Page 10 of Pity Parade

Paige shoots me a double thumbs up before hurrying through the house to catch up with Anna.

I sit down on the deck and take my shoes off. The warm boards feel wonderful on my bare feet. I can visualize myself drinking my morning coffee here every day at sunrise and sitting out and enjoying a glass of wine at the end of the day. If I weren’t so desperate to get out of doing another show with Tom, I’d forget everything to do with men and simply enjoy the summer for myself.

I’m suddenly eager to put my feet into the water, so I stand up and walk down to the end of the pier. Within moments, I’m lost in my reverie and I don’t hear anyone approach before a deeply masculine voice announces, “Hi there, you must be my neighbor.”

I spin around so quickly I almost tip over. Oh. My. Heavens. I’m staring at the glorious-looking Heath Fox. My mouth suddenly goes so dry I can barely ask, “You’re my neighbor?”

His green eyes pop open in recognition as he answers, “Trina Rockwell. Imagine meeting you here.”

Heath and I met at a charity event last year. He was one of the bachelors being auctioned off for the cause—childhood diabetes. One look at him kicked my libido into overdrive and I bid more on him than the next three men received combined—for charity, of course.

“What are you doing here?” I ask this as though inquiring why he’s sunbathing on the moon or why he has fourteen toes on each foot.

“I’m taking the summer off to enjoy myself. How about you?”

“Me? Oh … um … same.” Heath’s and my charity date went spectacularly well, or so I thought, until he kissed me goodnight. After that, he assured me in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone.

I was offended to the extreme. It’s not like I thought I was buying a relationship with the man, but to end the night by giving me the kiss off—literally—was a bit much.

“Dating anyone?” he wants to know.

“I’m not exactly sure why would you care?” Yeah, I’m still mad, but better keep it passive-aggressive. I’m not a shrew or anything.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t know. I thought I might have heard from you again after our evening out, but I didn’t.”

“You thought you’d hear from me?”

“I thought we had a nice time,” he says.

“Then maybe you should have called.” So I could tell him to take a long walk off a short pier.

“According to the paperwork we signed for the auction, I wasn’t allowed to make first contact after our date. They didn’t want any of the ladies to feel unsafe.” I don’t remember reading that, but it sounds plausible.

“Huh.” I mean, what else can I say? Oh wait, I know. “You made it perfectly clear you weren’t looking for a relationship. I can’t imagine you thought I was clueless enough not to take the hint.”

“I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” he confirms. Then with a smirk that nearly melts my butter, he adds, “Nothing long lasting, anyway.”

I force myself to turn back toward the lake to give my nervous system a break from the havoc Heath’s presence is wreaking. “You and I clearly date for different reasons,” I tell him.

“Looking for a husband, are you?”

Spinning around in shock, I practically spit, “No!” I amend that to, “Maybe. I mean, isn’t that a traditional reason for people to date?”

“It’s certainly one of them.”

“Is there something about me that suggested I was looking for something other than a relationship?”

“You did buy a night with me at an auction ...”

“For charity, not for sex!” I shout this so loudly my words travel out across the water before coming back and smacking me in the face.

“I wasn’t auctioning off a night of sex,” he says with a laugh. The mischief in his eyes negates the veracity of this declaration.

“Yes, well, good.” I’m so frazzled I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Which is how I come up with, “So why is it you thought I’d call you?”

“We had a nice time. I thought we might have enjoyed another equally pleasant evening together.”

“I’m not that kind of woman, Mr. Fox,” I sniff and tell him with the prudish indignation rarely found outside of a convent.

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