Make It Hot. Gwyneth Bolton
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“Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“Girl, I had to leave before you were done with your last patient.” Jenny’s bubbly voice came through the phone line. “And you know I had to call you and find out how it went. I’ve never seen you almost snap on a patient before. Girl, I thought you were going to rip his head off. His fine-as-he-wants-to-be head off, I might add.”
Samantha hissed. “He’s rude, and he’s a bear.”
And truth be told, his stank attitude hurt your feelings and shattered all the little idealized images of him you had in your mind.
“Whatever. He’s something to look at, and he had his other fine brother with him.” The distinct sound of smacking lips followed by “mmm” interrupted Jenny’s adulation. “Girl, I was glad you were late. I got to sneak glances at those two fine Hightower men the entire time. You know, I went to high school with the oldest Hightower brother, Patrick. Every girl in Paterson wanted to snag one of those Hightower boys—”
“I can hardly imagine why. Joel Hightower is a surly, opinionated jerk. In fact, I’m going to start calling him Mr. Surly.”
Jenny laughed.
“What’re you laughing at? It’s not funny.”
“I just think it’s funny you find him so opinionated. Tell me, is that your expert opinion, since you can be a little opinionated yourself?”
“Ha, ha, ha. The difference is my opinions are usually right, and his…Oh, forget it. I don’t want to talk about Mr. Surly.”
“Hmm…I’ve never seen you get this worked up over a guy before. Interesting.”
“And I think you might be in need of a shrink, because clearly you’ve lost your mind.”
“Right. We’ll see what the next months shall bring, now won’t we?”
“No, we won’t, and I’m not worked up over Joel Hightower. I don’t get worked up. That’s not my style. I’m an easygoing, laid back, live and let live kind of a girl.”
It was all she could do to keep her voice calm because she didn’t like the fact that Jenny had called her on her less-than-cool response to the surly but fine-as-all-get-out Joel Hightower.
“Yeah, you’re easygoing, all right. You easily let some of the finest men in North Jersey go on about their business once they get tired of trying to work their way into your world.”
Samantha also didn’t like the tone of Jenny’s know-it-all voice that was hitting a little too close to home. So what if she hadn’t met a guy who could successfully hold her interest for more than three dates? So what if she preferred to keep her options open and not get too serious at this point in her life?
“Oh, please tell me this isn’t going to turn into another why-don’t-you-settle-down talk. I like my life the way it is. I’m twenty-seven, I have a career I love, and I get to meet all kinds of guys and go out when I have time. I’m cool with my life.” Was that a little whine in her voice she heard? She cleared her throat and sat up a little as she clutched the phone.
“You don’t let anyone get close.”
“I let you get close, and believe me, I rethink that every day,” Samantha joked through tight lips.
“Ha, ha. You know that’s not what I mean. If I didn’t know you better, I might start to think you don’t like men, but I think you just don’t trust them. You’re a serial dater, and you don’t let guys stick around long enough to get close.”
“That’s not true!” Not really…
“What about my cousin Paul?”
“Paul? The cop?” Samantha shook her head as she remembered the brash rookie cop. He had been handsome without a doubt, but not handsome enough to make her forget her vow.
“Not my type. You shouldn’t have even set me up with him. I could have told you that wasn’t going to work. I’m not into guys with dangerous occupations.”
“Mmm, hmm, and all other guys fit under the two-or-three date rule. You cut them loose after a few dates.”
“That’s because I’m particular about things like, oh, I don’t know, conversation. I’m looking for someone who will make me think, make me laugh and who has a nice, safe, uneventful job. I’m not picky at all.”
“So, you’ll just keep dating and leaving all the most eligible guys in the area until there are no more left to date, without really giving them a chance?” Jenny’s tone was exasperated.
“If they don’t fit the criteria, I have to keep it moving. Time waits for no man, and neither do I. No need dragging out the inevitable. I prefer to think of it as power dating until I find the right one.”
She blinked when Joel Hightower’s bold and daring face popped into her head. Those brooding brown eyes would challenge her without end. That insufferable personality wouldn’t allow him to agree with a thing she said and would probably make conversations riveting and interesting, to say the least. And those irritatingly witty little snipes of his would keep her on her toes. She tried to shake his smirking face from her head.
When that didn’t work, she imagined him in his fireman uniform. The image didn’t disappear, but at least it reminded her that no matter how much she found herself oddly attracted to him, he was not the one.
“And I think you might have met the right one today if you don’t wimp out and give the sexy Hightower a fair look.”
Samantha rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. What was it with Jenny and this Joel Hightower guy?
“Whatever, girlfriend.” She yawned. “Listen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”
“Bye, Hightower Fan-Club President…”
Samantha sucked her teeth, hung up the phone and tried to get Joel Hightower out of her head.
The next morning, the phone woke Samantha up. She glanced at the clock. Seven o’clock. It was time to get up and start getting ready for work, anyway, but dang.
She cleared her throat and tried to do a halfway decent job of getting the frog out. “Hello.”
“Hello, Sammie, did I wake you?”
“No, Mom.” She tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain so she could get a read on her mother’s voice. It was too early in the morning for Veronica Dash to be drunk, but that had never stopped her before. More than likely, she was getting an early start to her drinking day.
“I figured I would catch you before you went to that little job of yours. When I call you in the evenings, you never really have anything to say.”
That’s because the only thing I want to say to you is “Mom, stop drinking,” but I can’t say that because then you’d get all huffy and drink even more.
“Anyway, I know you were just home a few months back, but that was only for a week and a half. I just think it would be nice if you got a job in Chicago, or at least a little closer. So, I was looking through the want ads—”
“Mom, I’m happy with my job now. I like it here. You had to know I couldn’t stay in Chicago forever.”
This Samantha-come-home conversation was getting old.
“You act like it’s so horrible for a mother to want her child closer to home.”
Why? You haven’t really paid me any attention since I was twelve and your drinking spiraled out of control.
But she couldn’t say anything without starting World War III and sending her mother on a drinking binge.
Today, she opted out instead.
“When are you going to stop these little games of yours, Samantha? When are you going to stop or trying to