"Can't a woman even go to the laundromat without being hit on by a calculating man?"
"My targets don't get anything more than they ask for, Casey. I've never had any complaints. Maybe you should try it sometime."
"I don't need to pick up a date at a laundromat" she replied loftily. "Besides, I own my own washer and dryer."
"So do I, but that doesn't stop me from making the occasional hunting trip. If I don't have them hooked by the second spin cycle, well at least I have clean clothes. Since you don't seem to like my idea, where would you suggest someone go to meet the opposite sex?"
"Well..." She rustled through her pages before selecting one, then cleared her throat. "I think a bookstore is a nice safe place to meet people-" She glanced up in time to catch him rolling his eyes. Biting the edge of her lip, she added, "It's a much better way to ascertain where another person's interests lie."
Casey's face reflected uncertainty, and Rip decided to help her out a bit. He folded his arms across his chest. "Alright, I'll bite."
"Well...by watching which section of the racks a person pauses beside you can tell a lot. For instance, if they spend time in the travel section, they're adventurous. If they peruse the classics, they're intellectual."
"I get it. If they're spending a lot of time looking through the sensual massage books or the Kama Sutra, there's a good chance they're looking for sex."
She wrinkled her nose. "You really do have a one-track mind."
"No, I'm starting to think you've been hiding your light beneath a bushel," he teased, eyes alight with mischief. "So, is this how you pick up your dates, Casey?"
Casey glanced away. "I've never personally done this, but I've read-"
"Ah! Did you have to do research to discover the perfect pick-up joint? Is that what's in your notes?" He started to laugh.
Her ever-present blush brightened. "Never mind! I'm sure our listeners have more interesting suggestions." She punched the first call button.
"Hi, I'm Bubba."
Casey raised both eyebrows in askance at Rip. He had more experience with the Bubbas of the world.
Rick took the cue. "How the heck are ya, Bubba?"
"I'm doin' just fine since I met my little love kitten. I know'd she was the one right from the git go."
"How's that, Bubba?"
"She's a cocktail waitress. I saw her head to the bar to place an order when this feller wearin' a big Hawah-in hat stood up all of a sudden."
"A Hawaiian hat?" Rip gulped.
"Yeah. One of those straw hats. Only this one's more practical 'cause you kin keep your hands free when you're drinkin'."
Rip interrupted him quickly. "Alright, I get the picture, Bubba. What about the girl?"
Casey wondered at the blush that crept into Rip's cheeks.
"Well, Maybelline-that's her name-tottered on her high, spiked heels-you know the kind that make's a woman's a-er, derriere stick out-"
"Amen! I know the ones you're talkin' about, brother."
"Anyways, she tipped right over into my lap. God gave May-bell into my care that night, and I haven't let her go since."
Casey interrupted the testimonial. "So...Bubba, in which establishment did you find your...love kitten in? Are you willing to share your secret?"
"Casey, maybe he doesn't want the rest of Austin knowing about his and May-bell's little love nest." Rip looked decidedly uncomfortable.
Bubba's affable voice answered, "No reason why I shouldn't. May-bell's officially off the market. You'll have to find your own little honey pot, Rip. The bar's called the Piki Tiki. Do ya know it?"
"As a matter of fact I do," Rip responded.
Casey studied Rip as he admitted to knowing about the Piki Tiki. Was he a lush who liked to hang around bars all night? Was that why he was so tired in the mornings? Or was he too busy with the ladies in his bed to get a proper night's sleep? Casey's fingers clenched into fists. Hell, she knew the answer to that question. Based on her call the previous week, he'd had a woman in his bed.
Her chest tightened, and her thoughts shifted to what it would be like to be in bed with Rip O'Rourke. She told herself she was glad she'd quit dating him after only two dates. And thankfully, their relationship hadn't progressed to the bedroom.
A strange feeling gnawed at her belly. If she wasn't so sure of her decisions, she'd almost think it was regret. Regret? Regret that she hadn't slept with Rip? No way! He had more than enough women falling all over him. He didn't need her hanging around. Besides, she was happily engaged...
"Well you jest remember Maybelline's mine now," Bubba warned Rip.
"Have no worries, my friend. As a matter of fact, I'm working on Casey as we speak. Isn't that right, Casey?"
"What?" Casey pulled her head out of her musings to register Rip's words. "Absolutely not!" she spluttered. "I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last man on earth."
"Your mouth is sayin' no, but your eyes are sayin' yes, Casey."
Casey knew Rip teased her for the benefit of the audience, and for the satisfaction of watching her implode.
Before she could say another word, Rip poked the button on the console. "We'll take our next caller."
"Hello there, Rip and Miss Cramer. This is Mrs. Beatrice Martin."
Casey watched Rip turn on the charm for the elderly caller. She knew how Mrs. Martin felt. When Rip turned his full attention on her, despite knowing he did it just to prove he could, there was a small part of her drinking it up like a flower absorbing sunshine. The truth was when he wasn't being a beast he could be quite nice. And sometimes like now, he was really, really charming.
Rip looked over at her and grinned. Just what was Mrs. Martin saying?
"It's the only place I can find people my age, who are just as lonely and eager for companionship."
"Good for you Mrs. Martin. I hope you find the man of your dreams. There you have it folks, the lady picks up men at funerals."
"At funerals?" Casey asked, aghast.
"Yes, Miss Cramer, at a funeral," The older woman sounded irritated. "Oh, by the way, Casey, you need to learn to lighten up. I think you need a dose of the Piki Tiki with Rip."
"Great idea, Mrs. Martin," Rip jumped in.
"No way!" Casey said, emphatically. "The Piki Tiki doesn't sound like the sort of establishment that would interest me. Grown men in Hawaiian hats, ha!"
"I have an idea," Rip cut in. "We'll let our listeners decide. If we get thirty callers in the next fifteen minutes who think we should go to the Piki Tiki, Casey will be my date. If we don't, I'll let Casey pick the place. Deal?"
"I don't gamble, and that doesn't sound like much of a deal to me. Either way, I'd have to spend an entire evening with you. I'd rather die."
"Is it that you don't gamble, or you're afraid, Cramer?"
"I'm not afraid of a little date with you, Rip O'Rourke."
"Then it's a deal," Rip said quickly, ignoring her protests. "You heard it, folks. Get on those phones. We only have fifteen minutes."
Less than ten minutes later, Brent counted an overwhelming eighty-nine votes.
"Read it and weep, Cramer. I'll pick you up Saturday night at 8:30. And sweetheart, wear something casual, will you? This is Rip O'Rourke with Casey Cramer. Thanks for joining us on 'Something to Talk About'. Tune in Monday to hear a recap of our date. And don't forget to join us the Sunday after next for the Annual 5K Charity Fun Run for the Children's Research Hospital. It's a chance for everyone to come meet the two of us in the flesh. I'll be the one with the sense of humor. This is Rip O'Rourke for K-YAK 102.5 FM. Thanks for listening."
7
"What does one wear to a place called the Piki Tiki, for heaven's sake?" Casey blew an errant hair away from her eyes. Her hands were busy pulling first one outfit then another from her closet. Standing before her mirror, she held up the dresses to herself. Too stuffy. Too preppy. Neither would do. Actually nothing in her closet would do. She tried another two ensembles. Too Martha Stewart. The last one her mother had given her. She dumped them all on the growing pile of discards on her bed.
The carpet was definitely flatter along the path she'd worn between her closet and the mirror. And why do I care what I look like when it isn't even a real date, anyway? This was simply another promotional stunt designed to entice more listeners to tune in.
But she couldn't deny the little flutter of butterfly wings in her tummy that was building as the minutes ticked by.
The phone on her nightstand rang, giving her a brief respite from her indecision. Grabbing it like a lifeline, Casey hoped it was Brent. She could use a little girl-to-girl advice about now.
She tapped the icon without looking at the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Casey, this is Ferrence."
"Oh...hi." Plopping onto the bed, Casey chewed on the side of her lip. Her fiancé was the last person she wanted to talk to, especially when she was about to go out with another man. Granted, it was for the station, nothing personal. But still, for some strange reason, she hadn't bothered to mention that itsy bitsy fact to Ferrence.