Free Mine 'Til Monday by Ruby Laska

little lower into the water. If only she’d picked someone else. Someone dull but dependable. Someone who wore his ambitions in plain view.
    “Dot? You okay?”
    Dorothy opened her eyes, startled, and found herself staring at two muscular calves. Her eyes traveled slowly up; despite her surprise she couldn’t keep her eyes off the expanse of bare skin. Tanned thighs disappeared into dark blue nylon shorts; above, a taut torso widened into well-defined shoulders. Mud’s skin still glistened from his shower, and he had a white towel draped casually over one shoulder.
    Dorothy licked her lips; suddenly her mouth was dry. He hadn’t worn a whole lot more than this on the tennis court, it was true, but her annoyance with him had allowed her to focus single-mindedly on beating him.
    Several times, in fact.
    “I’m fine,” she said tersely, averting her eyes and focusing on a tile pattern on the opposite side of the Jacuzzi. “I’ll be out of here soon.”
    “Aw, come on. There’s plenty of room. Only, promise not to draw blood, okay? The way you were kicking my butt on the court, I’m kind of scared of you.”
    Dorothy sighed heavily. Then watched in amazement as a swath of navy nylon fell to the deck in a small heap. Before she could stop herself she looked up, in time to see Mud in all his glory for a split second before he slid into the steaming water.
    Mud’s eyes crinkled in amusement.
    “Come on, Dot, you’ve seen it before. In fact, I don’t know why you bothered with that suit. I think we’re on our own back here—no one can see.”
    Dorothy self-consciously fingered the strap of her black tank suit.
    “It’s called decorum,” she said frostily. “A word to which you really ought to be introduced one of these days.”
    “Aw, what are you saying, Dot?” Mud leaned back, arms wide along the edge of the Jacuzzi, fingertips of one hand grazing her shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed, clearly enjoying the water. He enjoyed everything, Dorothy reflected, a little enviously; life was so uncomplicated for him.
    Well, wouldn’t it be nice. But some people had to take responsibility in life.
    “I’m saying you might have tried just a little harder this morning. I’m saying you might have thought first before you spoke. I’m saying that Miranda thinks I’m marrying a good-timer to whom family tradition means nothing. When it means everything in the world to her. When it might very well have been the key to this job.”
    Dorothy could feel her voice catching. No tears, she willed fiercely. Don’t let him get to you.
    But it was so hard. She’d worked so hard, too hard to fail now.
    Mud allowed his eyelids to drift briefly open. “You’re getting worked up over nothing. Miranda and I were getting along great.”
    “Yes, until she asked you about your family. Didn’t I explain how important it is that I marry someone who will live and breathe Finesse along with me? Miranda wants to pass the company along to a family, a family who will put their heart into the company, nurture it and make it grow. And here you are like some—some black sheep whose idea of a career is one tacky little storefront.”
    As soon as the words were out, Dorothy wished she could take them back. But Mud’s gaze was unbroken; unreadable. He continued to regard her with just the slightest arch of his brow.
    “I’m sorry,” Dorothy said hastily. “I’m really sorry. I’ve never seen your shop but I had no right to call it...that.”
    “Call it whatever you want,” Mud said, shrugging. “Makes no difference to me.”
    “I didn’t mean to insult—”
    “The thing is, I’m not a family man,” Mud interjected, as though he hadn’t heard her. “And there’s no way I’ll convince anyone otherwise. I come from a long line of men who weren’t family men. Dad was a good father, in his way, but two guys and a procession of housekeepers don’t make much of a family, do they?”
    Dorothy had no answer for that.