Page 42 of It's Not PMS, It's You
Dee came back out of the house, Brandon trailing behind her, both with lemonade.
I pointed toward the house. “I should get back to work.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Dee said. “You have the day off and there will benotalk of work from you.”
I flared my nostrils at her. “When I saywork, I don’t meanwork, work. I meanwehave things to do. Remember?”
Good save on my part.
“Right! We need to get back to finding you a man!”
She didn’t just say that. Someone please tell me I’m hallucinating.
Dee must have been loopy from Brandon’s presence because usually she was smarter than that. That was no excuse, but I would wait until we got inside to kill her with my bare hands.
Nick glanced back and forth between me and Dee.
I smiled at him. “A man to do my hair is what she means. I prefer male hair stylists. Girl stuff, you know?”
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
I gestured to the house again. “Dee? I need your help.” I turned to Nick. “If you change your mind about lemonade or anything else to drink, just come inside and help yourself. No need to ask.”
Brandon held up his cup of lemonade. “So tasty. Thanks, Dee.”
Dee gave him a little bow of the head. “Of course. Let me know if you want more.” Without another word, she followed me back inside the house to my office.
I sat in my chair and swiveled around to face her. “What was that out there?”
She placed her lemonade on my desk and took a seat. “Just a little slip of the tongue. Don’t worry, he didn’t catch on. And anyway, what’s the big deal? We’re on a mission to find you a man. It wasn’t like I was lying.”
“Yes, but the whole world doesn’t need to know about my private life. I don’t want Nick to think I’m desperate or something, and that I need your help to find a man.”
Dee arched an eyebrow. “Since when have youevercared what a man thought of you or of something you did?”
I stared at Dee, not knowing how to respond.
It was true.
When was the last time?
I usually didn’t give a fig what they thought.
Why would I care what Nick thought?
Dee pointed at me. “You’re not answering.”
“I don’t know why I care, but I do.”
“I know why.” She smiled. “You like him.”
I huffed. “Please . . .”
“He’s a nice guy.”
“Of course, he’s a nice guy. I never said he wasn’t.”
“And attractive.”
