Free The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide by Josie Brown Page A

I pat Bobby Junior back into position and shove him toward the tent door. “Why don’t we have another go-round, after the match? But only if you’re the victor! I’ll be cheering from the sidelines, so make Mama proud!”
    Richard stumbles out of the tent like a man with the world at his feet. Still, I have no doubt that, presented with his own confession, he’ll turn on his Quorum brethren. If not, those feet will be in shackles for the rest of his life.
    And I know for a fact that they don’t have a polo team in Gitmo.
     

    By the second chukker, Richard’s team is up by a goal, thanks to a sixty-five-yard penalty shot by the man himself. He’s riding that poor horse like a man who’s used to having his way with the fillies. 
    A guy can dream, can’t he?
    And a gal can have her nightmares. For me, it comes when suddenly Pure as Driven Snow bolts upright, then slams back down to earth, twisting her front right fetlock and landing on her cannon bone. 
    Richard summersaults off the mare and breaks his neck.
    Pure as Driven Snow lies on her side, wailing her pain in snorts and whinnies.
    A few feet away, Richard lies on his stomach, his head wrenched to one side. He eyes the hushed spectators with an unblinking death stare. A crimson halo of blood darkens the verdant turf under his head. 
    I’m officially two for two. If this keeps up, I’m going to have a very bad reputation as a first date.
    Sobs from the crowd rouse the medics into action, Abu among them. Jack takes my hand and pushes me through the crowd. 
    Our route away from the polo field takes us by Richard’s love tent. Jack grabs the picnic basket. We are now just like any other couple, out for a stroll.
    If only that were the case.
    Neither of us says anything until we get to Jack’s car. He’s about to put the key in the ignition when we hear a shot: Pure as Driven Snow has been put out of her misery.
    Lucky girl.
    “Jack, let me ask you a question.”
    “Shoot…I mean—” 
    Despite his poor choice of words, we both know what he really meant. “Tell me the truth. Was I a really bad first date?”
    He thinks for a moment. “Bad? Nah. Truly lousy, maybe.”
    “We went to the Sand Dollar, remember?”
    He nods. “Great view from that outside deck.”
    “And the food was awesome. Can’t go wrong with a great piece of salmon.”
    “Agreed. The fish there is always out of this world.” 
    I look down at my hands in my lap. “That night, we had our first dance, as I recall.”
    “To that slow song, the sultry one. You move really well, you know?”
    “You lead, I follow. That’s how it works.”
    He nods at the compliment, but keeps his gaze straight ahead. He still doesn’t know where I’m going with this.
    “Be honest, Jack. Am I a lousy first date?”
    He winces, as if the memory is giving him a splitting headache. “Let me see. You walked out on me while we were dancing—”
    “But only because you accused me of being angry at Carl for dying on me!”
    “And you stormed out of the car when I tried to kiss you.”
    “We were interrupted by one of your many girlfriends. She was tossing pebbles at your bedroom window, remember?”
    “Can I help it if I’m popular?”
    “Can I help it that I refuse to put up with a player?”
    His kiss is as it should be, full of passion and promise.
    Just like our very first kiss: in front of my children, when we found him coming out of my bathroom. He was a stranger to all of us. And yet, my children welcomed him with open arms. They felt protected immediately.
    It has taken me much too long to admit to myself that I do, too.
    I pull away slightly, but only to take note that he’s hasn’t keeled over.
    Yep, he’s still alive. And he’s all mine.

Chapter 7
    Five Telltale Signs He Wants a Commitment

    (Or that Perhaps He Wants YOU Committed)
    Congratulations! It’s now obvious that he wants to be your one-and-only, for the rest of his life! Here’s how you know:
    First, when you