hair, and you did a lousy job of it today.”
Blackmail could work two ways. “You’d better be nice to me, or I’ll leave you on your own. Just you, Lucy, and little baby Butt. Isn’t it cute the way she says da da ?” With what she very much hoped was a saucy smile, she picked up her steps and left him behind.
Saucy. It was so un-Cornelia-like. She loved it.
He smiled as she walked away. The lady had attitude, he’d give her that. From the rear, it was impossible to tell that she was pregnant. He didn’t want her pregnant, he realized. He wanted her in sexy lingerie.
It wasn’t often he shocked himself, but this time he’d managed it. His smile faded. Pregnant women represented everything he didn’t want in his life, yet he’d just mentally undressed one. The idea made him shudder.
His relationship with the female sex had always been complex. Growing up surrounded by so many women had made him crave the masculine. He loved smelly locker rooms, rough contact, and no-holds-barred political debates. He enjoyed gruff voices and a little blood at hockey games. He liked shampoo that only had shampoo in it—no flowers, vegetables, or fruit salad. He loved having a bathroom to himself. No pink barrettes on the basin, no underwire bras hanging from the shower head. A cupboard beneath the sink that held shaving cream instead of boxes of mini pads, maxi pads, tampons of every size and shape, products for light days, heavy days, bad hair days, and I’m-too-fat days. He was a guy! He wanted to be surrounded by guy things. Unfortunately, the best guy thing of all was having sex with a great woman.
It was a dilemma he’d solved in the only way he knew how, by being up-front. He let women know at the beginning that he’d served his time as a family man, and he didn’t ever intend to do it again. Then he laid out the rules—great sex, mutual respect, lots of personal space, and no permanent commitments.
Still, there were always women who had a death wish that attracted them to a man who set hard boundaries. A few of them had convinced themselves they could get him to the altar, although he couldn’t imagine why they’d want to drag a commitment out of someone with such a deep-seated aversion to family life. As bad a husband as he’d be, he’d make an even worse father.
He still winced when he remembered all those sucker punches he’d thrown at his sisters when he was a kid and he hadn’t known any other way to keep them in line. It was a miracle he hadn’t hurt them.
He pitched his root beer can into a trash barrel and stuffed his hands in his pockets. At least one good thing was coming out of this misadventure—he didn’t have time to brood about the way he’d screwed up a professional life he’d worked so hard to build.
Not long after he’d put himself through college, his mother had died. With more financial responsibility for his family, he’d worked harder than ever to build his career, and it had paid off as he’d moved from a small-town paper to the Chicago News Bureau and finally to the Standard . He’d had everything he’d wanted: a high-profile job in a great city, money in the bank, good friends, and enough leisure to play some ice hockey. And if he sometimes thought a man who’d accomplished all his goals should be happier . . . well, nothing in life was perfect.
Then Sid Giles had come courting. Sid had been developing a television news program called Byline , and he wanted Mat as his head producer. Although Mat had no experience in television, his journalistic credentials were impeccable, and Sid needed him for the credibility he’d lend the show. In addition to offering Mat an astronomical amount of money, Sid promised that he’d be able to do quality work.
Mat initially turned him down, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the offer. Maybe this was what was missing from his life, he’d thought. A chance to push himself in a new direction. He’d finally accepted the job and
Blackmail could work two ways. “You’d better be nice to me, or I’ll leave you on your own. Just you, Lucy, and little baby Butt. Isn’t it cute the way she says da da ?” With what she very much hoped was a saucy smile, she picked up her steps and left him behind.
Saucy. It was so un-Cornelia-like. She loved it.
He smiled as she walked away. The lady had attitude, he’d give her that. From the rear, it was impossible to tell that she was pregnant. He didn’t want her pregnant, he realized. He wanted her in sexy lingerie.
It wasn’t often he shocked himself, but this time he’d managed it. His smile faded. Pregnant women represented everything he didn’t want in his life, yet he’d just mentally undressed one. The idea made him shudder.
His relationship with the female sex had always been complex. Growing up surrounded by so many women had made him crave the masculine. He loved smelly locker rooms, rough contact, and no-holds-barred political debates. He enjoyed gruff voices and a little blood at hockey games. He liked shampoo that only had shampoo in it—no flowers, vegetables, or fruit salad. He loved having a bathroom to himself. No pink barrettes on the basin, no underwire bras hanging from the shower head. A cupboard beneath the sink that held shaving cream instead of boxes of mini pads, maxi pads, tampons of every size and shape, products for light days, heavy days, bad hair days, and I’m-too-fat days. He was a guy! He wanted to be surrounded by guy things. Unfortunately, the best guy thing of all was having sex with a great woman.
It was a dilemma he’d solved in the only way he knew how, by being up-front. He let women know at the beginning that he’d served his time as a family man, and he didn’t ever intend to do it again. Then he laid out the rules—great sex, mutual respect, lots of personal space, and no permanent commitments.
Still, there were always women who had a death wish that attracted them to a man who set hard boundaries. A few of them had convinced themselves they could get him to the altar, although he couldn’t imagine why they’d want to drag a commitment out of someone with such a deep-seated aversion to family life. As bad a husband as he’d be, he’d make an even worse father.
He still winced when he remembered all those sucker punches he’d thrown at his sisters when he was a kid and he hadn’t known any other way to keep them in line. It was a miracle he hadn’t hurt them.
He pitched his root beer can into a trash barrel and stuffed his hands in his pockets. At least one good thing was coming out of this misadventure—he didn’t have time to brood about the way he’d screwed up a professional life he’d worked so hard to build.
Not long after he’d put himself through college, his mother had died. With more financial responsibility for his family, he’d worked harder than ever to build his career, and it had paid off as he’d moved from a small-town paper to the Chicago News Bureau and finally to the Standard . He’d had everything he’d wanted: a high-profile job in a great city, money in the bank, good friends, and enough leisure to play some ice hockey. And if he sometimes thought a man who’d accomplished all his goals should be happier . . . well, nothing in life was perfect.
Then Sid Giles had come courting. Sid had been developing a television news program called Byline , and he wanted Mat as his head producer. Although Mat had no experience in television, his journalistic credentials were impeccable, and Sid needed him for the credibility he’d lend the show. In addition to offering Mat an astronomical amount of money, Sid promised that he’d be able to do quality work.
Mat initially turned him down, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the offer. Maybe this was what was missing from his life, he’d thought. A chance to push himself in a new direction. He’d finally accepted the job and
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