Turn Up the Heat. Isabel Sharpe
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walk around on a day like today in shorts, shirtless and not even have their balls retract. His were somewhere up near where they’d been the day he was born. “I should have figured with you so dressed up.”
“I don’t always dress like this.”
He almost said “No kidding” but didn’t want her thinking—okay, knowing—that he’d taken a somewhat voyeur-type interest in her and was already curious about her abrupt changes in style. “Too bad.”
She smiled, and under her sex-aura he thought he detected shyness. “Thank you.”
“You … go on a lot of dates?”
“Recently, yes.”
He took a step back. He really liked the look of this woman, the way she smiled so often, and the sensual energy she emitted, but he wasn’t the type to stand in a testosterone line. Angie, his ex-girlfriend, was like that. A man-magnet, who was a lot better at attracting than at repelling, for which she was unapologetic, to say the least. She was one of the reasons he’d done more than just consider cutting ties to his home state.
“I joined a dating site.”
“Yeah?” He stopped moving back. That would explain all the dates—easy access to a pool of single guys. But not the variety of outfits. “How’s that working?”
“Not bad. Not great.” She laughed. “Sometimes I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”
He nodded, not really understanding. For someone who didn’t think it was a good idea, she sure put a lot of effort into transforming herself.
“My friend owns the site. Milwaukeedates.com. It’s … sort of a favor to her.”
“Really.” Now that was interesting. She was going on dates to help out a friend, not to find someone? What about the women who signed up legitimately at the website? What about the poor men who thought they were on a real date and had a chance with her? “The company isn’t doing well? Needs more women?”
“Oh.” She dropped her eyes, clearly flustered. “No, she … No, it’s doing very well. In fact, Marie won a Best Success Stories award last year from Women in Power, a local organization of female business owners. I belong, too.”
“Good for her.” His reporter instinct started humming. Something was making this appetizing Candy-gram pretty uncomfortable. After graduating with a degree in journalism from the University of Southern California, Justin made most of his money through his technical-writing job, but kept his hand in investigative reporting simply because he loved it.
“What do you do?”
“I have my own event-planning company. We do kids’ parties, adult parties, corporate events, whatever anyone needs.”
“What a great job.”
“I enjoy it a lot.”
His mind was still spinning. Bob Rondell, longtime friend and ex-roommate, a good-looking successful guy who loved conspiracy theories, had one about a dating site he’d joined in San Diego. He was convinced the company employed hot women, put up their profiles, and had them show up on two or three chaste dates per new enrollee, to boost the site’s cachet and to keep the men eagerly paying steep monthly dues in case the next date worked out better. At the time Justin had chalked up the theory to Bob’s bruised ego.
But … he’d heard other rumors of deceptive practices on dating sites. It could happen. Justin had learned to trust his instinct when it told him something was worth probing further. Just not here, now, with his ears on fire, his nose running and his toes going numb.
“Well, enjoy your date.”
She looked rueful. “Coffee in your kitchen sounds more fun.”
“The offer stands for another time.” He backed into the street a few steps, keeping their eye contact going, and then turned and did everything he could to amble casually up to his back door when every frozen cell in his body was begging him to run as fast as he safely could.
Was it spring yet?
Inside, still enjoying the mental picture of Candy’s body beckoning in purple and black, but feeling bad for the guy she was going to meet with all the excitement of someone facing jail time, he let himself warm up for a few minutes, turning over the meager facts. Nothing substantial to go on. But … an article exposing fraud of any type was always fascinating to readers, and it wouldn’t do any harm for him to check further.
He hauled out his phone and dialed Bob in California with fingers still clumsy from the chill. Would he ever get used to winter in this place? He missed surfing the most. Maybe he should take up cross-country skiing. Supposed to be a good enough workout that you didn’t mind so much being flash-frozen.
“Bob, hey, it’s Justin. What’s going on?”
“Sitting on my balcony in a swimsuit, getting some sun, enjoying a good book and a beer. You?”
Justin made a noise of disgust. “Up to my testes in ice.”
“Ha! Dude, I knew you’d get hammered there. Serious winter. Come home, the living is still easy.”
“Nah, I like it so far. Except for the cold.”
“Right, and that’s only a mere eight months of the year. I lived in Boston and nearly died. Wisconsin is worse.”
“Don’t need to hear it, I’m living it.”
“I’m telling you … How’s the book coming with Troy?”
“We’ve made a good start.”
“Yeah? I can’t picture the two of you doing anything but goofing around drinking beer.”
“We’re working. We have deadlines, we have to.” He put icy fingers under his arm to try to thaw them. “Listen, are you still signed up at that dating site?”
“CalDates? No-ho-ho-ho.” He chuckled out the syllables. “Waste of good money. I told you my theory.”
“That’s why I’m calling.” He outlined the situation with Candy, her odd behavior and his completely unfounded suspicions.
“One question. Is she hot?”
“Let’s just say hers is the only house on the block without snow.”
Bob snorted. “Then yes. I bet you anything she’s working for this friend of hers who owns the site. Probably whoever comes in, he’s matched up with her in whatever disguise he seems to want, and bingo, she walks in and he’s thinking ‘look at this chick, this is the site for me!’ Then she disappears after a couple of dates. ‘It’s not you, it’s me. No, really.’
“After that, he keeps striking out, but the memory of that first hot woman keeps him renewing the charges. I’m telling you, men are simple. Lonely men are even simpler. ‘Do I have a hope of getting laid again someday? I’ll keep paying.’”
Justin made a noncommital sound and switched his hands so the other one could have hope of getting feeling back. He wasn’t sure he liked hearing men classified as simpletons, though he admitted one glance at Candy dressed the way she was today, and he’d been having some pretty simple thoughts: Me want that.
“You know they did some study of chickens pecking at levers. One group always got food when it pecked. Pretty soon those birds got full and stopped. One group never got food from pecking. They gave up, too, pretty quick. The third group sometimes got food, sometimes didn’t. Those guys never stopped pecking. See what I mean?”
“Uh …”
“Dude, men are the same. Give us a little hope, a few dates with a fantasy babe, and we’ll keep trying forever. It’s brilliant when you stop to think about it.”
“Brilliant.” He was even more uncomfortable now. The chicken story was a little close to home when he thought