Always A Bridesmaid

“Hello,” he said. She hated the fact that her pulse stuttered. He hesitated a moment, long enough that, for a breathless instant, she wondered if he was going to lean down and kiss her.

But he didn’t. Instead, he sat. “Sorry I’m late. My boss called me in just as I was leaving.”

“Trouble?”

His grin flashed, quick and white. “No more than usual.”

Just looking at him made her remember the feel of his mouth on hers, the taste of him, the intimacy of that dark, male flavor. And the man knew how to kiss, knew how to use that clever, clever mouth to turn a woman to mush.

Not her, not anymore, she reminded herself grimly.

“So how was the rest of your weekend? Breakfast with your brother, right?”

“Good memory,” she said.

“Where’d you go?”

“His house. His wife’s pregnant and on bed rest, so I brought the breakfast. We mostly just sat outside, drank coffee. And read the paper,” she added, watching him closely. “After all, it wouldn’t be Sunday without the paper, would it?”

“No, indeed. Are you a big newspaper fan?” he asked, just a touch of care in his words.

“Oh, about like average. I like to know what’s going on in town. Of course, I like it from a reputable paper, not a scandal rag.”

“Don’t like reading about Brangelina and space aliens?” He looked amused.

“Don’t like seeing people’s reputations trashed. Some of these reporters, they’re like snipers taking potshots from deep cover. They stay nice and safe while they destroy innocent people’s lives. And the editors just let them do it.”

“Not everybody who winds up in the paper is innocent.”

“And not every story written is accurate. Of course, the problem is that the jazzy stories show up on page one and the retractions show up on the bottom corner of page thirty-eight.”

“News sells.”

“Wrecking people’s lives sells,” she countered.

Gil leaned forward. “So did Woodward and Bernstein destroy lives or uncover corruption in government?”