Wilde for You

“You-know?” She couldn’t help teasing. “What’s you-know?”

“You know what you-know is,” he said, low and sexy, his eyes sparkling in the light, his smile crooked, the effect as romantic and inviting in the bright pizza parlor as it would have been in a dimly lit bistro.

She sighed. “Yeah. We both know.”

“I’m married. And I’m your boss, more or less. Playing Skee-Ball or sharing a beer or just sitting here talking, however innocent, is a bad idea.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” She leaned forward, chin on her fist. “I hope your wife appreciates you, Tucker.”

“I’m sure she does,” he said, but his eyes flickered away. What was up with that?

“What’s her name anyway? And where did you meet?”

“Her name is Julie and my, um, brother introduced us.”

“Where is she tonight? How come you’re eating alone?”

“She’s out of town. Working. She’s, um, an airline pilot.”

“An airline pilot? That’s cool.”

“She likes it.”

“So, she travels a lot?”

“All the time.”

Why did he look so guilty? She couldn’t see Tucker playing around. He struck her as an honest, loyal guy. He’d been very upset about the make-out session while he was still seeing Sylvia. Now Cricket had to know more.

“So what is Julie like?”

“She’s smart…and pretty, I guess.”

“You guess? Can I see her picture?”

“I don’t have one on me.”

No photo in the wallet? That wasn’t a good sign. She’d figured Tucker would be a sentimental guy, judging from the affectionate way he’d talked about his friends that night. “So, describe her to me.”

“Let’s see…medium build, dark hair to her shoulders. A little shorter than me.” He sounded like he had to wrack his brain to remember.

“That’s it? What about her eyes? What color are they?”

“Her eyes?” He looked completely panicked. “They’re green…and brown, too. Hazel, I guess.”

“Not very observant, Tucker.”

“I know the big things.”

“Little things add up to big things. Like what’s her favorite food? Favorite flavor of ice cream? Best band? What’s her pet peeve?”

“The important thing is that we make each other happy.”

“Does she make you happy, Tucker? Really?” She hadn’t meant to sound so serious, but she was a little worried about him.

“Of course she does,” he said, but he seemed tense and he was twisting his wedding ring like a stuck jar lid. “Could we stop talking about my marriage?”

“If you’d rather not talk about it.” Maybe Julie wasn’t good enough for Tucker. Maybe she’d seen what a catch he was and taken advantage of his kind nature.

“Okay, I’ll play your game,” he said abruptly, evidently taking her words as a challenge. “Her favorite food is chicken parmesan. Favorite ice cream—Cherry Garcia. She loves Bon Jovi. Her pet peeve is people who chat at the post office window when there’s a line. Her dress size is four—six if she feels bloated—and her favorite color is teal. Happy?”

“Teal, huh? Impressive. I didn’t think men even knew there was such a color. Of course you could be bluffing,” she teased. “I’ll check your answers at the back-to-school social. Julie will be there, right?”

“She’ll be there, all right.” But he didn’t look that happy about it.

An explanation suddenly occurred to her. “You don’t need to worry, Tuck. I’ll keep our sordid past a secret.” She winked, then drank another swallow of his beer, knowing it would annoy him.

“Would you like one of your own?” he asked wryly.

“It tastes better borrowed.” She was relieved he’d lightened up a little. “I can’t wait to meet Julie.”

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to meet you, too,” he said, tapping his beer bottle against her Dr. Pepper mug with a sigh.

Maybe once she met Julie, she’d feel better. Find out he was in a good marriage with a good woman. She didn’t want to think of him unhappy. And she didn’t want to be lusting after a married man. Any more than she already was, at least.

3

“THIS FEELS LIKE opening night,” Anna whispered, clutching a foil-covered bowl of her Asian chicken salad, which she’d made as Tuck’s contribution to the back-to-school potluck.

“Just don’t overact,” Tucker said for the fifth time, holding the door to the gym for her. Anna was entirely too into her role. She’d quizzed him about the other “characters” who would be part of tonight’s “performance,” and about her “motivation” as well as his. She’d even done research on female commercial pilots.

“Have a little faith, Tucker. I’m here to help.” She slipped her arm through his.

“I know you are.” God help him. The plan was to meet a few people, grab a quick bite and cut out early. Later, Tucker would watch the twins for a weekend—which would be pure joy—and everything would be back to normal.

With a silent prayer to the patron saint of fake marriages, he led Anna across the gym floor toward where the crowd had gathered by the cafeteria tables covered in patriotic paper cloths.

The gymnasium had been halved by a portable wall to make it more cozy, but voices echoed in the high-ceilinged space. Fluorescent lights gleamed off the polished wood floor and the benches folded against the walls. A cougar glared down from the backboard of the basketball hoop above the stage, where streamers looped, along with a paper welcome banner. The homey aroma of fried chicken, rolls and barbecued beans mingled with the rubber-and-wood smell of the gym for an interesting effect—sporty, yet savory.

Tucker spotted Harvey Winfield near the punch bowl with a woman—his wife Nadine, no doubt—and decided to get the most important encounter over first and fast. “Principal at twelve o’clock,” he murmured to Anna through his smile and headed straight for the target.

“So nice to see you both,” Harvey said, when they reached him, and had introduced everyone. “Tucker here is my right-hand man,” he said to Anna.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Anna said. “Because Tucker simply lives for his work. Just lives for it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nadine said sympathetically.

“No, no. It’s great. Really. Because I live for my work, too, so it’s perfect. We’re like a well-oiled marriage machine.”