"I would suggest you ask your partner, sir," she said, her voice rising slightly, betraying her agitation.
"Let me try another question, Casey. Do women prefer to make love with the lights on or off?"
"Sir! I really can't answer that for all women. Each of us has different preferences-that's what makes us individuals."
"Then perhaps you could tell me if your sheets are as starched as your underwear?"
Ding! Ding! Ding! Alarm bells went off in Casey's head. Give the lady a prize for gullibility!
"Rip O'Rourke, this has to be the lowest stunt you've pulled yet!"
The air crackled with electricity when Rip strode through the foyer of the radio station. From the high-five he exchanged with the receptionist at the front desk, to Dave's exuberant congratulations as he passed him in the hallway, Rip knew "Something to Talk About" was a hit.
Dan Rice waved from the booth where he was delivering the morning news. Rip returned the greeting with a cheery salute and continued down the hall. The control room that was the new home for "Something to Talk About" was dark when he entered.
Flipping on the light, he sniffed the air. A glance at the trashcan next to the door revealed his half-eaten cheeseburger, heavy on the onions, dinner from the night before. The janitorial service had missed cleaning the room again. He pushed the trashcan beneath the table where Casey would sit, his lips twisting into a grin.
Hearing voices, he watched Brent and Casey as they entered the production room. Rip's loins tightened in anticipation of the coming battle. Casey's face was animated, and Brent was smiling at something she'd said. Unaware of his presence, Casey appeared relaxed, even radiant. Her hair was arranged in the same smooth style it always was. The lipstick she wore was the same tasteful shade of pale cherry. Her light blue blouse and beige-colored slacks and sandals were an outfit he'd seen on her before.
He wasn't sure why she looked different today, but something had changed. Or maybe he'd just never noticed the slender indent of her waist, or the way her trousers hugged her firm and nicely rounded backside. He'd always been a breast man, but Casey's butt might just make him a convert.
Rip shifted uncomfortably, and Casey must have noticed a slight movement because her startled glance darted toward the control booth.
Her chin came up immediately, and she said something to Brent who turned and gave Rip a little wave. Casey walked toward the door of the control booth, balancing a stack of papers and a coffee cup.
Rip strode over to open it for her, but stood within the frame so that she had to enter sideways. He grinned as she slid through, trying not to come into contact with his body. For a moment their gazes met, and he heard her breath catch. His pulse throbbed heavily in response. As she passed, the scent of apples wafted beneath his nostrils. He leaned closer to discover it was Casey's hair. He barely resisted the urge to dip lower and see if the flowery aroma that always greeted him when she was around lay behind her small pink-tipped ears.
"You're early," she said breathlessly then maneuvered the rest of the way into the room and set her things on the table before the console.
"Yeah, I didn't bother shaving this morning," he replied, scratching his morning beard. "It's so early, I was afraid I'd cut my throat."
Her nose twitched, and she regarded him suspiciously. Turning away from him, he heard her sniff softly. She took a step toward the table, and sniffed again before reaching beneath for the trashcan. Holding it aloft, she asked, "Your breakfast?"
"Not mine."
Casey shoved the can outside the door and dusted off her hands. "It seems we're a hit," she said, not bothering to look at him. Rip noted with a twinge of disappointment her calm, matter-of-fact delivery.
"Yeah. I hope we can keep it up."
When Casey calmly began writing notes in the margins of the documents she'd brought with her, Rip felt deflated. She'd made no mention of his call to the "Home Show". And just what was she writing? And what was with all the papers she constantly carried with her?
"One minute to show time," Brent's tinny voice sounded over the speaker.
Taking his seat across from Casey, Rip settled his headphones over his ears and fiddled with the height of his stool. His mind raced. He needed Casey riled up when the show started. Yesterday's had succeeded because the anger and sexual tension humming around the control room had connected with their audience as well.
Heck, who was he fooling? This wasn't about the show. When Casey was fired up, she was at her absolute sexiest.
Looking across at her composed expression, he knew he had to figure out what button to push. "Hey, Casey."
Her wary glance met his.
"You really prefer cotton over satin?" Rip winked.
Color flooded Casey's cheeks.
He shook his head, grinning. Sweetheart, you almost make this too easy!
Casey finally looked him full in the face. All the daggers of Baghdad were flying from those gorgeous brown eyes, aimed straight for his heart. "Rip O'Rourke, I am not going to lower myself to respond to that inappropriate question. You, sir, are despicable."
Rip smothered a smile. She'd hissed despicable with all the passion of Daffy Duck. He watched Brent making countdown motions with his fingers. Three fingers, two fingers...
"Yeah, but you love it when I am, don't you Casey?" he teased with a wicked grin.
One finger...
"Oooh! You're impossible!"
Brent mouthed the words, "You're on," then flashed Rip a grin and a thumbs-up.
"I don't love anything about you, Rip O'Rourke!"
He bent toward his microphone. "You heard it folks. This is Rip O'Rourke, with Casey Cramer, and Casey claims she doesn't love me. Sounds like a challenge to me."
"It is no such thing."
"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much. Let's ask the audience what they think."
"No!" Casey practically shouted, then straightened her back and lowered her tone. "I'm sure the listeners would rather talk about our topic for the day, 'Unusual ways to meet members of the opposite sex'."
"I like my topic better...'How to pick up hot chicks'."
"Really, Rip, not everyone in the audience is a man. We have female listeners, too. It is so like you to think only of your male urges."
"Yeah, and I'm having one right now for you, Casey," Rip said, waggling his eyebrows. He was rewarded by the red flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
Instead of responding, she turned away from him and concentrated on the microphone in front of her. "Are you lonely and looking for love? Or just looking for a date who doesn't bear a remarkable resemblance to anyone on the FBI's most wanted list-like Rip?"
"Ouch!" Rip responded and then chuckled.
"We have a few suggestions for finding your Mister or Ms. Right, then we'd like you, the listeners, to share experiences that worked for you. Perhaps someone will make that 'Love Connection' today." Turning to Rip, Casey glared at him, silently warning him to behave. "Rip, I can hardly wait to hear your number one suggestion," she said with saccharine-sweetness.
"Thanks, Casey. I'd love to start this off. One of my favorite places to pick up ladies is at the Laundromat." Casey quirked an eyebrow. "Casey looks confused. Let me explain. Where else can you go and accomplish more in an hour and a half? Besides, what about the suds and all that agitation?"
"You're making this up."
"Scouts honor," he protested, raising his hand. "This is a field-tested, tried-and-true method used by yours truly."
"This only reinforces every conviction I hold about your moral fiber."
That stung-slightly. He continued. "Before I carry my laundry in, I do a recon. I walk through the entire place, presumably to see if there are any empty washers. What I'm really doing is looking for any hot honeys in the house."
"That's so calculated," Casey sputtered.
"And going to a singles club is any less? If I may carry on?" he asked, pausing for her reluctant nod before continuing with his instructions. "You only unload your laundry after you've made sure there's someone worth staying for. Oh yeah, and check that someone for a wedding band-if it matters to you. Ouch!" Rip rubbed the spot on his shin where Casey had kicked him with the point of her shoe. "Look, I'm just handing out advice, not family values."
"Continue, Rip. I'm on the edge of my seat to see how much more I can stand of this farce."
"As I was saying...by the way Casey, where was I?"
"You were not checking for wedding bands."
"Oh, yeah." Rip grinned.
Casey's eyes narrowed to disapproving slits.
"As I was saying, once you've determined the place will do, you unload your laundry and drop it next to the washing machines your target is using. If you can't get close enough, ask for her assistance. Act like you don't have a clue how to sort colors or set the knobs on the machine."
Casey interrupted impatiently. "Is this leading somewhere?"
"Everywhere, if you're lucky."
"Good Grief! Just get to the point."
"Well, once you're in position, check out her laundry for clues to where her interests lie. Does she have a man's clothes mixed in with hers? Does she wear bikini underwear or briefs? Teeny T-shirts or her big brother's football jerseys? Does she favor bright colors or mousy beige?" He added the last with a wink at Casey.