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Shaking her head, Kate chuckled. “Nope. Sorry to disappoint you, she’s a pretty, forty-something housewife with an uninspired husband. I think you’ve been watching too many movies about small-town life.”
“I was raised in a town just like this, by my father the fire chief and my mother the former dairy princess.”
“Interesting background, considering your name,” Jack said.
“Arnold Dettinger didn’t work for me in Chicago,” Armand explained with a shrug. “And since I haven’t been home in twelve years, I’ll consider this my trial run. Who knows? If no one starts dragging out the tar and feathers, I might follow your lead and plan a trip back to Milltown for Christmas.”
Jack saw Kate squeeze her friend’s hand. “I’m sure your parents would like that.”
Armand gave a resigned shrug. “My mother, maybe. My father would be too busy ordering me not to embarrass him in front of the guys at the fire house to have time to be pleased.”
Jack cleared his throat. “He might surprise you.” Seeing Armand’s doubting expression, Jack continued. “I have to believe that deep down fathers always want their sons to come home. Just don’t wait until it’s too late to find out.”
LATER, with Armand settled into Kate’s mother’s old room, Jack followed Kate into the other duplex and up to her bedroom.
“So, you going to tell me the truth about the Bunko orgy?” he asked as she reached for the bottom of his shirt.
“You really want to hear?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper. “All the women were blondes except me, and they all had really big breasts. When we got there, we all took off our shirts and compared.”
He snorted with laughter.
“Then, we squirted each other up with scented oils and gave each other massages, until we were just rolling around on the floor, one big mass of naked, squirming female bodies.”
“You’re evil.”
“Isn’t that every guy’s fantasy orgy?”
“Well, no, actually he’d need to be there. Preferably on the bottom of the pile of naked, squirming female bodies.”
“Men are so weird.” She rolled her eyes. “What is the attraction of more than one woman at a time?”
“I have no idea,” he explained, trying hard to retain a serious expression. “I personally find that type of thing shocking and sordid.”
She punched him lightly in the stomach.
“Oh, come on, you’re buying into the male stereotype. It’s at most a fantasy—the old ‘me Tarzan, you Jane, you Janet’ thing. Caveman-must-propagate-the-species genes rearing their persistent heads.” When she crossed her arms impatiently, he continued. “Most men don’t know what the hell to do with one woman and certainly couldn’t handle two and they know it.”
“True.”
“Besides,” he continued, “don’t women fantasize about being with two men, too?”
“Not this woman. I would never want to be in bed with a naked guy who didn’t mind being in bed with another naked guy.”
Jack’s shoulders shook as he laughed.
“Besides,” she continued, “if a man likes other men enough to be naked with them, then there’s one or two things I’m lacking that he’s bound to notice.”
“I’d rather notice the one or two very nice, feminine things you have,” he said with a definite leer.
As he reached out his hand and traced the tip of his fingers along the top hem of her loose blouse, she gave him a languid smile.
“One is more than enough for me,” she murmured. “Though, two yous might be nice.”
He paused, giving her a mock frown. “Did you say two Hughs?”
She rolled her eyes and shoved him onto the mattress, falling on top of him. They rolled across it, wrapped in each other’s arms exchanging laughter and hot kisses.
“I said two yous. Two Jacks. Two sets of these amazing hands.” She brought his hand to her lips, kissing the tips of his fingers and sliding her mouth over his pinky. “Two perfect mouths on my body.” She leaned up to press her lips against his. “Two tongues to taste me.”
