The Boy Toy

“Boy toy?” repeated Allison in surprise. “You mean, the type of young, sexy hunk you see on the arms of stars?”

“Sure, why not? You’re only twenty-six, young enough to get in the playpen with him if you want to. Why not find yourself that kind of brawn-over-brains stud—a man who can give you great sex with no strings attached? After all, isn’t the real issue here just what T.J. said, that you’re not prepared to settle down as yet?”

Suddenly Allison was fascinated by the possibilities. “Hmm, a boy toy. Such as—”

“Well, the pool man,” suggested Erin.

Allison chortled. “The pool man? Get out of here!”

“No, Erin’s right!” declared T.J. “When Don and I had our pool put in a year ago, the guys who did the construction were the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my life. You know, like cover models—with long blond hair, fabulous tanned bodies, walking around shirtless in tight, frayed jeans.” She paused to groan in ecstasy.

“T.J.!” Allison taunted. “I never realized you were a voyeur.”

T.J. bristled. “Hey, they were outside my kitchen window for weeks as I cooked breakfast. You can’t blame a girl for looking.”

“And drooling,” finished Erin. “I definitely know the feeling. Last week I almost picked up my personal trainer at the gym. I’ve never seen such perfect abs on a man. Then I found out he’s married—big bummer. But hey, there’s plenty more where he came from.”

“You know, you girls may have a point,” Allison remarked in building excitement. “I’ve seen some pretty gorgeous traffic cops, firemen and construction workers. It’s a thought. Maybe something uncomplicated would be nice for a change.”

“And don’t forget the urban cowboy car mechanic or factory worker,” advised T.J. “That’s one nice thing about Texas—we still grow good old boys here.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be a hoot?” Allison replied drolly. “Dating some male bimbo who’s as simple and empty-headed as most men seem to think I am. Let him be the sex object for a change.” She scowled. “If I could put up with the country boy b.s.—which might be a stretch.”

Erin rolled her eyes at T.J. “Looks like we’re unleashing a monster here.”

“So what’s new?” quipped T.J. “Allison always was a mankiller.”

“Hey, talk about the pots calling the kettle black,” Allison scolded back. “You guys are absolutely wicked, coming up with this fantasy.”

“Giving you ideas, eh?” Erin rejoined.

“Are you ever.” Allison’s eyes danced at the possibilities. “And who knows? I have to drop off my car for warranty service this afternoon. Maybe I can make some inroads at the dealership.”

“You mean a quick lube job from a grease monkey?” taunted Erin.

Allison cast her friend a withering look. “A grease monkey, Erin? Even I have my standards, you know. But, as I recall the salesman who sold me my ‘dream car’ was pretty cute, a former college football star or something—even if he was a real jerk to foist off such a bomb on me.”

“Sounds like a brainless good old boy to me,” agreed Erin. “And you can’t really blame him if he was born a quarter short of a ball game.”

Allison had to smile at that image. “No, I suppose I can’t. But maybe I can shame him into buying me dinner, give him a good goosing for conning me into purchasing a forty-thousand-dollar lemon with an engine that pitches like a mechanical bull—when it doesn’t tick like a bomb.”

T.J. grimaced. “Yeah, that’s pretty unfunny these days.”

Mind made up, Allison once again lifted her glass of white wine and saluted the others. “Thanks for the challenge, ladies. I hereby accept the gauntlet. Who knows? Perhaps I won’t have to give up on men quite so quickly.”

As her friends cheered and toasted her in turn, Allison smiled to herself. How she loved lunches with the girls. She’d come here today feeling really bummed, drained by the breakup with Adam, and down on men in general. But now her world was filled with possibilities again, thanks to the scheming of her friends.

A boy toy. Something fun, simple, uncomplicated. A no-strings fling.

Perhaps Erin was right that she intellectualized her relationships with men too much—assessing them all with a critical eye and finding them lacking. Why not choose a lover on a lark for a change, put some real fantasy and adventure in her life? She couldn’t possibly do any worse. This could be just what she needed for dessert—and maybe the next few months.

And this time, she was determined to have a relationship in which she set the ground rules.

2

“PETE CHISHOLM, you lazy dog, get your ugly mug out to the service lane and start checking in customers.”

Distracted from the computer screen in his cubicle, Pete swung around in his chair to glower at the brassy, middle-aged office manager, Roxy McClure. “Ugly mug?” he repeated in a menacing rumble.

Roxy grinned in a wrinkling of rouged cheeks and a flash of dimples. “Okay, gorgeous, don’t get your tail feathers in a twist. Lord knows you’re easy on the eyes, but you got way too much of a swelled head as it is.”

“Me?” Pete protested with boyish innocence.

“My point is, customers are stacked six deep, and the boss is going to blow half a dozen gaskets.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pete said dryly. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the boss man. Why isn’t Bud checking them in?”

“Still at lunch.”

“Damn it.” Pete surged to his feet. “Meaning he stopped off for another quickie with that cocktail waitress from ’Gators. We should fire his butt.”

Roxy rolled her eyes. “You’re one to talk. How many times has Bud covered for you, Romeo?”

Mischief danced in Pete’s pale blue eyes. “Roxy, you’re killin’ me—always believing the worst.”

She waved him off. “Yeah. That’s ’cause you are the worst—and pity all the females in this world who ain’t caught on to that yet.”

He flashed her a dazzling grin. “Now, Roxy, you know you have my undying devotion. Sure I can’t talk you into checking in a few vehicles yourself?”

“Meaning, this time of day, all that shows up is cranky old ladies that ain’t taken their iron tonic, eh?”

“You know you have much more patience than I do.”

Roxy picked up a clipboard and shoved it into his hands. “Save the charm, junior. I’ve been chewing up and spitting out better than you since before you were in diapers.”

Pete roared with laughter. “I get no respect around here.”

“So what else is new? Now, get your no-good carcass out the door—and no flirting with the women customers, either.”

Pete winked. “Roxy, you know I pride myself on my charm with the ladies. Haven’t a number of them, um, requested me?”

“Yeah, I know just what kind of service they have in mind. This ain’t a cathouse, buster. ’Sides, you’re only giving Bud and the others ideas that they can get away with dallying, too, when they ain’t got nearly your winsome ways.”

Pete literally beamed with that very winsomeness.

Roxy harrumphed, tapping Pete’s clipboard, ungently shoving it toward his lean middle. “Now scram, pip-squeak.”

In a whiff of her heavy perfume, Roxy turned and sashayed off. Pete shook his head. As office manager, Roxy was hardly a bigwig here, but she’d been an institution at Westview Motors for over twenty years. Every male who worked here had a healthy fear of her feisty nature—and Pete was certainly no exception.