Catch a Mate by Gena Showalter

Marcus. In Jillian’s current state of insanity, that might seem like foreplay. She did not need more foreplay. She might jump him.
    â€œDid you and Ronnie with an i e have fun tonight?” she asked in a syrupy tone. “She seemed like such a nice girl.”
    â€œJealous?”
    â€œPlease. You’re such a—” egotistical pig, I can see why you’d think so “— nice boy for helping her with her obvious self-esteem issues and being nice to her. Yep, we women love it when men are nice to us.”
    â€œSo what are you?” he asked, confusing her.
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œYou aren’t really a cock hater, since you’re lying about being turned on right now. Are you a junkie or a teaser?”
    â€œYou’ll never know,” she gritted out.
    â€œGreat. A teaser.” He sighed. “What a pity.”
    Her blood boiled. “This conversation is boring and so are you. Next you’ll be asking me about the weather forecast. Goodbye.”
    â€œWait,” he said in a rush. “Don’t hang up. I have to tell you something.”
    She paused, stupidly happy that he wanted to keep her on the line. “What?”
    â€œDouble or nothing, remember? You didn’t dance with me. Don’t forget to bring my two hundred dollars to the office tomorrow,” he said. “Like you, I don’t take checks.” Click.
    Openmouthed, she stared at the phone. Then, scowling, she pressed *69. Marcus answered right away. “I won the first bet and you owed me one hundred dollars,” she said. “You won the second, so you just keep your money. I owe you nothing. If you need me to use Happy the sock puppet and explain it in simpler language, just let me know.” Click.
    A second later, her phone rang. “What?”
    His drugging laughter caressed her ear. “We aren’t playing the American way, baby. We’re playing British. The right way. You owe me two hundred dollars.” Click.
    Again she found herself staring at the phone. Unethical, that’s what he was. No way the British rules for gambling were different than the American rules; he’d made that up.
    The phone rang again a second later and Jillian grinned. She was tempted to let it ring all night, but found herself eager for round four. She pressed talk and said, “Don’t ever hang up on me again or I’ll—” stab you in the heart “—bake you chocolate-chip cookies and bring them to you in a pretty, decorative basket.” There. That was sweet. Well, sweet as long as it wasn’t Jillian’s mom doing the baking…but that didn’t bear thinking about right now. “Now admit it. I don’t owe you a cent.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? I didn’t hang up on you, and I know you don’t owe me any money. And why are you threatening me with chocolate-chip cookies? What’d I ever do to you?” her sister, Brittany, said. Without waiting for Jillian’s response, she added, “Listen, Mom just called me. She’s having one of her breakdowns.”
    â€œWhat? Why?” Suddenly serious, Jillian jolted upright. Dark curls cascaded down her temples and back.
    â€œShe’s decided to try the dating scene.”
    â€œNo, no, no,” Jillian groaned. “Why would she put herself through that again? Why would she put us through that again?”
    â€œBecause she has needs, ” Brittany said, her tone dripping with disgust.
    â€œGross. Don’t ever, ever, ever say that to me.”
    â€œHey, I’m just repeating what she told me.”
    â€œWell, don’t.”
    Brittany sighed, loud and long and frustrated. “What are we going to do? We—” Pause. “Apple, Cherry, what are you doing up? It’s way past your bedtime.”
    Jillian heard giggling and pictured her ten-year-old twin nieces running around Brittany’s bedroom. They might look like