A Self-Made Man by Kathleen O`Brien Page B

Clapton, but that was okay. He was pretty darn cute, when he stopped trying to be a Don Juan and remembered to be a normal person for a while.
    Finally he collapsed, too. He lay on the other bed, breathing heavily, his hair plastered to his flushed cheeks. He turned his face toward her and grinned. “You’re a pretty good dancer. Next let’s put on one of the rappers or something. Do you have any of that cool guy’s CDs? The one with that song?”
    Gwen peeled up her leather pants an inch at a time. She should have worn shorts for this kind of workout, but who would have thought Teddy Kilgore could be so much fun? She had expected to take him for a ride on the motorcycle and then spend the rest of the day fending off his slobbery kisses.
    â€œI don’t listen to rap.” She raised herself on one elbow. “Hey—I’m dry as dust from all that dancing. Go get me a Coke, would you?”
    He snorted. “It’s your house. You get it.”
    She eyed him scornfully. “Chicken. What, are you afraid the Stepwitch will bite you?”
    He looked incredulous. “You mean Lacy? Heck, no. Nobody’s afraid of Lacy. She’s sweet as hell. She’s always nice to everybody.”
    â€œSweet?” Gwen threw her forearm over her eyes. “God. Spare me.”
    â€œWell, she is. Everybody loves her. She—”
    â€œI said spare me.” Gwen flipped, turning onto her stomach. “I mean it, Teddy. Go get me a Coke, or go home.”
    With a great deal of grumbling about bitchy chicks, Teddy made his barefoot way out of the room. Gwen didn’t move. She just lay on the bed, her face in the pillow. Her euphoric mood had sunk, dropping out of the clouds like a popped balloon. She should have known better than to mention Lacy’s name. It was always the kiss of death.
    Even Teddy idolized her. God, what a joke. Wasn’t there a single person on this stupid island who could see that the woman wasn’t even human? Robo Wife, that’s what she’d been. She had been programmed to make straight A’s at grad school, cook Cordon Bleu dishes for dinner every night, and suck up to her husband’s business partners. She had not been programmed to make mistakes, even little ones like buying a gross color of lipstick or letting a button fall off a blouse. She had not been programmed for warmth, or to kiss or hug or whisper funny stories at bedtime. She had not been programmed, in fact, to even notice any disappointing adolescent stepdaughters hanging around, blatantly hungry for attention.
    Yep. Lacy had always been the perfect Robo Wife. And now she was just Robo Widow. Nothing had changed.
    Teddy was back, carrying an aluminum can ofCoke in each hand. Gwen took hers eagerly and knocked back a long gulp. “That’s better,” she said. “Thanks.”
    Teddy was quiet. Too quiet. Now that she looked at him, Gwen could see that he was acting kind of funny. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hair all mussed and his bare feet sticking out from his jeans like big white fish. He was frowning down at his Coke.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Gwen swung her foot over the bed and nudged his. “Don’t pout. I’ll find some rap music on the radio if you want.”
    â€œI’m not pouting.” Teddy rubbed at the condensation on his can, still scowling. “It’s just that… Something kind of funny happened…. When I passed the parlor just now, Lacy was on the telephone.”
    Gwen rolled her eyes. “Nothing funny about that. The woman lives on the telephone. She’s a professional kiss-up, always trying to raise money for things. That’s her job.”
    â€œYeah, well, this time she was talking to a private detective.”
    Gwen sat up slowly, looking to see if Teddy was kidding. “A what?”
    Teddy looked miserable, and suddenly Gwen remembered that he was really very young, at least two years