Page 43 of No More Heartbreakers

Aric was still talking to a few girls, scribbling some notes down on his pad, probably getting the correct spellings of their names for the on-screen graphics.

Or maybe their phone numbers. I was appalled at the acrid feeling churning in my gut. I hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

In fact, I’d carefully arranged my life so I’d never experience this particular emotion ever again.

I left Aric to do his thing and headed for the car. Hearing him call my name, I glanced back to see him make his charming goodbyes to all of his new groupies and start jogging after me.

Whatever. Take your time, Loverboy.

A few hours ago at Mrs. Dixson’s house, seeing him act so tender with her, I’d been willing to throw away all my preconceived notions about Aric.

But right now… he’d never looked more like Jason to me.

TWELVE

You’re Starting To Relax

“So… you ready to learn some vocal exercises, My Fair Lady?” Aric broke the sullen silence in the car on the way back to Peachtree Valley.

I glanced up at him, completely caught off guard. I’d been lost in dark thoughts of my disastrous first love.

“You’ve seen that movie?’

He raised a hand. “Guilty. My mom’s a huge Audrey Hepburn fan.”

“The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains,” I quoted from the film with a precise accent.

He laughed, and the mood in the car lightened several degrees. “Right. Well, I have a better one for you, if you still want it.”

“I guess so. Sure.”

“Okay, repeat after me—tie twine to three tree twigs.”

“Are you serious? Is this for real?”

“Of course. Try it and think about your vowel sounds, keep them short. And remember, these are all one-syllable words—outside of the South, of course.”

I slapped lightly at his arm. “Smart ass,” I said, purposely dragging out the last word so it sounded likeay-ess. “Okay… tie twine to three tree twigs? Is that right?”

“Yep. Good. Now try this one—it’s great for fixthing listhps,” he said, feigning the world’s worst lisp. Then he enunciated very clearly, “Santa’s short suit shrank. Now you.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed, my funk lifting completely. “This is so stupid. Okay, Santa’s short suit shrank.”

“Good, but watch the ‘Santa’—again, focus on keeping the vowels short—you said it like Say-an-ta.”

“I think it’s going to take a lot of practice.”

“I know. That’s the idea. You’ll get it. Try saying them into the voice recorder on your phone and listen to it back.”

I wrote down those and a few more phrases he gave me to practice, giggling at the ridiculousness of them. At the station, we parked in a reserved news car spot and got out.

Aric spoke to me over the hood of the car, surprising me with a compliment. “Hey—you were great today.”

And now I felt guilty for my earlier pouty attitude.

He’d never claimed to be anythingotherthan a player’s player. And what business was it of mine if he was? I had no right to be mad at him.

It was probably almost impossible to avoid when you looked like he did and had unlimited opportunity waved in front of your face all the time.

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