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When one spot comes up empty, I frown. “Where the hell is Quince?”
Trent sighs. “He had to stay with Hudson. Emory had plans.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
Trent laughs. “Too bad, Romeo. We can’t all just be at your beck and call all the time.”
“Sure, you fucking can. Get him on the horn. Tell him to strap that little beauty in a carrier or some shit and get his ass over here.”
“He’s not going to come over here with the baby,” Milo reasons. “Emory barely even takes her out.”
“You call him,” I say to Trent, putting a mock phone to my ear. “Or this whole operation is coming to his house. He’s got a choice, but he better make it quickly.”
“Why the fluff do you need Quince so bad?” Thatch asks. “You’ve got the rest of us.”
“And the snacks are here,” Wes remarks, dipping his pig in a blanket into the tiny decorative bowl of mustard. “And, I can’t deny, these are about the only fucking reason I keep showing up.”
Thatch grins like a goddamn old lady at a bake sale. “Glad you’re enjoying them, Whitney. I added a touch of honey to the mustard to give it a little zing.”
“Jesus, Betty Crocker, can we fucking focus on the important shit?” I grumble. “I need Quince because he’s like the little puppy in the pet store window women can’t help but love. He’s got his expertise ingrained, and I need a little bit of his innocence. That’s fucking why.”
“Is it just me, or does anyone else think this book club has gotten a little intense?” Harrison asks.
“Don’t speak, sister-chaser!”
He laughs and puts up his hands. “I didn’t even say anything about your sister!”
“But you will. I know it. And I don’t have any patience for it right now.”
Trent pulls the phone away from his ear and shrugs. “He didn’t answer.”
“He’s probably putting Huddy down,” Milo suggests.
“Fucking hell!”
“Let’s just do this without him, Cap,” Theo says. “I’m not about to go barging into his house and wake up a sleeping baby. My mom taught me better than that shit.”
I heave a sigh and grab my book. “Fine. Do any of you at least have anything helpful to suggest we look at?”
Kline raises his hand, ever the rule-follower. “I bookmarked the first real wooing.”
“Wooing?”
“Wooing,” he confirms.
“Do I even know what that is? Is it some kind of sex?”
He rolls his eyes. “He’s romancing her, Cap. Jesus. In order to win a woman, you have to woo her. Romance her. Help her experience the things she’s always wanted to but doesn’t even know.”
“I’m supposed to know shit even she doesn’t know? What in the hell sense does that make?”
“Women give clues,” Wes explains. “Surely after all these years of sleeping with a million of them, you’d understand that.”
“The only clues women give me are getting naked, sucking my dick, and climbing on top to take me for a ride.”
“Good God,” Theo mutters. “It’s safe to say writing love letters is out of the question for you.”
“Look, I’ve never had to try this hard to…”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say sleep with someone, but as far as these fuckers are concerned, I’m after a whole lot more. If I want their help, I’m going to have to keep up the charade.
“Pursue someone.”
“That’s because you’ve never been with this caliber of woman. I haven’t met her, but just the fact that she’s kept her panties on this long means something.”
I scowl. I don’t really like the idea of Harrison talking about Ruby’s panties.
“Hey, asshole,” I say. “Keep it classy.”
For some reason, Kline, Thatch, Wes, Trent, and Milo all exchange looks. I don’t know what they mean, and I don’t have time to figure it out. The timetable of this pursuit is long enough without their bullshit.
“What page is this Wu-Tang shit you’re talking about, Kline?”
He laughs. “Wooing. Not Wu-Tang.”
I shrug. “Whatever. What page?”
“111.”
I flip to the page in Hanging on a Hero and start skimming the text. They’re on their way to the hero Smith’s firefighter’s ball. But apparently, the heroine, Vivian, doesn’t know it.
“Where are we?” Vivian asks, looking around the room at the hotel I’ve had set up just for her.
A rack of dresses lines one wall, and a chair with a lighted mirror sits in the corner. A hair and makeup artist is just waiting to be called in after the surprise.
“I know you worry about making the right impression, Viv. You’re beautiful to me, always, but I wanted you, tonight, to feel beautiful to you.”
“Smith,” she whispers. “You did all of this for me?”
I nod. “You can pick any dress you want. And Jasmine from the Spa Seville is just waiting to pamper you.”
“Pamper me?”
“She’s going to do your hair and makeup. Just how you want it.”
A tear settles into the corner of Vivian’s eye.
