Page 1 of Takes Two to Tango

CHAPTER ONE

BRENT HAMILTON HATED HIMSELF.

This was the thought in Brent’s head as he sprawled on his parents' back porch steps watching a titmouse hopping from branch to branch in the scarred redbud tree.

The birdhouse he'd made last week already showed signs of inhabitancy, if the scruffy mat of pine straw peeking from the opening was any indication. At least that had worked. Because nothing else in his life had. In fact, it was one big royal suck.

He didn't hear the footsteps. Only felt the long fingernails scraping his scalp as Tamara Beach tousled his hair.

"Morning, Sunshine,” she said.

"Morning." He cradled his coffee mug between his calloused hands.

She squatted next to him and eased herself onto the step and set her strappy-heeled sandals next to her.

"You want some coffee?" he asked, staring at the tufts of hair on his bare feet. He hadn't bothered with pants. Just wore the boxers he'd pulled on that morning when he'd rolled from his bed in the carriage house and padded across the backyard toward his parents' home to let the dog out.

Tamara's bright red toenails waggled as she stretched. "Nah.”

Awkward silence reigned. Apple, his parents' overweight Boston terrier, sniffed through a patch of Aztec grass. Finally Tamara nudged him with her shoulder. "Hey."

He didn't say anything.

"It's no big deal. I mean, it happens to all guys."

Brent rubbed a hand over his face. It had never happened to him. Ever. He couldn't blame it on the liquor or the fact he hadn't really wanted to sleep with Tamara. Hell, before last night, he'd been able to perform if the wind blew right. The cause of his failure to rise to the occasion was the damn dissatisfaction that had made a home in his gut.

It had settled in, unpacked its clothes, and planted flowers out front. It wasn't going away. No matter how many chicks he picked up. No matter how many bars he stomped through, buying drinks and clacking pool balls. No matter how much he grinned and faked it.

Brent hated who he was.

Yet, to date he'd always lived with his creation. So what was different now? The fact he hadn't been able to perform? The comments overheard at his former girlfriend Katie Newman's wedding last night? The idea that someone he'd thought so similar to him had fallen in love and tied the knot?

"Whatever," he said. "I'm sorry."

Tamara shrugged. ''No biggie. I like being with you no matter what. You don't snore like most guys."

He managed a smile. "Good to know."

“Don’t worry. I won't say anything to anyone. I'm not that girl, you know?"

He looked at her as she tilted her face to the sun. Tamara was naturally hot. Her blond locks brushed tanned shoulders and her blue eyes blinked innocently right before they flashed with mischief. She was lean, tight, and had a rack that made men licktheir lips. Oak Stand's very own Playboy bunny. And, best of all, she was a nice person.

"I know you won't." He patted her thigh beneath the ruffled sundress she'd squirmed into. It was wrinkled from lying on the floor but still looked great on her.

"Well, I'd better leave while everyone else is in church. If my grandmother sees me, I'll get lectured in front of the whole family again. Roast beef just doesn't taste right with a side accusation ofwhore."

He frowned. "You're not a whore."

''Tell that to the Reverend Beach." She rose and slid the sandals onto her feet. The small birds in the tree beside her flew away. She smiled and tilted her face again to the morning sun. "Have a good one, Brent."

She waved as she slipped out the wooden gate that led to the side drive, leaving Brent to his heavy thoughts.

As the gate banged shut, the phone resting beside him on the step rang. He didn't want to answer it. He knew who it was and what she wanted. But he picked it up anyway. Ever the dutiful son.

"Happy birthday, Brent!" The greeting launched an enthusiastic round of "Happy Birthday."

"Hey, Mom," he said into the receiver.

---