on?”

Joe thought for a minute. “A handful, I think.”

“How many girlfriends?”

“Besides you?”

She dug her nails into her palms wanting to scream. “I don’t count!” Still, a few people stared.

“None.”

She lowered her voice. “Joe, Avery is probably still a virgin.”

Joe laughed. “Uh, no. There was this…” He cut himself off and cleared his throat. “But that was a long time ago and it’s none of my business.” He took a sip of wine. “I’m not going to do it. There’s got to be a better way.”

There was no other way. “Fine. Name it. You give me some idea of how I can get your brother to move on with his life, and I’ll forget all about the idea. One. Just one little thing I can do.”

Joe sipped his wine, stared at Avery, shaking hands across the room, and sighed in defeat. “Pretend dating, huh?”

Finally. “More than dating. He’s got to be convinced it’s real, passionate, something that will make him think he doesn’t stand a chance. A torrid affair.” She loved the way the words sounded, coming out of her mouth.

He turned pale. “Torrid?”

She nodded. “Torrid.”

Awareness flared in his blue eyes and all that exotic fire shot in her direction. She struggled to breath. He smiled. “Princess, I don’t think you can do torrid.”

“Is that a wager?” she managed.

As quickly as it came, the fire was gone. He was back to looking at her like everyone did. Avery’s girl. “You think this plan of yours will really work?”

“I’m willing to bet on it, aren’t I?” She held out her hand across the table, waiting. “Are you in?”

He stared for a moment, and her heart began to pound. He had never touched her, in twenty-one years, never once. She had dreamed, imagined, fantasized and now she was going to discover how his skin felt against her own. He wrapped one rough, calloused palm over her silky smooth hand and the tremors started in earnest.

“I’m not going to hurt my brother,” he said, his voice sounding faraway because he was still touching her, and her entire nervous system was threatening to explode.

She swallowed. “I don’t want to hurt him either, but I’m not about to marry him just because I think he’s a nice guy.”

He stayed silent for a moment, then dropped her hand. “I’m not going to rub his nose in this.”

Under the table, where he couldn’t see, her fingers traced the spot where Joe had touched her. “Rub his nose in it? You saw him. He doesn’t even believe it. Yet.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Well,” she pretended to think about it for a moment. “We go out on a few dates. Maybe he could catch me over at your apartment a few times…What does Avery usually know about the women you—date?”

Joe smiled, satisfied and smug, obviously recalling past—dates. Amanda wanted to smack him. Not jealous, not jealous, not jealous.

Thankfully, she saw Avery heading back, arrogant and harmless. Why couldn’t Avery be a jerk? It would make things so much easier. Instead, he was like a full-grown puppy dog. She sighed. “Look, Avery’s coming back. Tonight we’ll ease into this thing and just see what happens. Maybe it’ll be easier than you think.” Amanda doubted it, but miracles could happen.

Joe shook his head. “If he gets extra weird, I’m bailing, Amanda. I can’t see how this can be a good thing.”

At last. Acceptance. “Okay, okay. Just let me do the talking.”

He spread his hands wide. “You’re the shyster.”

Oh, fudge, this was going to be harder than she thought. “Cut the cracks. Remember we’re supposed to be deeply in lust.”

Joe just laughed; obviously thinking such an idea was ludicrous. Just you wait, Joe, just you wait.

WHEN AVERY RETURNED, he looked calm as ever. Which could only be a good thing, Joe thought. Somebody needed to be calm. Joe sure as hell wasn’t. Insane was the actual word that flashed in Joe’s mind.

With surgical precision, Avery placed his napkin in his lap; a graceful gesture that was obviously for their benefit. First Avery looked at Amanda and then back to Joe. “Well?”

Amanda began first. “As I said…”

Avery held up his hand. “No. I want to hear what Joe has to say.”

Damn. Joe had never been prepared at school, that’s why he’d been exiled into public education, and he certainly couldn’t win at a debate with his brother. He kept it simple. “She’s right.”

Avery leaned forward and Joe got that awful spider-in-the-web feeling. “Joe, are you really in love with Amanda, or are you just after a temporary diversion that is several plateaus above your normal standards?”

What was he supposed to say? Avery was his brother. He stalled, not quite ready to commit himself yet. “Avery, if I were in love with Amanda, what would you do?”

Avery took a sip of water. “And she was in love with you?”

Joe nodded.

Avery stroked his chin. “If the two of you were truly in love, I couldn’t interfere.”

Amanda shot Joe her female “told-you-so” look. “However,” Avery continued, “I fully expect this little walk on the wild side to run its course after a short time. A very short time.”

Avery lifted his glass and swirled the wine, but Joe wasn’t fooled. This was serious to Avery. “Are you in love with her, Joe?”

He didn’t like lying to his brother; there were better ways of ducking the truth, but maybe Amanda had it right after all. Joe clinked Avery’s glass with his own and nodded.

Instead of dejection, Avery’s smile was full of that same smug confidence that had got him accepted at St. Albans, a scholarship to Columbia. “Then may the best man win.”

Joe closed his eyes and sunk into his seat. No way. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? He was not going to enter into some hellish competition with his brother. When it came to Avery, Joe always lost.

Amanda poked him with her fork under the table and he shot her a dirty look. He didn’t deserve that.

But he’d gotten himself in too far. She’d sucked him right into her little pact with the devil, and so he just smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

This was such a bad idea.

2

IT HAD ONLY BEEN ONE DAY. Amanda traced the white petals of the orchid with her finger. Orchids of all things. She glanced about her office, for the first time hating the stark white modern décor that she herself had picked out two years ago. White art deco chairs, an uncluttered glass desk and unadorned soft white walls. In New York City, everything was a fashionable black or a muted gray, and she had always liked white. It was clean, pure and now unfortunately, her office was more like a hospital. Cold. Like the orchids.

Mentally she gathered her courage, lifted the receiver and dialed Avery’s pager. She followed the computerized instructions, entered her phone number and made notes on how she would redecorate her office.

A few minutes later, Grace, the latest temp, walked in, wearing her new Statue of Liberty sunglasses. Secretarial temps were usually ghosts that flitted around the office, not wanting to be noticed at all. Grace was different. She was a perpetual tourist trapped in the body of a temporary secretary—proof that God had a sense of humor. “Dr. Barrington for you, Amanda.” She lifted her shades. “Should I make an excuse?”

“No, thanks, Grace.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Grace left Amanda alone with the blinking phone line.

Amanda stared at the flashing light and then picked up the phone. Saying “no” to Avery had never come easy to her; perhaps secretly he had sensed that. Whatever the reason, Amanda still hated discussing it. One day. Hopefully soon.

“Avery?”

“Yes? You paged?”

“Why did you send me orchids?”

“Did Joe send you orchids as well?”

Amanda sighed heavily into the mouthpiece, making sure he heard it. “No.”

“Well, there. Your beauty calls for a rarer flower. Something long and delicate. Wasn’t it Robert Frost who said, ‘Sometimes I wander out of beaten ways, half looking for the orchid Calypso.”’

“Avery, that’s very pretty, but I told you, I love Joe.” Saying the words gave her a wicked thrill. Okay, it was lust, not love. But the lust was beginning to feel rather overpowering.

As usual, Avery ignored her. “I’ve been offered two tickets to The Producers for tonight.”

“I’ve already got a date.”

“With Joe?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s he taking you? I hope someplace that epitomizes a marvelous dining adventure. Have you tried that new French bistro on the Upper East Side? Très Appétissant.”

“We’re staying in tonight.” She maintained a meaningful silence, hoping he’d think that she and Joe would be having wild, passionate sex. She hoped that they would be having wild, passionate sex. Probably not yet, though. It was too soon. But when?

Avery coughed.

Enough about sex. “We’re renting a movie. Popcorn. Butter.”

“How bourgeois. I’m sure if Joe could afford better, he’d take you there.”

“Don’t be a snob, Avery. Everyone is an adult here.”

“I’m sorry, Amanda. I’ve never been a graceful loser. Not that I think the war is over, not by any stretch of the imagination. I have not yet begun to fight.”

That’s what she was afraid of. “Avery?”

“Yes?”

“I have a deposition to go to. I’ll talk to you later. No more flowers, hmmm?”

She hung up before he could reply and immediately dialed the airport. “Joe Barrington, please.”

In the background, she heard the thunder of the planes, pounding tools and voices yelling, with a particular New York flavor. La Guardia. Laughing, she took notes, learning a few new fun words. Finally, Joe picked up. “Barrington.”

“Joe? It’s Amanda.”

“What’s up?”

“I told Avery we were watching a movie tonight.”

“Yeah? What’s that got to do with me?”

She gritted her teeth. “I think we need to watch a movie at your apartment.”

“No offense, Amanda, but I’ve got a date tonight.”

A date? “You’re still dating?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this serious?” Nervously, she twisted the barrel of her ballpoint pen back and forth.

“Define serious.”

“How long have you been seeing this person?”

“I met her two nights ago.”

“Joe! What do you think your brother will do when he finds out? He’ll think you’re cheating on me!”

“He won’t know.”

“Joe!” She picked up her pen, jotted a few more choice words on her notepad and then crossed them out again. “You want this to work, right?”

A power-drill whirred in the background. “It’s not going to work.”

“It won’t work unless you have a positive attitude and a celibate existence.”

“You didn’t tell me this was a requirement last night.”

She didn’t reply.

“You’re killing me, here.”

“Joe, doing without sex will not kill you.”

“But it can make a man awfully grumpy.” Thankfully, he acquiesced soon enough. “All right. I suppose Monique will understand.”

Monique? Trust Joe to pick up girls named Monique. “For the duration, Joe. It’s going to take several months for this to work.”

“Several months? Are you serious?” A pause and then his voice dropped. “Look, I can keep my private life private. Avery will never know.”

“Joe.”

“I’m not a monk. I’m not even a monk wanna-be. I don’t do monk.”

“Joe. He sent me orchids today. Orchids! With poetry.”

To further her fury, he laughed. “All right, all right. You win. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She knew exactly what she was asking. Hopefully, they could all muddle through this and live happily ever after. Right now she just wanted to focus on one day at a time, and getting Joe in her bed. “It’s for a good cause.” After all, she didn’t want Joe to turn into a grumpy monk.

“Right,” he said, sarcasm oozing over the line.

“See you tonight, Joe. I’ll bring the movie.”

He sighed like he was already missing Monique. “Yeah. See you then.”

THAT EVENING, she brought an indie-flick and wore her shortest skirt. If he noticed anything at all, he hid it well. Joe’s apartment was exactly as she’d pictured it. There was one overstuffed couch, a leather chair and a coffee table that had never seen a coaster in its carefree existence. No Pottery Barn here. She thought of her own pristine white loft, and sank happily onto the faded cushions. This is what she wanted to understand. How to have a messy life and not feel guilty about it.

“Want something to drink?” He had a beer in one hand, and his shirt hung unbuttoned, as if he had just shrugged into it. She declined the drink and instead handed him the videocassette, secretly studying the chest that he exposed so casually. He was strong, she knew that. He had to be to work on the planes. All muscle, but not bulky. No, long and lean. Bottled energy. When Joe walked, he exuded that energy. She lusted after that energy.

He looked at the tape, a sultry film noir that she thought would be perfect. The sexiest movie she could find that wasn’t porn. “You’re not going to make celibacy easy, are you?”

She brushed her hair back, and smiled. “Just for a few months. Surely it won’t kill you.” If she had her way, it’d only be a few weeks. Maybe days. She looked at her watch. Maybe hours.

Joe sank into the big leather chair across from her. Chair and owner immediately became one. She laughed aloud.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “So tell me what you find amusing?”

“I like your furniture.”

“Not what you’re used to, is it?” There was a defensive note in his voice that she had heard when he was near Avery. He’d never used it around her before now. It hurt her to hear it now, with her.

“Joe, I was being honest. I do like this.” She waved her hand around the room. “All of it.” A painting hung over the coach and she twisted around for a better look. A naked lady, tastefully done, she’d give him that, but still a nude. She pointed at the pouty raven-haired siren in the picture. “Except for that.”

Joe shrugged. “All the blondes hate her. It’s art.”

“Well, yes, but if you had other pictures…” She stopped and looked around the room. There were other pictures. Some landscapes, some portraits and one airplane. “You like art.”

“Sue me—” he stopped and held up one hand. “It’s only a figure of speech. I never dated a lawyer before. Jeez, I need to watch my mouth.”

Still shocked that he liked art, she wasn’t even mildly annoyed, only curious. “You don’t like lawyers, do you?”

“If I say ‘yes,’ you’ll take it personally, right?”

She nodded.

He thought for a minute, his fingers silently drumming on the chair arm. “Well, you’re okay, but you have to admit, most of the personal injury barracudas are annoying as all hell in the commercials.”

She agreed with that, but just like everything else, there were good lawyers and there were bad lawyers. She wanted to be one of the good ones. Heck, just two years out of law school and she was one of the good ones. “I’m one of the good guys. Truth, justice and corporate responsibility.”

“Yeah, but does the job ever get old?”

Sometimes she worried she worked too much. That she was missing something in her life, but her work was important. “Joe, people get hurt every day from things that aren’t supposed to hurt them. It’s my job to see that not only are people compensated, but more importantly, that corporations change their behavior and that nobody gets hurt anymore.”

He smiled. She liked his smile. It was never a grin, but a mere lifting of his lips at the corners. Very Joe. “You’re going to be on 60 Minutes someday, aren’t you?”

“I’d like to.” She stared at the airplane on the wall. It was an old picture. “It’d be nice to be known for making a mark.”

Joe went silent, and too late Amanda realized that she might have said the wrong thing. She changed the subject. “So I’m thinking Avery will show up at nine. What do you think?”

Joe looked silently relieved. “If he shows up, it won’t be until after E.R. It’ll take him twenty minutes to get over here, so 11:20.”

“Eleven-twenty? Avery’s too conscious of appearances to drop in that late, especially unannounced.”

His eyes were full of confidence. “Eleven-twenty. Trust me. You can really set your clock by Avery. I figured that you’d know that by now.”

“I’ve tried to live my life as Avery-free as possible.”

“Sorry about that. I’ve no choice in the matter. But he’s okay when you get to know him.”

Amanda traced the soft weave of the couch. “It’s really not awful. It’s not like Avery is a vile parasite. It’s just—” she struggled to explain something she didn’t understand herself “—I have to be me. Out of everybody, you should understand that best.”

He studied her over his bottle. “Who are you?”

Tough question. “I don’t know the answer to that yet, but I’m not happy with who I am now.”

He took a sip and swallowed. “Thought you’d be over the moon. Making the big bucks, an upstanding young doctor who wants to marry you, you’re smart and beautiful. What’s not to be happy about?”

“How did you learn to be happy with who you are?”

He did grin this time. “You mean, me, the poor airplane mechanic?”

Oh, right. “You’re not poor.”

“Maybe not poor, but I don’t make half the money you do, honey.” He didn’t sound like he was joking.

“Really?” She shook her head, not letting him divert her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why do you think I know the answer?” he shot back.

“Because you do. Aren’t you happy with who you are?”

Joe shrugged. “Most of the time.”

Most. Surprise number two. She leaned forward, wanting to pry, and he shook his head and picked up the tape. “So, are we really supposed to watch this?”

The easy contentment was back, that quiet peace that made her want to see if his heart was still beating, if his blood could still run so hot. “Unless there’s something else you want to do?” She looked at him, trying a sultry, provocative stare, but ended up blushing furiously. Darn. She did not blush well.

Joe watched her for a minute, and tension snapped in the air. Finally he stood and slipped the tape in the VCR. The clock on his VCR was not blinking. She was impressed.

“You sure you don’t want something to drink? Water, beer, cola.”

Amanda started to refuse, but then changed her mind. “Beer.” After all, the purpose of this exercise was to let her hair down a bit. She put a hand to the clip at the back of her head and pulled it free, trying to get eliminate that little bump you get with clip-hair.

Again Joe watched her. Finally he nodded. “I’ll get your beer.”

While he was gone, she kicked off her sandals, and curled up on the couch. Okay, this was neat. When she was a kid and lived in Queens, she could lie down on the couch. But that all changed after her Dad’s big promotion. Her parents now lived in an old renovated farmhouse in Vermont with antiques. No lying down on those things.

A few minutes later he appeared and placed the beer on the coffee table in front of her, and then looked rather determinedly at the television.

“Could you dim the lights a bit?” she asked.

He jerked his head in her direction, and she shrugged apologetically. “You know, in case Avery shows up.”

He stood, flipped the light switch, the room turning a deep shade of indigo, the last bit of sun long gone. Joe sat down, looked more determined than ever.

Progress. She crossed her legs at the ankles.

The movie was good. A great mystery, and some very steamy love scenes. She wasn’t brave enough to stare meaningfully at Joe during the intimate moments, but she did peek out of the corner of her eye. His jaw looked pretty tight, and there was a bead of sweat on his upper lip.

She shifted a little on the couch, and crossed her legs a little tighter.

When the intercom buzzed, they both jumped. Joe shut off the TV quickly and the room went dark.

Amanda looked at the clock. Eleven-twenty? Already? Gee, time flew when you were watching smut, um, art. “That’s Avery, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Joe answered.

Avery. Show time. Amanda looked at Joe, shirt untucked, chest untouched, and she glanced down at her own still-ironed look. Even the couch, with all its comfortableness, couldn’t lose the starch.

Great. “We don’t look like we’ve been doing anything.”

Joe cut his eyes towards her. “Usually women just get this look. Some sort of aura.”

She wanted to laugh, but darn it, she needed to think. This was important to get right. “No. Joe, remember this is supposed to be torrid. You need to look like you can’t stand one minute without touching me. Remember,” she stressed the words, “Avery needs to think he doesn’t have a chance.”

The doorbell rang and Joe lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “This was your idea. What are we supposed to do? Get a little down and dirty on the carpet and just let Avery walk in?”

She looked at the carpet and got a nice visual and decided right then and there that someday indeed she would indeed get down and dirty on the carpet with him.

The doorbell rang, longer this time.

“I’m coming. Just a minute,” Joe yelled, still standing several feet away from her, looking completely untorrid.

Amanda took a step toward him. “Look, if this were a real date, what would Avery expect to find?” She wanted to know exactly what was the current fashion for flagrante delicto.

His smile was slow, but smoky. “Babe, if this were real, you’d be lucky to have your socks.”

She drowned in the absolute hedonistic waters of his eyes and forgot all about her socks. Socks. Heavens. She looked down at her bare feet. She didn’t have on socks, did she? She shook her head free of lust. Not now. “Okay, here, let me button my shirt up wrong.”

She attacked her buttons, Avery now knocking politely but firmly at the door. Well, he could just wait. Very efficiently, she undid the tiny pearl buttons, popping them free. She pulled the stiff cotton material free of her skirt and made the rather huge mistake of looking at Joe.

Her fingers froze. His eyes were leveled on the black satin bra she wore underneath her shirt. Okay, her chest was a little small, but she liked to think of herself as pert.

The way Joe was looking right now, as if she were edible, she was beginning to like pert. Okay, she was beginning to love pert, but she really did need to move her fingers. Unfortunately, every bit of her was paralyzed.

Joe found his tongue, his voice a little hoarse. “You need to button up some of those buttons. I don’t think Avery needs to see you looking like that.”

She almost reminded him that that was exactly the point, but decided now was not the time to argue. She fumbled for a bit, but the button-loops had mysteriously shrunk two sizes too small, and her hands had grown much more clumsy.

With a muttered curse, he brushed her hands aside and began the task himself.

“Joe, you’re buttoning them up right!”

His hands froze. Right on top of her breasts. Oh.

He swore again. One of those fun New Jersey expressions, and then began muttering to himself. “Joe, concentrate. Joe, your brother is at the door.” His thumb brushed against her skin.

She jumped. “Joe, you’re talking to yourself.”

The doorbell rang, longer this time.

Joe looked up, eyes bright with lust. “Don’t talk to me right now. I need to just button these damn buttons. What do you have, a million of these tiny things? I told you I don’t handle celibacy well.”

“How long has it been?” she asked, trying to distract both of them.

“A week.”

She groaned.

He gritted his teeth and his finger brushed against her nipple.

She gasped.

Her nipples grew even perkier, clearly visible under the black silk. Joe’s breathing turned shallow.

Oh.

Not knowing what else to do, she apologized. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped messing with her buttons and focused on her face. A flush ran under his skin, and she noticed where the shadow of whiskers clung to his jaw. Her fingers lifted, wanting to touch.

“For what?”

She started to explain that she was apologizing for her nipples and his breathing problem, but realized this was not what a sultry, provocative seductress would do. That is, here she stood, her breasts in his hand, well, almost, and surely she could think of something.

And so she kissed him.

SHE WAS TRYING to kill him. All that silky white skin. And her mouth. Now he knew exactly what that wicked mouth tasted like. Sex. Damn, but if she didn’t kiss better than the best sex he’d ever had. He pulled her down on the couch and took over, letting his tongue explore the inside of her mouth. It was like a drug in his head, and he couldn’t breathe. His hands fumbled with the clasp at the front of her bra until it broke and feverishly he touched her bare flesh. He was going to die. He had to—

“Oh, Joe,” she sighed in his ear, and he was eternally grateful that at that moment he was named Joe and not—

The doorbell rang, accompanied by loud knocking. “Amanda! Are you all right?”

Avery.

Joe lifted his head. “Avery, go away!” He stared at Amanda’s face. Fine bones, so delicate. What was she doing with him?

Rational thought returned.

Avery.

He still couldn’t look away. She looked almost shocked, her blue eyes still off somewhere about two minutes ago.

He had so needed her to be the sane one. With her body underneath him—how had that happened?—he didn’t want to be the sane one. It was physically painful to move off her. “Amanda.”

She smiled a little crookedly and sat up. “Joe.”

“Amanda, we need to fix your shirt. Avery. I’m sorry.”

The fog in her eyes cleared, her focus getting sharper. “Oh.” She looked down at the bra now hanging uselessly, then looked up at him and grinned. “Tell you what—” he watched as she pulled the scrap of silk through her sleeves like a magician “—looks better without it anyway. Don’t you think?”

Her fingers recovered nicely and she buttoned up a few strategic buttons, but now the bright blue material covered places that he had just seen, conquered.

Unable to do much else, he sat.

Amanda walked to the door, but he ran after he and caught her before she could open it. This was important. There was one question he needed answered.

“Amanda, why did you kiss me?”

“Because…” She hesitated for a long moment and looked over her fingernails. Finally she looked up at him, eyes big, wide and full of desire. “Because I wanted to.”

The doorbell rang and Joe flung it open. Mad at his brother for interrupting, mad at Amanda for starting it and mad at himself for thinking the thoughts that were running in his head. Now he’d really messed up. Now he wanted her.

He look through the open doorway, not really caring about appearances anymore. Avery stood, elegant in a polo shirt and canvas slacks, looking ready for a day on the links. Next to him, in a tight leather miniskirt, scarlet fingernails, stiletto heels and a wisp of a blouse, stood Monique, looking ready to blow.

3

“HELLO AVERY, MONIQUE. I see you two have met.” Joe felt like he had an Aerobus engine lodged in his throat.

Avery glowered, a ruddy flush coloring his face. “Joe, I’ve been waiting ten minutes.”

“You’re lucky it was only ten,” Joe replied testily, then shrugged. Now wasn’t the time. “Well, come on in.”

Monique seemed to be carrying a pot of something that smelled pretty good, and although she tilted her chin in the direction opposite Joe, she followed Avery into the apartment, which seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.

Amanda curled up on the couch again, looking mighty comfortable. Avery sat next to her, and Joe noticed his eyes drifting toward Amanda’s cleavage every now and then. If not for Monique, Joe would have kicked him off the couch and told him to get his mind out of the gutter. Unfortunately, Joe had gutter thoughts of his own, and was in no position to throw stones.

He watched as Monique flopped into his favorite chair. With no other alternative, Joe opted to lean casually against the wall.

There was a long silence, Avery harumphing every now and then, his eyes still darting to Amanda’s shirt. Finally, Joe couldn’t stand it anymore. “Stop it, Avery.”

The remark seemed to work and Avery took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead.

Amanda held out a hand to Monique. “Hi, I’m Amanda.” Apparently that was more than Monique could handle.

“Joseph, you told me you were ill. You sounded so sick on the phone, all the coughing and sniffling. I thought I’d find you here, curled at your toilet, miserable, and dying.” She held up her pot. “I even brought some of Grandma Steinowitz’s chicken soup. It’ll have you off your ass in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Joe, you cad!” Avery burst out, obviously believing that Monique was not capable of raking Joe over the coals alone.

Joe turned to Amanda and waited. She just sat quietly, holding her tongue. Smart girl. This was her doing. Well, okay, he shouldn’t have told Monique he was sick, but how do you call a girl two hours before a date and say, “Um, I’ve met the woman of my dreams and I won’t be seeing you for one hundred and ten days, and about eight hours.” Illness seemed so much easier to explain. Of course, he could have told Monique the truth, but what female in their right mind would buy that? Hell, he was a guy, and he wouldn’t have believed it.

Joe looked at Monique with a fond sadness. She was nice. He had had high hopes for her, and damn it all, the soup smelled really good. But there was Amanda looking sexy as hell, and a little bit miffed, and he really didn’t have a choice. “I’m sorry about this. I should have told you the truth.” Joe glared at Amanda at this point. Understanding his message, she slunk a little lower. “To be honest, I just started going out with Amanda and well, it’s been something of a shocker.” Especially that kiss.

Monique sniffed.

Avery was not so shy. “Joe, how could you do such a thing?” He pointed at Amanda. “Are you sure you want to remain in such a shallow relationship? One day, and already he’s unfaithful. How could you tolerate such a philanderer?”

Amanda sat up straight, her blouse becoming somewhat less revealing. About time. “Technically, he’s not a philanderer.”

Monique flipped back a long, brown curl. “Maybe not to you, honey, but you just wait. The girls in Terminal C warned me about this one. Said he was as bad as a pilot working international. And you know how they are. He don’t have no money, neither. Mechanics never do.” She pointed a scarlet-tipped finger at Amanda. “You’ll be next, honey. Guys like this—” she clucked her tongue “—worse than rabbits.”

Avery patted Monique’s hand. “You poor girl. Amanda, if you’re ready to leave this little love nest, I’d be more than happy to escort you home.” His cool blue gaze cut back to Amanda’s cleavage.

Joe allowed himself one proprietary smirk. Not in your dreams, buddy.

“I’m not leaving,” Amanda stated, in a dreamy voice that reminded Joe that they still needed to lay out a few ground rules before she did really leave. That one kiss might cause him to lose a few nights sleep, but there were some lines he wasn’t about to cross. He thought of the kiss again and corrected himself. Okay, he wouldn’t cross them more than once.

“Joseph, have you got any brewskis here?” Monique stood up, and pulled at her skirt.

“Amanda, you really should…” Avery began, but then pulled his pager from his pocket. “Blast. I have an emergency at the hospital.”

“An emergency?” Amanda asked. “I thought you did mainly cosmetic work?”

Avery puffed up a bit. “Mrs. Corrigan. Dear old lady, but likes to invent a crisis so I can come and chat.”

Monique laid a hand on Avery’s sleeve. “You’re a doctor? So, do you think you could drop me in Astoria on your way? The midnight train is so unpredictable, and those little punkers with the nose rings…” She shuddered.

Joe watched his brother. Avery in Astoria? Yeah, that’d be the day.

“Why certainly. You’re in such a fragile emotional condition and you don’t need to be subjecting yourself to the rigors of public transport.”

Well, well. He glanced over at Amanda. Tonight everybody was somebody new.

Monique fluttered a hand over her heart. “It shows? You know, you are such a perceptive man. Most of the guys I’ve dated just miss a woman’s little signals. Have you read that Mars Venus book? I just dragged myself out of my well just yesterday.” She glanced over at Joe and sighed. “Now, I think me and my well are going to be reacquainted.”

Avery took her arm and glared at Joe. “Now look what you’ve done.”

Monique fluttered her lashes at Avery. “Do you drive a Jag?”

“British?” Avery scoffed. “Bavarian Motor Works,” he said, opening the door for Monique.

She followed him out, high heels clicking. “What’s that?”

“BMW.”

Her appreciative “oh” echoed as they walked down the hall. “Like a Bond car.”

“One and the same.”

“Wow. The girls are never going to believe this….”

Joe heard the tap-tap of Monique’s heels as they started down the stairs. One problem solved. Now to tackle the other one. He shut the apartment door and turned to Amanda. “Now, about that kiss…”

AWE-INSPIRING was the first word that came to Amanda’s mind. She already felt like he had ruined her for other men, and she was only thirty. Maybe she’d tire of his kisses in time. She studied his mouth, wondering where he’d learned to kiss like such a professional. “What about it?” she asked, not sure where this conversation was headed.

Joe sat down and rubbed his eyes. For the first time she realized that he looked tired. She resettled herself back on the couch, which was quickly becoming a favorite. Maybe she could give him a massage. Or a hot bath! Amanda loved bubble baths.

“There’ll be no more kissing.”

That probably meant the bubble bath was out as well, but Amanda wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. “You’re going to have to kiss me. Avery will think something is wrong if you don’t even touch me.”

“Avery wasn’t here,” he replied, easily defeating her best argument in defense of kissing.

“Technically, he was here.”

Joe glared. “In visual range, Amanda.”

Amanda adjusted the empty beer bottles on the coffee table. “Semantics, semantics. You will have to kiss me again, or Avery will never be convinced.” She narrowed her eyes as another thought struck. “And why did you tell Monique you were sick? Were you planning on cheating on me?” That thought really hurt. It hurt a lot more than it should. After all, she only wanted an affair.

He leaned forward in the chair. “No, I wasn’t planning on…” Then he caught himself. “Damn it, Amanda. This is only pretend.” His eyes leveled on her chest. “And button your shirt. Avery’s gone. Go home, Amanda. I’ll call you a taxi. I need sleep.”

Slowly, she buttoned up her shirt, tucking in her shirttail and smoothing out all the wrinkles. Nearly midnight and already her ballgown was transforming back to the norm. She sighed. Well, this was only Day One. And what a day it was.

She gathered up her bag and rummaged until she found her keys.

Joe looked in amazement. “You drove?”

Amanda nodded.

“Where’d you park?”

“Down on Riverside.”

“Riverside? That’s four blocks away. You shouldn’t be walking by yourself at night.” He stood and stretched, the muscles in his stomach lengthening and flexing. She watched the movement with fevered eyes, wanting to touch. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks.”

Neither said much on the walk to the car, and Amanda was happy for the silence. Although his street was anything but—kids were playing basketball, somewhere in the distance a TV was blaring, the sidewalk vibrated from the heavy bass of a nearby low-rider. Two old men were sitting on the stoop, sharing complaints about the neighbors and a bottle in a bag.

The older man was wearing a white undershirt, with tufts of gray chest hair poking out from its edges. His shorts were black polyester, with matching black socks. He took a long swig, and then drew his hand across his mouth. “I was telling the super about that Blazejewski boy just the other day. Remember back—always in trouble that one, I thought he’d never amount to anything. But you know, I saw him yesterday. You’ll never believe—he’s on the force.”

“No! Get outta here,” the younger man said. He must have been about seventy and was mostly bald, with a fringe of black circling his head like Friar Tuck.

The old man lifted his right hand. “I swear it’s the truth. He had a badge and uniform. Even letting the neighborhood kids fool with the squad car’s siren. You should’ve seen it.”

Friar Tuck winked at Amanda. “Good evening, Joseph Barrington. Aren’t you going to introduce us to your lady-friend?”

Joe waved them off. “Not tonight, guys.”

They joined together in a chorus of catcalls. They looked like such nice men, and Amanda thought it might be rather fun to share a stoop at midnight with Joe.

“Could we sit for awhile?”

Joe’s eyes widened. “You want to?”

More than she wanted to go home and be alone. “Sure.” She stuck out her hand to older man. “Amanda Sedgewick.”

“Vincent D’Antoni,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

Friar Tuck smiled, exposing sparkling white teeth. How did he manage that? “Bernie Zaluski.”

Amanda nodded politely, still wondering about the teeth. Were they dentures? “Very pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.” He held out the bag. “Thirsty?”

Amanda glanced over at Joe, who settled himself two steps below the men and shrugged. “Thank you.” She sat down next to Joe and took the bag, swallowing one mouthful, and then nearly choked at the chalky liquid. “What is this?”

“Maalox and Schnapps. At my age, you want to save all the time you can.” Bernie patted his round stomach.

Joe started to laugh.

“Bernie, mind your manners. A lady is on the stoop tonight.” Vincent sighed, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. “Looks like it’s going to be a hot summer.”

Bernie handed him the bag. “One of the worst. Remember ’83? Oy. And the brownouts. I went to bed every night knowing that I’d died and gone to hell.”

“If I was married to Edith, I’d think I’d died and gone to hell every night, too.” Vincent scratched his chest hair tufts, sighing with satisfaction. “You know, my first child was conceived during those brownouts. God bless her.”

“Elizabeth.”

Vincent nodded. “The very one.” He still had a smile on his face when he turned to Joe. “How’s La Guardia Treating you? Where’s my Lincoln?”

Joe reached into his wallet and handed over a five-dollar bill. “The actuator. I can’t believe you were right. I thought it was the coupler.”

“It does my heart good to know an old man can still take advantage of you young whipper-snappers every now and again.” Vincent winked at Amanda. “I worked at La Guardia for forty years. Finally retired when Reagan was elected. Joe tell you about his lessons?”

Joe hunched his shoulders over. “Not now, Vincent.”

“You haven’t told Ms. Sedgewick about your career ambitions?”

Bernie cuffed Vincent on the shoulder. “Vincent. Sshh.”

Amanda’s ears perked up. “What career aspirations?”

“It’s nothing. Vincent,” Joe glared meaningfully.

Amanda wasn’t going to let Vincent off that easy, though. “Please tell me.”

Vincent pursed his lips. “Nope, my loyalty is to Joseph. If he says it’s his personal business, who am I to argue?”

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