DANE HAD a knack for turning up in all the wrong places.
And doing all the wrong things.
I ticked off his sins as I made my way back to the office. Let’s see, he lied to me—twice. First about the videotapes. Second about the kid sister. He was seen having an angry exchange with Felicia Reilly—prime suspect number two. He’d loaded everyone into the helicopter on that fateful night. Then, he’d been caught going to see Irv Gittings at the Athena—who was locked in a duel to the death with The Big Boss.
No doubt about it, Dane had added his name to the suspect list and was working hard to hit numero uno on my shit list.
I should’ve known he’d turn out to be a bum—or worse. Could I pick them or what? Of course I hadn’t actually picked Dane, but I had felt an attraction to him. Truth be told, I’d been feeling an attraction to almost any male who could walk and talk without drooling on himself. I realized I was in trouble when the gardener, who was married with eight kids and knew four words of English—one of them being “fuck” (which he used with relish)—started looking hot to me. Obviously, the holes in my sieve of discernment had gotten quite large. Perhaps the lack of meaningful sex had something to do with it.
So, the bum meter was malfunctioning a bit. I felt adrift.
But I didn’t need to be a genius to figure out Dane was trouble.
“Lucky! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Dane!
A shiver of fear shot through me. Like I said, he had a knack for turning up in all the wrong places. “You found me.”
He wore a tired look, a green polo shirt that accentuated the color of his eyes, creased jeans, and a pair of broken-in cowboy boots made out of some exotic skin. They looked expensive. He stopped in front of me. “Do you know some guy keeps answering your phone? What’s up with that?”
“Of course I know, and nothing is up with that.” He looked sexy as hell. I tried my old trick of repeating All men are pigs over and over. This time it worked. I stepped around him and kept marching across the lobby toward the elevators.
He kept pace with me. “Why are you in such an all-fired hurry?” He grabbed my arm, spinning me around and holding me in place. “I need to talk to you.”
Facing him, I yanked my arm out of his grasp. I took a deep breath and tried to arrange my features in a benign expression. Showing him my anger wouldn’t help me see through his little charade. “Sorry, my day took off out of the gate at a full gallop. What can I do for you?”
“Have dinner with me.”
“What?” I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.
“As I recall, I owe you a dinner. How about tonight? I can get us a table for two at Tigris.”
I could only stare at him. Dinner with a traitor—I’d probably get the firing squad at dawn. But maybe I could get some answers from him without giving away what I already knew—as The Big Boss always said, hold your cards tight. And if it didn’t work out, at least I’d have a great meal. “Today is Tuesday, right?”
“All day.”
“How about tomorrow?” Tuesdays are movie night with Teddie.
“That’ll work. I’ll pick you up around seven. You have to tell me where you live.”
“I’ll meet you at Tigris.” No way was he coming to my apartment. What would Teddie say? Was I hiding from him now, too?
God, life had gotten so complicated.
The Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock again occupied the corner of Miss Patterson’s desk when I burst through the door. This time, however, he didn’t move.
“Jeremy, if you’re not careful we’re going to stencil your name right where you sit, permanently reserving that spot for you.”
He showed me those damned dimples. “I’d like that.”
Miss Patterson looked thrilled as well.
“I don’t mean to be a spoilsport, but take pity on me—this office grinds to a halt when you’re here.”
“Understood. Just a few minutes more, okay?”
I nodded. “Besides, Miss Patterson and I have an important appointment very shortly.”
They both nodded at me like guilty schoolchildren.
I stifled a smile and shook my head. Kids.
“The Most Reverend is waiting for you in your office,” Miss Patterson said, as I dropped my purse in the closet.
“Got it.”
Jeep stood at the window, his back to me, his bulk blocking the light. “Reverend Peabody.”
He turned at the sound of my voice. “Ms. O’Toole, call me Jeep, please.”
I took a seat behind my desk. “Sorry. Hard habit to break. And it’s Lucky.”
“What’s lucky?” he asked, his face clouded in confusion.
“Me.”
“You’re lucky?”
“My name.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “Somebody had a sense of humor.”
The Most Reverend had gone Vegas. Today, he sported flip-flops, Bermuda shorts, a muscle shirt, and Maui Jim’s. While I believe in “live and let live,” seeing Jeep in a muscle shirt gave me an insight into the thinking behind a proposed Vegas city ordinance against men going without shirts.
Jeep remained standing, his elephantine legs spread, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses. “I saw the blackmailer last night.”
I raised my finger. “Wait a minute.” I stepped out of the office and retrieved Ms. Reilly’s picture from my purse. I extended it to Jeep. “Is that her?”
He nodded.
“Felicia Reilly.”
“That’s her name?”
“If that’s her, it is. Was she at Carne?” I knew the answer already, but would he tell me the truth? There seemed to be a serious epidemic of lying going around.
“Yeah.” He flushed, and I didn’t think it was from embarrassment. “She wanted her money.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“No. I put her off. She was furious. But she’s a greedy little cuss.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “She’s going to meet me at a party we’re having this Thursday night.”
“Really?”
He nodded and took off his dark glasses. His eyes twinkled in anticipation. “We’re going to get that conniving little bitch, aren’t we?”
I raised my eyebrows, then nodded. “Just tell me where.” He wrote the address down for me. I recognized it—a toffee-nose address for sure—in the Estates…at Spanish Trail. Another piece of the puzzle dropped into place.
I escorted Jeep out. After the door closed behind him, I rubbed my hands in glee and danced a little jig. In a little more than forty-eight hours, I’d have Felicia Reilly, boiled, diced and ready to serve. If my luck held, and if my hunch was right, I’d have my hands around Willie’s neck sooner than that. Both Miss Patterson and Jeremy looked at me like I’d lost a nut. I didn’t feel the need to explain.
“Jeremy, you got anything for me?”
“No, not yet.”
“Okay. You about ready?” I asked Miss Patterson.
She looked at me, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Almost. Give me three minutes.”
“You got it,” I said, as I dashed into my office. “I need to make a phone call.” I shut the door behind me.
Parking one cheek on the corner of my desk, I picked up the phone, dialed nine for an outside line, then I thought for a moment. Damn. I depressed the button on the intercom. “Miss Patterson?”
“He’s just leaving.”
“Fine. Do you know my cell number? I never call myself.” Why I feel the need to explain my own stupidities, I don’t know.
“Of course.”
I waited…but giggling was all I heard. “Why don’t you tell me, then we’ll both know?” What is it about infatuation that turns a normally competent woman into a giggling school girl? I’d rather be caught dead.
Okay, even I don’t believe me sometimes.
“Oh, sorry.” She rattled off the numbers.
“Thanks.” I dialed my cell.
As I figured he would, Teddie answered on the first ring. “Hey, good-lookin’.”
“Hey, yourself. Where are you? And why do you keep answering my phone?”
“I’m three minutes from Samson’s. And if I didn’t answer, how would you have found me?”
Samson’s was The Big Boss’s attempt at humor. He thought it funny to name the hair salon after a guy with long hair. “If you weren’t fielding every call to my cell, I would have called your cell.”
“I’m not answering mine, only yours,” Teddie answered, as if any of this made sense. “Are you ladies on your way?”
“We will be shortly. Is everything set up?”
“Most of it. I’ll put the finishing touches on our plan while you do the hair thing.” Excitement infused Teddie’s voice. “This is going to be fun.”
“And the other thing? Have you had time to work on that yet?”
“I’ve made some calls, but no one’s gotten back to me yet.”
“How can they when you’re not answering your phone?”
He laughed. “You have me there.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I said it and meant it. That was precisely my hang-up. One rather huge pothole in the rocky road to love.
“I’m working very hard at making myself indispensable.”
“Are you going to give me back my phone?”
“I’d pay you good money to take it off my hands,” Teddie said. “It rings incessantly—I have reams of messages for you. How do you handle it?”
“I have the patience of Job.”
He laughed as if I were joking. “See you in a minute.” Then he rang off.
Despite my best mental efforts to override it, my heart picked up its pace at the prospect.
Samson’s occupied a ziggurat at the end of the Bazaar. It boasted a stair-stepped stone exterior with various trailing plants cascading from each step, most of them in riotous bloom. The ziggurat looked like it had been disassembled in some remote jungle, then reassembled for our pleasure in Vegas. Which was, funny enough, the truth. The Big Boss had found it in ruins in some obscure South American country. Money changed hands, an international incident had been doused—most likely with a great deal more money—and, voilà, one genuine ziggurat on the Las Vegas Strip.
Cascading waterfalls framed the fourteen-foot-tall, rustic wooden doors, which were decorated with huge brass rings for door pulls and a bar that could be lowered to secure the doors against invading hordes—which was superfluous, since Samson’s never closed and was rarely invaded. The doors stood open, inviting me into the front lobby, where gorgeous young women waited to satisfy my every beauty need.
I felt the frisson of excitement before I registered a presence at my elbow. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was—Teddie. My body clearly wasn’t listening to my brain where he was concerned. “Hey.”
“How’d you know it was me?” He circled my waist with one arm and pulled me to him. Teddie had traded his sweatshirt for a fitted, collarless cotton shirt. He still wore those damned blue jeans that made it almost impossible to resist running my hands over his ass or sticking them in his back pockets, which, while a bit more subtle, was almost as good. Apparently, I had blown right by pathetic and was now completely hopeless—a new low.
“You told me you’d meet us here,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Right.”
With both of my hands on his chest, I pushed him away. “Would you behave? We’ve given the grapevine enough to talk about for a while.”
“They all talk about you anyway,” said Miss Patterson, who stood off to the side waiting patiently with a grin on her face.
“You’re no help. I’ll remember that comment when it’s time for your next raise.”
She didn’t seem fazed. I was losing my touch.
I shot her a look as I straightened my shirt and brushed a hand down my slacks, hoping against hope that straightening the outer would straighten the inner. It didn’t work.
A young woman wearing a very short, off-the-shoulder toga cinched at the waist with a golden rope greeted us. “Ms. O’Toole, Linda is ready for you both now.”
Long blonde hair, perky breasts, dimple-free thighs, an unlined face, she looked about sixteen and made me feel old and ugly. While nobody short of a skilled surgeon could do anything about the old part, I was counting on Linda to solve the ugly part. I nodded to Miss Patterson. “You go first, but a word to the wise about Linda. She can be a bit abrupt—rude even—so don’t let her scare you.”
Blinking, her eyes wide with fear, she said, “I could use some moral support here.”
“You go on. I’ll be right there.”
For once, Miss Patterson did as I asked without a sardonic comment. I watched as she disappeared around another waterfall into the salon where Linda waited to work her magic. I turned to Teddie. “What’s the plan?”
“Linda said she needed about two hours—she said you didn’t have the patience for more than that.”
I shrugged. Beauty wasn’t really my thing.
“Meet me at the Palace at two. They’re closing the store for us.”
“You know Miss Patterson’s size and everything?”
Teddie stepped in close to me, and leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. He didn’t touch me, but it seemed as if I could feel every inch of his body with mine. “Lucky, my love, I’m an expert in two things. One of them is women’s clothing.” His seductive tone left no doubt as to what he considered his other area of expertise.
My body tingled all over. Teddie seemed determined to work us through the alphabet—and to make sure I was a wreck by the time we got to Z. His plan was working.
He had almost made it out the door when my brain returned to minimal functioning. “My phone?”
He waved it at me. “I’ll keep it. You relax. Don’t worry, if the building burns down or the SWAT team bursts through the front doors, I know where to find you.” Then he disappeared into the crowd.
A young Samson look-alike appeared at my elbow. Samson’s was famous for its army of namesake look-alikes. I could hear The Big Boss’s voice in my head: “A beauty salon is a place for ladies, so let’s give the ladies what they want.” Apparently, women wanted an army of young, buff males to do their bidding. I had no argument with that.
Tall and sculpted, this young Samson sported a mini toga that looked as if it was designed to cover the essentials and nothing more. A brass ring circled one bicep. Gladiator sandals graced his feet, the straps winding around his calves. He had long dark hair and an otherwise completely hairless body. At least as far as I could tell—and that was pretty far, given his lack of clothing. I wanted to ask him if he’d been lasered or waxed, but thought better of it.
“Miss, would you like a mimosa?”
I looked at his tray laden with tall fluted glasses. I thought about Teddie. “One? Hell no, I’ll take two.”
I’d polished off the first and was half done with the second when I found Miss Patterson already seated in Linda’s chair. Tapping her stilettoed foot, Linda, a trim, natural blonde with sharp features arranged in an ever-present frown, stood behind Miss Patterson surveying her in the mirror. Occasionally, she would pick up a lock of Miss Patterson’s mop of frizzy, mousy brown hair suffused with streaks of gray and shake her head, tut-tutting.
I continued sipping my mimosa. Hands clutching the arms of the chair in a white-knuckled grip, Miss Patterson looked paralyzed with fear. Both of us were smart enough to know one didn’t disturb the master while she was thinking, so we remained mute.
Finally, Linda stepped back and clapped her hands, shattering the subdued quiet.
I darn near dropped my glass. Miss Patterson looked ready to bolt.
A bevy of assistants materialized at Linda’s summons. She gave them hurried, unintelligible instructions. They disappeared as fast as they had come.
“I know what you need,” Linda announced. “You will like it.”
Before Miss Patterson found her voice, a Samson appeared at her elbow and led her away. She threw a questioning look over her shoulder. I gave her a reassuring nod. The poor woman looked like a wide-eyed tourist seeing Vegas for the first time—awestruck and overwhelmed, but excited.
“Now you,” Linda announced. “Take a seat.”
I gulped the last of the mimosa, depositing the empty glass on the tray of a passing Samson, and did as I was told. Linda didn’t scare me—much.
“You’re a mess,” Linda declared, as she surveyed my hair.
“That’s why I’m here. Make me feel good about myself.”
She nodded and tapped that stilettoed foot.
How could she stand in those things all day? Ten minutes in them and I’d offer up every secret I knew. Now there’s a market as yet unexplored by Jimmy Choo—torture and interrogation. I waited while Linda thought.
“God, I live for challenges like this,” she announced after a minute or two of careful observation. “Do you have any particular desires as to what I do with…this?” She motioned to my hair and looked as if she’d taken a bite of something awful.
“Whatever you want.” I said it calmly, my resolve fortified by multiple ounces of champagne diluted only slightly with orange juice. I needed a new look to match the new me I hoped to be.
My pronouncement clearly startled the hair-meister. Her eyes grew just a smidgen wider. One corner of her mouth lifted briefly—or maybe I imagined that part. “Really?”
I nodded and snagged another mimosa from a passing Samson. “No weird colors or asymmetrical cuts—other than that, consider me your blank canvas.”
The next hour and forty-five minutes passed in a flurry of activity—washing, dying, cutting, styling—even a stop at the makeup artist while my color set. The only time I almost lost my nerve was when Linda brought out the scissors. I shut my eyes while she worked her magic. She took my hint and turned me away from the mirror.
Sometimes Linda chatted while she worked, sometimes not. Today was one of her chatty days.
“How’s your life going?” she asked as she took a big snip. “You have a different glow about you.”
“Same ol’, same ol’.” A big lock of newly dark hair fell into my lap.
“I’m not sure I believe that, but I’ll let you off the hook.” She took another snip. Another lock of hair fell in my lap.
“I am going to have some hair left, right?”
“A strand or two. So, anything new about Lyda Sue?”
“You knew her, too?” That girl really got around.
“Not well. I used to run into her at Carne.”
“Really?” I tried to keep my voice in a conversational tone. “What was she doing there?”
“What almost everyone does there—trying to find another couple interested in switching.”
“Really?” I squeaked. So much for the conversational tone.
Linda didn’t seem to notice. “The bar at Carne is the place local swingers look for action. I only saw her there a couple of times, both of them within the last two weeks or so. She was always with a tall, dark and handsome type who had the whole aw-shucks cowboy thing going.”
I grabbed my bag and pulled out Dane’s picture. “This the guy?”
She tapped it with her comb. “Yeah. Real smooth, that one.”
“Did they ever find any action?”
“Didn’t notice.” Linda went back to her snipping.
“Did they want to switch with you and your husband?”
“Us?” Linda laughed. “Hell, Joe would kill me if I even thought about doin’ it with another guy. And he knows I’d Bobbitize him if he ever put his weenie where it shouldn’t be. The bar is our local watering hole.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I could see was Linda with a huge knife chasing poor Joe. Then a picture of Dane and Lyda Sue together. For Dane’s sake, when I had dinner with him, I hoped the knives were kept out of my reach.
“Almost done,” Linda announced.
Every now and then I caught a glimpse of Miss Patterson in passing. Each time she was clutching a mimosa in one hand and a Samson in the other.
Finally, it was time for the unveiling. I sat in Linda’s chair, my eyes closed. I felt her turn me, so when I opened my eyes, I’d be looking at myself in the mirror. I could hear Miss Patterson in the chair next to me. I assumed she also had her eyes closed and was facing the mirror.
“Voila!” Linda announced.
I opened my eyes. For a moment I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. The rat’s nest of over-processed blonde hair had been replaced by a cloud of soft, shiny, medium-brown curls with golden highlights. A few tendrils drifted across my forehead, drawing attention to my eyes. I’d forgotten they were such a deep blue. The understated makeup accentuated my cheekbones. Where had they been hiding? While not stunning, I was actually…pretty.
Who knew?
“Wow.” Words longer than three letters had momentarily abandoned me.
Linda smiled. She was standing between Miss Patterson’s chair and mine. With a satisfied nod, she crossed her arms and stepped aside.
Miss Patterson was radiant. Gone were the gray and the granny curls. She now sported a sleek, blonde style that took a decade off her appearance and made her eyes look as big as salad plates. She reached up and touched her face, a smile tickling her lips. Her eyes glistened.
She looked at me, but she didn’t have to say anything—I knew exactly how she felt. “Linda,” I said. “I know you charge a king’s ransom, but you are worth every penny.”
She nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “I just let out the real you. You’ve been fighting with yourself for years, Lucky.” So how come everyone knew that but me?
Putting my clothes back on felt like donning somebody else’s old coat. I kept looking at myself in the mirror as I dressed. Everything about me was different—the old didn’t quite fit anymore.
Although she didn’t say so, I could tell Miss Patterson felt the same way. When she emerged from the changing room, she looked like a teenager dressed in her mother’s clothes.
After I paid, and added generous tips for everyone, I grabbed her elbow and steered her out into the Bazaar. Instead of turning toward the hotel, we took a right, heading deeper into retail-land.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The makeover isn’t yet complete.” We stopped in front of the Palace. A large closed sign hung in the door. I knocked.
Miss Patterson hung back. “I can’t afford this place.”
“No worries. We’re getting the Ted Kowalski discount. He’s one of their most important customers.”
She looked doubtful, but after a saleswoman opened the door, she stepped inside with me.
Designed to provide each customer with the royal treatment, the Palace was every inch a retail oasis. From the deep couches scattered liberally around the cozy space, to the small cafe in the corner, to the ever-present sales staff that bordered on obsequious, the Palace provided a customer-centric shopping experience. None of the store’s inventory was on display. Instead, the customers—or as the staff referred to them, the clients—took a seat on one of the lovely sofas. The staff then brought out various, carefully selected items, one at a time.
I sank into the nearest couch, pulling Miss Patterson down with me. This wasn’t exactly my normal shopping experience either. Sitting there was like waiting for a show to begin. I half expected the lights to dim and the music to start.
Instead, Teddie appeared, dressed in a rather risqué gown. Iridescent, beaded and practically see-through, it was reminiscent of the stuff Bob Mackie used to design for Cher in her heyday. He started to pirouette, then stopped in his tracks. He walked over to me and extended his hand, a smile splitting his face. His eyes locked on mine like a tractor beam.
Nervous as to what he thought of my new look, but powerless to resist, I let him pull me up. He turned me around in front of him. When I again faced him, he stepped in close, and very tenderly kissed me.
I’d never been kissed by a man in a dress before. I think I liked it. I’m not sure what that meant.
“You look fabulous,” he whispered. He led me to a mirror. “Look at the you you’ve kept hidden behind that wall of feigned indifference. You blow me away.”
Blow him away? For sure I liked that.
I lost myself in our reflection—me in my pants, Teddie in his dress, and for some odd reason, nothing about us struck me as unusual.
Miss Patterson cleared her throat. “You guys are attracting some attention.”
She was indeed correct. A small crowd, their noses pressed to the glass, lined the storefront. Teddie stepped toward them and turned slowly for their perusal. His performance elicited cheers and an occasional wolf whistle.
The show was on.
As he strode by me on his way to the changing room, he winked and asked, “How do you like my dress? Think it’ll look good in the show?”
I pointed to his chest. “You don’t have the right equipment to really take advantage of the design.”
He looked down, then grinned. “I left my boobs at the theatre.”
“At least you know where yours are,” I said, as I surveyed my own inadequate cleavage.
He laughed, then ducked around the corner. “I’ll be right back. Just let me change.”
The minute he left, the parade began—dresses, pants, and silky tops—all in a riot of color. Tentative at first, then warming to the fun, Miss Patterson pointed to the ones she liked, and waved her hand dismissively at those she didn’t. She even wrinkled her nose at a particularly offensive pantsuit.
Arms crossed and a serious expression on his face, Teddie watched as he leaned against the wall. All the original selections had been his. He had a wonderful eye.
Finally, Miss Patterson had narrowed her items down to about twenty. After she made her selections, Teddie grabbed her hand, pulling her with him around the curtain to the dressing rooms.
I took full advantage of the intermission. Up to this point, lunch had consisted of champagne and orange juice—not exactly the meal of champions. I wandered over to the cafe tucked discretely in the corner of the shop behind a counter sporting a few barstools in front, and snagged a sandwich and two Diet Cokes. I returned quickly, settling back in my place on the sofa and promptly inhaled half the sandwich. The other half was for Miss Patterson.
Teddie appeared from behind the curtain and, like Ed McMahon introducing Johnny Carson, mimicked a drumroll, gestured toward the curtain and said, “Heeeere’s Miss Patterson.”
The salesgirls, the crowd, Teddie, me, we all waited. But nobody appeared.
Teddie disappeared around the curtain, then reappeared with a very reluctant and blushing Miss Patterson in tow. He released her hand and stepped back.
For a moment there was silence, then all of us erupted in loud cheering—even the crowd outside.
Miss Patterson was a vision in a silky peach shirt and loosely fitted white slacks. She had a beautiful figure, curvy in all the right places. Why in the world had she hidden it under those old sacks? Why indeed? Only those not guilty of the same sin could question and criticize, so I kept my mouth shut, but added a few wolf whistles of my own to her applause.
Miss Patterson couldn’t keep the grin off her face as she modeled all the outfits she had chosen. At the end of the show, we decided there were five absolute must-haves—two shirt-and-pant ensembles and one very flirty little black dress.
She didn’t need much time to find shoes to match.
We congregated at the cash register, and Miss Patterson swallowed hard as the salesgirl presented her with the bill—seven hundred dollars. Her eyebrows shot upward. “That’s all?” she asked. She looked first at me, then at Teddie.
We both shrugged and kept our expressions bland.
“Wow. That’s one heck of discount you get, Mr. Kowalski,” she said, as she proffered her credit card.
I noticed a sign on the counter that read, “Return policy: All items may be returned for full refund within ten days EXCEPT for any lingerie that has touched your choochilala.”
“Is ‘choochilala’ a word?” I asked.
The salesgirl shook her head. “I made it up, but everybody knows what it means.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Miss Patterson walked with the saleslady to the front door. Teddie and I followed, his arm hooked through mine. Just before the doors opened and the hoards descended, he whispered in my ear. “You’re pretty sneaky. I don’t get that big of a discount.”
I just smiled and extracted my arm from his as the crowd surrounded him, all asking for his autograph.
I had made it out into the mall when Dane appeared at my elbow. God, he was worse than a bad penny.
“Do you know what time it is? Are you actually going to work today?” he asked.
I glanced at my watch. Four o’clock! Shoot! I needed to get a move on.
“Like the hair, by the way,” he added.
That was a long way from “You look fabulous” and “You blow me away,” but he got points for noticing—even though he played for the opposition. “Why are you always where I am? Is there something you need?”
“I work here. And, no, not really.” He nodded toward Teddie. “You’re an interesting lady, Ms. O’Toole. First you let a porn star kiss you and then a gay guy who wears women’s clothes for a living. When are you going to let a real man in on the action?”
I put my hands on my hips and looked at him. “That is the sleaziest line I’ve heard since I talked to you yesterday. Did you take a course in creepiness?”
That wiped the grin off his face.
“Do you ever get anywhere with a line like that?”
He shook his head. “No.”
I nodded toward Teddie. “And what makes you think he’s gay?”