Not That Kind of Girl Read Free

shh sound. The weight moved off his foot and settled on the floor next to him. Only then did he reach down and pet the outrageous spiral curls that could only belong to Genghis, his very first San Francisco client.
    Eli smiled down at the dog. “How’s it hangin’, my man?” he asked, rubbing the Labradoodle behind his ears.
    Eli heard the kitchen door slam and turned his head, everything inside him jumping to attention at the thought that she might be returning. Instead he saw Bea Latimer and the increasingly frail little old lady who’d married Josie and Rick, and later, he’d heard, officiated at the marriage of Lucio and Ginger. He watched Bea help Mrs. Needleman to a comfortable recliner and make her way to an empty folding chair next to him. Martina trotted at her side.
    “Hey, Eli,” Bea said, plopping down. Her voice was friendly enough but a little reserved. “How’ve you been?”
    “Very well, thank you,” he said. “You?”
    “Good. Excellent, really. Since the paper went belly-up I’ve been working on my canine agility trainer certification. I have my exam in six weeks.”
    Eli smiled at the tall, older woman. “That’s great, Bea. Congratulations. You have a gift, you know.”
    Bea glanced down at Martina lying at her feet, then gave him a self-conscious smile. “Thanks.”
    “Martina is a happy and stable dog,” he added.
    Bea’s smile widened. “I really appreciate that,” she said, pausing to look at him thoughtfully. “It means a lot coming from you.”
    Their conversation ended as a wave of delighted gasps and sighs spread through the room. Eli saw that Ginger and Josie had just unwrapped identical wood-inlay boxes, marveling at their beauty as they ran their fingers over the intricate carving. A handsome white-haired man kissed each of them, then wiped tears from his eyes as he returned to a love seat.
    “That’s Lucio’s father. He lives in southern Spain,” Bea told him, leaning in close. “The lady next to him—the one with the boobs-not-found-in-nature? See her?”
    Eli coughed.
    “That’s Ginger’s mother.”
    “Ah. Thanks for keeping me abreast of the situation.”
    Bea let go with a hearty laugh. Then she sighed, her face slowly becoming more serious. “Hey, look, Eli. I like you. A lot. You seem like a real decent guy. But … uh …”
    He knew where this awkward exchange was headed, and he appreciated Bea’s courage. “I’m listening,” he said.
    “I’m not sure I should be telling you this.”
    Eli nodded.
    “Roxie is … uh …”
    He decided to make it easier for her. “So where did she run off to?”
    Bea studied him, her eyes filled with concern. “The barn.”
    “Because of me?”
    She laughed. “Oh, yeah.”
    Eli stared at the beer bottle in his hand. “It’s that bad, huh?”
    “ ’Fraid so.”
    He nodded. It wasn’t a simple matter, this thing with the stunning, raven-haired Roxanne Bloom. He’d met her only half a dozen times, usually at social situations like this one, but the energy between them was like nothing he’d ever experienced with a woman. It was dazzling in its intensity. It screamed for his attention. And it was thoroughly, maddeningly unwelcome.
    Roxanne had called last fall to ask him to lunch. He’d had to say no. He’d had no choice, though she didn’t even give him a chance to explain. And since then, their dynamic had been real simple: she avoided him and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was ridiculous, he knew, and it had to be sorted out—now. Letting this kind of unfinished emotional business fester went against everything he believed in. He would not let it go on another day.
    “Roxie is a little on the complicated side,” Bea said under her breath.
    He smiled. “So it seems.”
    “I love her to death, though.”
    Eli sipped his beer.
    “She’s a pussycat, really. A pussycat in a porcupine suit.”
    Eli chuckled.
    Bea stared at him, looking slightly dazed. “Go after her,” she whispered,