What A Girl Wants by Liz Maverick Page A

Jesus . . . wait a minute. You can’t French-kiss a person at a funeral. You just can’t. In fact, I don’t want to go out with a guy who would try to French-kiss a girl at a funeral. It’s remarkably inappropriate. I don’t care what Suz thinks.
    But then Grant pulled away slightly and looked at his watch. He frowned and stepped back. “Damn.”
    Hey! Wait a minute. What’s up with that? Flooded with disappointment, Hayley narrowed her eyes and gazed at him suspiciously. If she hadn’t already made it to third base with him, she’d have to accuse him of being a tease.
    Grant didn’t seem to be put off by her expression. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and removed two business cards. Handing them both to her he said, “I have to go. Can I get a contact number?”
    Can I get a contact number? Could he possibly have picked a more unromantic way to ask for her phone number?
    Hayley fished around in the bottom of her purse and pulled out a pencil. She wrote her phone number on one of the cards and handed it back to him without a word.
    â€œI’m glad we cleared everything up. I’ll see you around.” Then he turned and walked out of the courtyard to the street.
    Hayley watched him leave and then pressed two fingers to her forehead above her right eye, where a throbbing pain was just now gaining some steam. If she weren’t so confused, she’d be certain she was supposed to feel pathetic.
    Somebody’s elbow dug into her side. Hayley turned and could only roll her eyes at the sight of Suz tucking her shirt back into her jeans.
    â€œThat looked promising,” Suz said enthusiastically.
    Hayley shook her head, miserable. “Mistakes were made. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I have reason to believe that, between our first meeting and just now, he thinks I’m a politely deranged nymphomaniac with murderous instincts.” She ran her fingers through the choppy strands of hair he’d ruffled up. “It wasn’t the effect I was going for. I don’t know if he wants my phone number for a date or for a future police interview.”
    Suz grinned. “Just like Audra said, ‘murder and sexual intrigue.’ I’m impressed.”
    Hayley groaned. “Be serious. I needed you. I really needed you.I didn’t ask him out and I got nervous and I looked for you but you weren’t there and I started babbling and now I don’t know if he’s attracted to me or what.”
    Suz looked at Hayley askance and put her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You didn’t ask him?”
    Hayley shrugged and kicked the toe of her shoe against the ground.
    Hands on her hips, Suz gaped at Hayley. “But you said you were ready. We went to the Beer Garden, you came out all empowered and stuff, and you said you were ready! And he asked for your phone number.”
    She snatched the business card from Hayley’s hand and peered at it. “Oh, geez. And he gave you his phone number. How much more obvious did you want the poor guy to be?”
    â€œIt wasn’t obvious,” Hayley said sullenly. “He said ‘contact number,’ not ‘phone number.’ And that’s his office contact number, not his personal phone number on his business card, and since I haven’t the faintest idea as to whether he gave it to me for business or personal reasons, it’s not going to do me any good.”
    â€œAudra’s going to have a field day with this.” Suz sighed. “Let’s just look on the bright side. He gave you his card and if you want, you can use Fred as an excuse to go down to the police station and talk to him.”
    â€œAre you nuts? I can’t just prance into the police station and proposition him. There’s no way I would do that. No possible way.”
    In a strained voice that sounded suspiciously like