’ t deal with that right now.”
“ Why not?” Beauji caught up with me. “ I really don ’ t understand this who le, ‘ Oh, drat, the sexy millionaire likes me ’ bit you keep playing.”
“ I don ’ t care about his money.” What I cared about was the rough softness of his voice, and the way his eyes seemed to dive into mine whenever he looked at me. The way I felt so much happ ier when I was with him. “ I just enjoy his company.”
“ So where exactly is the problem here?”
“ He lives in London.”
“ Perfect for a summer fling, then.”
“ He ’ s already rejected me once.”
“ He was being a gentleman.”
I cringed. “ I cried in bed with him.”
Beauji paused, then started walking again. “ I ’ ll give you that one as a definite mood spoiler, but he seems to like you anyway, so what ’ s the problem?”
I caught up with her and debated answering the question before finally coming out with it. “ Penis Teflon .”
“ Tell me you ’ re kidding,” she said. I shook my head.
“ You mean you ’ re going to throw away a perfectly good famous millionaire writer because of Penis Teflon ? It ’ s imaginary, Portia.”
“ That ’ s easy for you to say,” I grumbled.
I got a few feet ahead befor e I realized Beauji had stopped. I turned to face her.
“ What? Your water break or something?”
She stared at me. “ Why? Why would it be any easier for me than it would for you?”
I shrugged, trying to come up with something that wouldn ’ t make me sound stupid and petty. I couldn ’ t, so I said what I was thinking.
“ Your men stick. Your father stayed. Your boyfriend became your husband and he ’ s still around. You ’ ve got brothers. Me...I ’ m Penis Teflon. If I learned anything from Peter, it ’ s that it ’ s a waste of ene rgy to invest in a man emotionally.”
She studied me with sharp eyes and crossed her arms over her tremendous belly. “ Well, that ’ s about the stupidest thing I ’ ve ever heard.”
I kicked a stone and sent it flying off the side of the road. “ Thanks for your sup port.”
“ The truth is better for you than blind support,” she said, “ and the truth is that you can ’ t know if something ’ s a waste of energy if you ’ ve never tried it.”
“ What ’ s that supposed to mean?”
“ Name a man you ’ ve invested in.”
I stared at her. Duh. “ Pet er.”
“ How? You never brought him home. I never met him. The Mizzes never met him.”
I stared at her. I never invested in Peter? What was she talking about? Of course I invested in Peter.
Didn ’ t I?
“ I slept next to the man for two years.” My words limped out, lame at the gate.
“ Whatever.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “ Anyone can be roommates.”
“ We were more than roommates.”
“ Did you ever tell him about the Penis Teflon?” She paused. “ Did you ever tell him that you have this insa ne idea that every man you ever care about will desert you?”
I stared at her. “ What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Beauji eyed me for a minute, then gave a brief nod and started down the road again. I looked at my watch and headed after her.
“ Shouldn ’ t we be turning around?”
“ No. It ’ s only two more miles to the Babb farm. Ian can drive us back.”
“ Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, grabbing her by the arm. “ Hold on there, cupcake. What do you think you ’ re doing?”
“ I am not going to sit here and listen to you ramble on about Penis Teflon for the rest of your damn life,” she said, jerking her arm out of my grip and pumping down the road. “ You can come with me or you can go home, but I ’ m paying a visit to Mr. Writer Man.”
“ To what exactly do I owe this un expected — and very early — pleasure?”
Ian sat down at the kitchen table after supplying us with tea and muffins. His hair was disheveled and his eyes bleary, but he ’ d been awake and writing when we barged in on him,
“ Why not?” Beauji caught up with me. “ I really don ’ t understand this who le, ‘ Oh, drat, the sexy millionaire likes me ’ bit you keep playing.”
“ I don ’ t care about his money.” What I cared about was the rough softness of his voice, and the way his eyes seemed to dive into mine whenever he looked at me. The way I felt so much happ ier when I was with him. “ I just enjoy his company.”
“ So where exactly is the problem here?”
“ He lives in London.”
“ Perfect for a summer fling, then.”
“ He ’ s already rejected me once.”
“ He was being a gentleman.”
I cringed. “ I cried in bed with him.”
Beauji paused, then started walking again. “ I ’ ll give you that one as a definite mood spoiler, but he seems to like you anyway, so what ’ s the problem?”
I caught up with her and debated answering the question before finally coming out with it. “ Penis Teflon .”
“ Tell me you ’ re kidding,” she said. I shook my head.
“ You mean you ’ re going to throw away a perfectly good famous millionaire writer because of Penis Teflon ? It ’ s imaginary, Portia.”
“ That ’ s easy for you to say,” I grumbled.
I got a few feet ahead befor e I realized Beauji had stopped. I turned to face her.
“ What? Your water break or something?”
She stared at me. “ Why? Why would it be any easier for me than it would for you?”
I shrugged, trying to come up with something that wouldn ’ t make me sound stupid and petty. I couldn ’ t, so I said what I was thinking.
“ Your men stick. Your father stayed. Your boyfriend became your husband and he ’ s still around. You ’ ve got brothers. Me...I ’ m Penis Teflon. If I learned anything from Peter, it ’ s that it ’ s a waste of ene rgy to invest in a man emotionally.”
She studied me with sharp eyes and crossed her arms over her tremendous belly. “ Well, that ’ s about the stupidest thing I ’ ve ever heard.”
I kicked a stone and sent it flying off the side of the road. “ Thanks for your sup port.”
“ The truth is better for you than blind support,” she said, “ and the truth is that you can ’ t know if something ’ s a waste of energy if you ’ ve never tried it.”
“ What ’ s that supposed to mean?”
“ Name a man you ’ ve invested in.”
I stared at her. Duh. “ Pet er.”
“ How? You never brought him home. I never met him. The Mizzes never met him.”
I stared at her. I never invested in Peter? What was she talking about? Of course I invested in Peter.
Didn ’ t I?
“ I slept next to the man for two years.” My words limped out, lame at the gate.
“ Whatever.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “ Anyone can be roommates.”
“ We were more than roommates.”
“ Did you ever tell him about the Penis Teflon?” She paused. “ Did you ever tell him that you have this insa ne idea that every man you ever care about will desert you?”
I stared at her. “ What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Beauji eyed me for a minute, then gave a brief nod and started down the road again. I looked at my watch and headed after her.
“ Shouldn ’ t we be turning around?”
“ No. It ’ s only two more miles to the Babb farm. Ian can drive us back.”
“ Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, grabbing her by the arm. “ Hold on there, cupcake. What do you think you ’ re doing?”
“ I am not going to sit here and listen to you ramble on about Penis Teflon for the rest of your damn life,” she said, jerking her arm out of my grip and pumping down the road. “ You can come with me or you can go home, but I ’ m paying a visit to Mr. Writer Man.”
“ To what exactly do I owe this un expected — and very early — pleasure?”
Ian sat down at the kitchen table after supplying us with tea and muffins. His hair was disheveled and his eyes bleary, but he ’ d been awake and writing when we barged in on him,
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