Page 9 of Mom-Com
It’s working! She’s already reacting to my athleticism. These shorts must really accentuate my butt.
“Sure, what’s up?” I took shallow breaths and remained calm.
She started wringing her hands and I was perplexed. It must be something really meaningful for her to find it difficult to even ask. Maybe she wanted to compliment me on my obvious athlete’s body. Maybe she wanted to ask me out already, but didn’t want to appear too forward. God bless Granny and her impeccable list.
Lily-Marie took a deep breath, dropped her hands, and thrust back her shoulders. My gaze wavered and dipped to the curves now thrust between us, but I wrangled it back up to her face in time for her question.
“Do you think we could help each other out with school drop-offs and pick-ups sometimes?” She rushed on. “I mean, our kids are at the same school every day, so it might make sense to carpool, you know?”
My amorous hopes were dashed, but I kept a smile in place. “Sure, sure. That makes sense. Why don’t we introduce our kids and then see what makes sense?”
She blasted me with a mega-watt smile again and I felt taller just for having put that smile there. “Okay, sounds great! See you soon!” And then she bolted into her house.
I stood there lubing my chain, trying to figure out what just happened. My athleticism hadn’t seemed to have any kind of effect on her, other than to get an introduction and a promise to share rides with our kids. Like neighbors. Or, at most, friends. Definitely not love.
Which was exactly in line with my hypothesis.
So why did I feel so let down?
I should be feeling relieved to have the first confirmation of my hypothesis. As I scanned my body, I noticed my chest felt heavy, my stomach was in knots, and joy was nowhere to be found. What was going on here?
I needed to get my eye on the prize and stop thinking about her eyelashes, so long they nearly hit her eyebrows. Or the way her body moved with the grace of a dancer, but the curves of Marilyn Monroe. I hadn’t accounted for such beauty in my specimen for this experiment, but I wasn’t a green scientist. I wouldn’t be swayed from my goal.
Number two on the list was going down as a dud in the love column. Score one for my hypothesis. Nineteen more ways to try before proving my theory correct.
And in the meantime, I was going to ride thirty miles to burn the memory of her perfume out of my brain.
5
Lily-Marie
“Get your ass over here.”
Sunday morning dawned bright and beautiful, like most mornings in Southern California. But this morning was particularly bright, probably because I had a solid plan for starting on my list to find a husband. Today was pie-baking day.
I was on the phone with Gabby—who wasn’t super supportive of my new man-magnet idea, I must confess. I’d explained everything to her yesterday and judging by the snorts and chuckles, she thought the whole thing was comical. I wouldn’t let her negativity get me down, though. I’d take comical over getting pickpocketed again. No, thanks.
Her groan was the only answer.
“Seriously, Gabby. I need your help making these apple pies and the cookies for my new neighbor. Losing weight is on the list too, so I need you here to slap my hand if I try to eat the baked goods.”
“What am I, the food police?”
“Yes! Now get over here and help me!”
I hung up on her and went to change out of my pajamas. After my run-in with Jameson yesterday, I wasn’t going to be caught lounging in my pajamas all day like a total slouch. It got me hot and bothered and confused just thinking about him.
The man was hot, let me tell you. Dark, thick hair that had just a touch of wave to the longer bits on top. Tanned skin, even in January. And the bike shorts! Holy mother of pearl, those things were skin-tight and didn’t hold back. I could see the outline of...well, everything. And, girl, I wasintriguedwith the size of his everything.
My ex, Shawn, had been good-looking, but he wasn’t super muscular. In tighty-whities he looked a little ridiculous with his chicken legs, I’ll be honest. But Jameson? Whoa, Nelly. Those legs were gorgeous and thick and muscular, especially encased in spandex. I’d wanted to climb his tree trunk legs and lay my head on his broad chest while my hands sank into his hair and held on tight for the ride.
On his bicycle. Duh.
He’d looked damn good, okay? But then he’d been super awkward, which was funny and a little bit charming. If nothing else, I was happy to have found another parent to carpool with when necessary. Hopefully the boys got along or I’d have to carefully extricate myself from the arrangement.
I had a firm rule against shitting in the sand box where I played. That was a really gross analogy for not getting mixed up romantically with a neighbor. When I came home, those four walls were my sanctuary. My place to relax. I didn’t want to have to pull the curtains, kill the lights, and dodge a romantic suitor gone wrong on my own sanctuary turf. Which meant putting Jameson and his thighs of wonder out of my head and getting my bake on.
I finally had all the ingredients I had on hand laid out on the counter. I’d been thinking about Jameson the whole time I was getting ready to make my man-catching pies. Some might take that as a sign, but not me. I was in this to win Prince Charming and I was pretty sure a ripped, bicycle-loving, slacks-wearing science nerd was not him. While Jameson could sweep me off my feet literally, I highly doubted he possessed the characteristics to do it figuratively. So man-pies it was.
