Dirty Deeds: Standalone sexy romance(2)

 

"Forget Chris and his unimpressive rod. Although it makes sense why he's fat, bald and married to his motorcycle shop." Val paused and offered, "I could set you up with someone, if you're interested."

 

"Who?" Tate snapped back to attention. "Is he nice?"

 

"Of course he's nice." Val sniffed.

 

"Then nothing doing."

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing doing. I'm done with nice. This little chat has reinforced my decision. The next affair I start will be purely that. An affair. No strings, no promises. Just sex. Lots of hot sex."

 

Val daintily wiped off her milk mustache before expelling an unladylike burp. "Excuse me. Run that by me one more time?"

 

"You heard me. Sex. I want sex. The steamier, the nastier, the better. I've never been impulsive. Never dated a guy solely because he could give me mind-blowing orgasms." Tate shoved an agitated hand through her short hair. "I want the heady out-of-control passion I've never experienced before I lose what little nerve I've got left."

 

Val's jaw nearly hit the parquet floor.

 

There. She'd actually shocked the unflappable Val.

 

"But, honey, don't you want a man-"

 

"No. I don't want the same kind of man I've been dating for the last ten years. I don't care if he's suitable as a lifelong mate. Or if he'd make a great father. Or whether my parents would approve. I want a man that can find my G-spot in two seconds flat."

 

 

 

 

        

          

        

         

"Who-ee Tatum Cross!" Val fanned herself.

 

"Oh, don't play innocent with me, after you admitted to the my-husband-has-a-Stetson-and-I-ride-him-like-a-pony scenario."

 

"I get what you're saying. I just don't want you to get hurt."

 

"I'm not naïve." Well, not as much as she used to be. She longed for the chance to act outrageous, to unleash the sexual tigress lurking beyond her kittenish exterior. Aching to prove-if only to herself-that a purely physical relationship didn't have to end in dreams of picket fences, cocker spaniels and minivans.

 

"Men do this all the time without emotional repercussions. Find me a guy who has nothing on his mind besides awesome sex and cutting loose his libido on me because that's all I'm in the market for."

 

"Not even one date?" Val asked skeptically.

 

"Nope. No relationships."

 

"Good." Val's resounding smack on the antique trestle table knocked an ornate silver candlestick into the leftover chicken salad. "Then I've got an even better guy in mind for you. A purely sexual relationship is right up his alley." Val's eyes met hers, sporting a devious twinkle. "I think you'd get along with my-"

 

The ancient doorbell pealed.

 

"Hold that thought." Tate slid from the chair and crossed to the foyer. She froze, catching sight of the deputy sheriff's brown uniform through the heavy screen.

 

"Are you Tatum Beatrice Cross?"

 

Horrid scenarios drifted through her mind. Her heart thudded, her palms went sweaty even as her mouth went dry. "Yes."

 

"Legal document."

 

She opened the door.

 

"Sign here." The baby-faced deputy removed his hat, waiting while Tate scribbled her name.

 

She trudged back to the dining room, reading the letter.

 

"What is it?" Val lumbered to her feet.

 

"A legal notice from the City Beautification Committee. Seems since I've inherited Aunt Bea's property, it's been rezoned from residential to residential/commercial. Now I'm subject to a whole new set of regulations." Tate glanced up, unable to hide her despair. "How can they do this? I barely have enough money to make the repairs on the inside."

 

"Let me see that." Val scrutinized the letter, then waddled across the room, picked up the phone and punched in a number.

 

Sunny Val's uncharacteristic irritation jolted Tate from her dejection. "What are you doing?"

 

"Calling Rich. I can't decipher this legalese, but he can."

 

 

 

Two days later, Tate and Val glumly faced each other again between the masses of cardboard boxes heaped on Tate's dining room table.  

 

Val slid a manila envelope across the dusty surface. "Rich said if you have any questions to call him."

 

"I appreciate you bringing this over in person. I know you're busy with the kids and all-"

 

"Hey, you're my best pal. It's the least I could do."

 

Tate eyed the envelope, hating the power wielded by one innocuous piece of paper. She bent the metal clips back and pulled out the official cream-colored letterhead of Thiebold and Duncan Attorneys at Law. Her hopes plummeted as she scanned the document.