Something to Talk About(18)

"Time!" the manager shouted into his microphone. "Okay, let's have the audience judge this contest. All those who think contestant number one is the winner, show us by a round of applause."

Good-natured ribbing and clapping sounded, but there was no overwhelming response. One by one, Joe worked his way down the line with a similar outcome. When he got to the end, he pointed toward Casey, tethered to Rip's side. "All those in favor of Casey Cramer?"

The room erupted with the deafening thunder of applause, male shouts and wolf whistles.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!" He reached into his pocket and produced an envelope. "The prize is a gift certificate to Fredrick's of Hollywood for the lace teddy of your choice." Climbing down the steps from the stage, he handed the envelope to Casey and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Rip seethed. Casey faced him and smiled triumphantly. That was when he noticed the red flush on her cheeks and her vapid gaze. Though she'd held it together long enough not to fall off the stage, Little Miss Starched Pants was snockered. She'd have a hell of a hangover in the morning with a strong case of regret.

The lights dimmed, and the music started up-this time a slow, sensuous hula song.

"I think we better sit down," he advised, dropping his arm from her shoulders.

"I don't feel like sitting down. I want to celebrate my win." Casey waved the envelope in his face, and then stuck it into her pocket. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her hips snugly against his. When their bellies rubbed, he sucked in his breath, but she scooted closer still. 

Desperate now, he unwrapped her arms from around his neck and spun her to place her back to him and positioned her arms out to her right side. "Let's hula our way back to the table, honey."

She giggled and leaned back against him.

Rip went instantly hard.

"Hula it is!" She fluttered her arms to the left, then the right, but Rip was in a worse predicament than before, because her round, little bottom ground against his crotch in time with the music.

Rip groaned, grabbed for her waist and tried to push her away, but she shimmied in his grasp. Every little wiggle shot heat into his groin. The music stopped suddenly, and Rip didn't know whether to curse or thank his lucky stars.

"It's time for our next contest." Joe waggled his eyebrows wickedly and looked straight at Rip and Casey, "and none too soon by the looks of it."

Rip glowered as the couples standing nearby on the dance floor laughed.

Casey had come to a stop in front of him and swayed. Rip reached for her arm to steady her, and she turned sideways to lean into him. "Rip? I think I need to go home," she whispered in a small, slurred voice.

Rip was thinking along those same lines, because he knew what came next.

"As is tradition at the Piki Tiki," the manager continued, "the winner of the banana-eating contest is the first competitor in the wet T-shirt contest. That's you, Casey."

"Oh no. Thanks, but I-" Casey's words were cut off, when a full bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over her, drenching her from head to toe. She spluttered and swiped the liquid from her face. "O'Rourke, you set me up," she accused him, her wet, spiky eyelashes framing her narrowed eyes.

Rip brushed at the overspray that had wet his arms-he'd tried to shield her. He also tried to feign innocence, but a grin twisted his lips. "Oh, babe. I'm sorry. But you should have seen your face."

When Casey reached up to push back her sopping hair, Rip couldn't help noticing her blouse had become transparent, exposing the thin, lacy bra beneath. The chill of the water did its magic-her nipples tightened and peaked. He couldn't help staring.

When he looked back up at her face, she scowled then plucked at the material plastered to her chest.

"Hey Casey-smile!" a voice called from behind, and they turned together to look.

Flash! Click!

In the next minute, Casey bent over and emptied the contents of her stomach on Rip's sandaled feet.





9





"Psst! Casey. Rip at one o'clock," Brent whispered loudly.

Casey didn't look up but paused to wipe her palm against the fabric of her shorts, before reaching into the box for another K-YAK T-shirt. She glanced quickly toward Brent who was attempting to look nonchalant while whistling tunelessly. "Cut it out. He'll know we're up to something."

Brent pressed his lips together and pointed toward the direction opposite from the approaching Rip. "I think I'll go find something I'm sure I forgot in the van."

"Coward," she whispered, then bent to retrieve another shirt from the box on the ground and began folding it, suddenly finding herself all thumbs.

It was Sunday, the morning of the Annual 5K Fun Run for Charity, and Casey was still suffering the after-effects of her walk on the wild side. She'd dreaded facing the public with Rip at her side. That is, until Brent offered her a chance to even the score with her co-host. Everything was arranged. Now, all she had to do was wait for the trap to be sprung.



       
         
       
        

"Good morning, beautiful," Rip spoke close to her ear.

For a moment Casey let herself enjoy the sexy, intimate warmth of his breath against her cheek. Then she picked up a box of shirts and turned to shove it into Rip's arms.

"Hey, sorry I'm late." Rip had the gall to grin when she snorted her disbelief. "Looks like you and Brent have everything set up."

If you only knew. "Look, Rip-why don't you finish stacking the T-shirts? I'll get out the promo cups." Casey turned abruptly and pulled another box from beneath the banner that covered the long table in front of their booth. She cursed her case of nerves, sure Rip would guess something was up.

"Are you still sore about the Piki Tiki? You don't still think I had anything to do with that photographer being there, do you?"

Thankful he'd come up with his own reason for her awkward behavior, Casey relaxed. She placed a green mug on the table. "I said I believed you," she said, setting down another cup with a thump.

"Can you believe they put it on the front page of the entertainment section of the newspaper?"

Casey's blood boiled again, the heat rising up her neck into her cheeks as Rip waved a copy of the paper in her face. "I've seen it," she said and shoved it aside. She'd been on the phone since early that morning fielding questions from her parents regarding the highly publicized incident. Ferrence had remained strangely silent. She hadn't spoken a word to him since Friday night.

"And to name us 'Austin's Hottest Couple'. That's a stretch." Rip's chuckled.

Strangely, Casey felt a little hurt. "Yeah. As if anyone would believe that." Casey set the last cup on the table and stowed the empty box. Grabbing a soda from the ice chest, she held the can to her cheek. She closed her eyes and savored the chill against her skin. The morning was already steamy, par for the course for an Austin summer.

With nothing left to do, she sat on the table and took a deep breath, willing herself to serenity. "It's going to be a beautiful day, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah, just beautiful." Only, Rip wasn't looking at the sky. His gaze was on her legs, which she'd been swinging restlessly. She'd chosen to wear cool, cotton shorts and strappy sandals, knowing the day would be a scorcher.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Casey felt a warm flush of awareness sweep over her.

"Like the shorts," he said gruffly and cleared his throat.

When Rip glanced away, Casey swept her gaze over Rip's muscular body. Like her, he was attired in khaki shorts and a white T-shirt sporting the K-YAK logo. However, he'd added a fuchsia-flowered shirt, which he wore unbuttoned over the T-shirt. She smiled wryly. The big guy had guts. 

"Hey gang!" Brent's voice broke into Casey's thoughts. "They're opening the gates. Time to get started."

She looked past the row of booths that lined the stadium's track all the way to the starting line of the race. The Fun Run would follow a marked trail out of the stadium, through the neighboring commercial district, before winding its way back inside to the finish line. The gates had indeed opened to admit a stream of runners, walkers, and watchers.

"You must be Rip O'Rourke." A young man wearing a college tank top and a wispy attempt at a beard stopped in front of the booth.

Casey hopped off the table and smiled.

"The one and only," Rip replied affably.

The young man turned to beckon behind him. "Hey, guys! Over here." Several more young men joined him. "It's Rip O'Rourke." Turning back to Rip, he gushed, "Dude, we all listen to 'Just For Men' almost every night."

Casey watched Rip and the college boy shake hands then close their fists and tap them together. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was in for a bout of male bonding.

Another student with the shoulders of a linebacker stepped forward and exchanged the same greeting with Rip. "Yeah, like where do you get your inspiration, man?"

Before Rip could answer, another asked, "Are the callers real? I laugh my ass off every time. Especially that night you were talking with that lady who got pissed at you because you don't date smart women. Your answers were straight up."