She's Got the Look by Leslie Kelly Page A

her.
    â€œMaybe that’s why she did it,” she admitted under her breath. Because on one or two occasions when the self-doubt had been overwhelming, she’d told her best friend about her deepest fear—that Bill’s description of her as a pretty, lifeless, sexless doll was true. Rosemary had been a quiet, comforting voice of support. But she’d also wanted to go find a voodoo priestess and have some juju put on Bill so he could never get it up again.
    Hmm…if the bastard didn’t stay out of her life from now on, Melody might just think about it.
    Rosemary believed in action, not words. So Melody could almost hear her justifying today’s actions. Her friend had undoubtedly figured that the minute Melody recognized her Time magazine hero, she’d forget the list had been a joke, let her libido take over for her brain, and end up wiling away the rest of the day in this guy’s bed.
    Finally realizing she’d better go before Nick came outside and assume she’d been waiting for him, she started walking back toward her place. “He’d probably think I was out here planning to pounce on him because of that stupid list,” she muttered.
    It wasn’t that she hadn’t been tempted—the man was temptation on two legs. But she wasn’t ready for it. Sex with anybody required a level of trust she wasn’t sure she was capable of giving anymore.
    And sex with somebody who could crush her with one bored look, or a lack of interest in a second round? No way. Her ego couldn’t stand it. She’d be better off going to bed with the unsexiest, most boring, unattractive guy she could find. That way, if she wasn’t inspiring enough to command a repeat performance, at least she wouldn’t give a damn.
    With Nick, she’d give a damn.
    She really didn’t deserve this, not now when she finally felt that things were coming together. Because Nick Walker made her feel anything but together. He confused her. Angered her. Amused her. Oh, Lord, definitely aroused her. But she didn’t have time in her life for any of that right now. Not confusion or anger, not distraction or embarrassment.
    Not sex. Not him.
    â€œNot sex with him.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    She realized she’d spoken aloud when she glanced up and saw a man standing directly in front of her on the sidewalk. She’d almost barreled into him, paying attention only to what was going on in her head and not what was happening in front of her face. For a second she thought she’d just made an idiot of herself for about the tenth time in an hour in front of a complete stranger. But this wasn’t a stranger.
    She wasn’t sure whether that made it better or worse.
    â€œUh, hi,” she said, clearing her throat. “I almost didn’t recognize you without salsa music or the smell of enchiladas.”
    The Hispanic owner of the Mexican restaurant where Melody had hung out with her friends for years gave her a warm smile. “Believe it or not, this is my second favorite place to eat.” He pointed to the café she’d just left, which was only a few yards behind her. “I come here for grits and biscuits.”
    The restaurant owner, who kept his few strands of overly shiny black hair brushed across his bald head in a blatant attempt to defy late middle-age, didn’t look like the grits-and-biscuits type. Though judging by the pendulous belly straining the buttons of his short-sleeved white dress shirt, Mel supposed he hadn’t been living on tortillas alone.
    â€œYou’re not with your friends this morning?” he asked, looking around as if expecting to see Paige, Rosemary or Tanya hiding behind a car parked at the curb. “I didn’t think you girls ever did anything without each other.”
    She really hated the way some men called grown women “girls.” That was on her pet-peeve list. Along with men who called their cars