Free Just a Little Bit Guilty by Deborah Smith Page B

"I was raised to be totally good or totally bad. I don't understand this odd thing called courtship on your planet, stranger."
    He smiled. "Why are we standin' here weighin' the world when we could be havin' a good time? Let's stop all this serious talk. It makes my head hurt."
    "Mine, too," Vivian said firmly. "Come on, I have to continue your education in Italian cuisine." They walked back into the living room. Soft jazz spilled out of the iPod berthed atop speakers in one corner. A flat-screen TV dominated one wall. Jake held one hand out to test the cozy warmth of the fake logs that crackled in her faux fireplace.
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    Just a little Bit Guilty
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    "You build a great fire for a city girl. I'm impressed. Who knew ceramic oak kindling could catch a flame so well. Hope the ravioli weren't baked in a kiln."
    "You have to learn to appreciate our differences," Vivian retorted, but she smiled. "And that's why I have a surprise for you after dinner."
    * * * *
    He looked awkward sitting on her overstuffed white couch in the dim light of the fire and the glow of one soft lamp in a distant corner. Vivian sat down on the hearth across from him and sipped her after-dinner coffee as she studied him.
    "Nice place you got here," he said politely.
    "You look like—" she gave him a thoughtful frown—"like a Norman Rockwell character who wandered into the wrong painting."
    "I feel like one."
    He looked at her white recliner and white couch, her sleek brass lamps and rare law books, her collection of ceramic dragons, her stacks of medieval fantasy novels, and—with a satisfied smile, as if he'd found some friends—at her countryquilt throw pillows. Vivian set her cup down on the gleaming glass coffee table between them and rubbed her hands together briskly.
    "I'll be back in a second. I told you about the surprise for tonight."
    "I don't like that look in your eyes, Viv." Chuckling softly, she left the room. When she came back ten minutes later, she still wore her shimmering sweater, but 82
    Just a little Bit Guilty
    by Deborah Smith
    she'd traded her slacks for a black leather miniskirt and lacy white hose. Black ankle boots with slender heels now replaced her flats.
    He stood up to hide his arousal. "And what'd you do to your hair?"
    "I just fluffed it up and put some hair spray in it," she answered patiently.
    "What are you holdin' behind your back?"
    "Stop looking at me like I just grew fangs. Bend over so I can work on your hair."
    "Well ... sure."
    When he bowed his head to her she whipped out a can of spray gel. Quickly she formed his short, dense and wavy red hair into a spiky masterpiece. "There. Just enough to be edgy; not so much it says 'boy band.'"
    "My hair is protestin', either way." They stared at each other in portentous silence.
    "Hair can't talk," she deadpanned.
    "Mine is too upset to say a word," he countered.
    * * * *
    The music was loud and had no melody, the crowd was pierced and tattooed, and the drinks came in plastic mugs with BITE ME stenciled on their sides.
    "Just like Vacation Bible School," Jake yelled over the clang of amped-up guitars.
    He kept his hand under Vivian's elbow in his usual gentlemanly way as they angled through tables looking for a place to sit in throbbing darkness. A drunk with plugs the size 83
    Just a little Bit Guilty
    by Deborah Smith
    of lug nuts in his ear lobes screamed at Viv, "YOU MAKE ME
    WANT TO TOUCH MYSELF."
    Jake calmly raised a big, callused hand, intending to clamp it over his face and shove his head down inside his rib cage. Vivian grabbed Jake's arm just in time. The drunk turned even paler than his white make-up and scurried away. They finally found a table and sat down. Vivian studied Jake anxiously. This nightclub was considered one of the best alternative-music venues in the South. Despite the grungy warehouse setting in an industrial part of the city, the club had a good reputation among music critics, and it drew a diverse crowd. About half the