Free Ain’t Misbehaving by Jennifer Greene Page B

that,” she ordered him.
    “Do what?”
    “Start to say something about yourself and then back off. Heck, I’ve seen you in action prying out other people’s secrets. Now talk to me, ” she demanded.
    Startled, he felt a slow grin forming on his lips. “Of course I’ll talk to you,” he said dryly. “What do you want to know?”
    “Your last name.”
    “Cochran.”
    “What do you do for a living?”
    He hesitated. “Collect stones. Kay?” He shook his head ruefully. “You have the most beautiful eyes.”
    She dropped his football.
    ***
    Since the man had come into her sphere again, Kay had every intention of teaching him a few things about relationships. Lesson one: A man didn’t kiss a woman with the impact of Vesuvius, disappear from her life and expect to show up again without retribution.
    Retribution began when she opened her front door and watched Mitch’s jaw sag slightly. If he expected privacy, he certainly wasn’t going to get it.
    Stix was sprawled on the sofa, the two teenagers from across the street were flat on the floor and Mrs. O’Brien from next door, in her favorite polka-dot apron, was curled up in the Morris chair. The African Queen was playing on the DVD player, and the group was munching on doughnuts. Hepburn was removing the leeches from Bogart’s back, and no one gave Kay more than a cursory look.
    “You’re late,” Stix mentioned, unnecessarily.
    “I knew you’d start without me.” Most efficiently, she introduced Mitch, stole his coat, piled the books in the dining room and headed for the kitchen.
    A few moments later, Mitch leaned in the doorway, a look of wry amusement on his face. “You often have people just…occupy your house like that?”
    “Yup. About four weekends each winter, everyone pitches in to rent a DVD. A neighborhood thing. I don’t know who decided my house was central, but somehow they always end up here. It’s my mother’s fault, really.” Flicking back her hair, she peered into the refrigerator.
    “Your mother’s fault,” Mitch echoed.
    “Not for renting the movies, but she always had an open-door policy around here. All ages, anytime.” Her head twisted around the refrigerator door with a quick, studying glance at him. “You look like the lasagna type. Are you staying for dinner?”
    “I…yes.”
    She beamed approval at him. That yes was a straightforward answer. That was lesson number two. Straightforwardness and honesty were critical to a relationship. Mitch was about to get a good solid dose of her lifestyle, and she was about to take the mystery out of the man.
    “The lasagna just needs to be heated up, but it’ll still take a while. In the meantime…” She tossed a head of lettuce to him and started humming, whipping around the kitchen with practiced ease. “Shred,” she ordered him.
    He shredded. She grilled…him.
    He was twenty-eight, a passionate football fan; he’d lived most of his life around Coeur d’Alene but had recently bought a house in Moscow; his politics were dead wrong; he knew wonderfully crazy stories about outlaws in Idaho…and that lazy half smile was becoming a fixture.
    She thought he’d be thrown by the continual hustle and bustle around the place, but she was obviously wrong. He listened soberly to Mrs. O’Brien’s arthritis woes, gave a tactful opinion on Sandra’s and Bern’s newly purchased jeans, answered the phone three times and managed to slaughter Kay in an impromptu trivia quiz while they were eating. No one else ever remembered that Babe Ruth had been a coach for the Dodgers after he retired from play.
    By the time they were doing the dishes, Kay had totally forgiven Mitch for not calling; she had the feeling she would forgive him just about anything when she heard his uninhibited laughter for the first time. Stix was the only one still hanging around by then. Standing in the doorway, he was absently tossing his car keys up and down, watching her and Mitch bicker over the number of