Something to Talk About(9)

And that was only the beginning. He'd spent the first hour fending off all of what seemed like her eight arms. She'd treated his refusals like a game and squealed with delight when he untangled her over and over.

When she finally tired of the game, she'd settled for popcorn and a movie, as long as Rip sat with her.

Rip leaned back against the couch and stared at the fan circling on the ceiling as Bambi leaned against his shoulder. Casey's words haunted him, and he decided to put the theory to the test. He muted the television.

"Hey, I was watching that."

He ignored her frown. "Bambi, let's talk."

"Sure, honey, whatcha want to talk about?" She yawned as she lazily slid her leg alongside one of his.

"I don't know...what would you like to talk about?"

"You're the one who wanted to talk. I'd rather make love. How about it, sweetie?" Bambi lifted her leg higher, brushing her knee against his groin.

He pushed her leg off his body. "No, really, Bambi, can't we just talk?" Rip cringed at the thought of the assault on his ears having sex with her would cause.

"All right...about what?" Bambi snuggled closer and pulled a throw blanket up over them.



       
         
       
        

"Well, uh … " he struggled for something, anything to talk about with Bambi, "how about those Oilers?"

She leaned back and stared at him as if he'd grown another head. "Huh? You wanna talk about football? Rip, honey, you're not making any sense."

So, sports weren't her thing. He switched gears. "Maybe you could just tell me a little about yourself." He immediately regretted the impulse.

Rip wasn't sure when Bambi shut up and went to sleep, because he'd slipped into dreamland first, escaping the world of Bambi after thirty minutes of personal history only brought her to a description of her third grade teacher.

As he drifted into sleep, he wished bad mojo on one female talk show host. Thanks, Casey Cramer, for proving his point. There was little room in a relationship for talk.

Rip awakened to a hand gliding up the inside of his thigh. Still in that half-dream state, he felt the heat of lips trailing kisses up the side of his neck. He smiled as his Dream-Casey nipped the tender skin behind his ear.

His dream crashed to an end when a harsh ringing pierced his consciousness and jangled his nerves.

The insistent ringing of the cell phone beside him startled Rip awake. He stretched to the side and knocked the phone off the table, sending it crashing to the floor. Rip dove for the device on the floor, just beginning to realize he wasn't in his bed and it wasn't Casey who'd been running her hand up his thigh. He punched all the buttons on the phone, until he finally hit the talk button.

"Hello." He laid a finger over Bambi's mouth.

"You don't have to yell, O'Rourke. I'm not deaf," a voice said in his ear.

"Casey?"

Casey's voice, prim and annoyed, had an immediate and dramatic effect on Rip's sleep-deprived brain, bringing him to full alert.

"No, it's Mother Theresa," was the reply followed by a huffy breath and a pause.

Bambi giggled.

"Yes, it's Casey. Can you meet with me right after my show at noon to discuss the format for the new segment?"

"Just...a...minute." Rip grunted, shifting Bambi's weight enough to allow him to think straight.

Bambi wiggled and kissed the finger still pressed to her lips.

"What, about an hour and a half from now?" he asked.

"That works for me." Casey snorted. "But can you make it?"

"Yes, I can," he replied, then yelled. "Ouch!"

A pouting Bambi crossed her arms across her chest with no sign of remorse for having bitten his finger.

"Rip, am I interrupting something?" Casey's tightly controlled voice cut through Rip's pain. 

He scowled at Bambi and answered Casey, "No, you're not interrupting anything. Ouch!" This time, the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh received a sharp pinch from the woman sitting beside him.

A soft snort sounded in his ear. "Don't let me keep you from anything important."

"You're not. Damn!" Rip jerked and dropped the phone, as he received a not-so-gentle-tweak to his nipple through his T-shirt. Afraid of more torture, Rip reached down to pick up the cell phone from the floor. "Look, Cramer, we'll talk later." He aimed a finger for the end key when Bambi jerked the cell phone from his hand and tossed it behind her.

Bambi leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his stubbled chin. "Doesn't Butchy-Wutchy want to come out and play with Bambi-Wambi?" Bambi's fingers walked down his chest toward his bellybutton. "Surely, after your little nap, you're not too tired, anymore."

Frustrated by the entire situation, Rip had no desire to do anything with Bambi whatsoever. Not having sex, not watching TV and definitely not talking. "I'm sorry Bambi, I just can't do this. It's already 7:00 AM, and I really need to get moving if I'm to meet with the ice-queen in an hour and a half."

"But I thought we would have all day to...you know...lay around."

With a supreme effort, Rip held onto his patience. Bambi had already been there one night too long as far as Rip was concerned. "Don't you ever get enough, Bambi?"

She leaned into him and curled her hands around his neck again. "Not of you, baby."

"Well, I've had enough." He drew her arms away from him. "I think you're a pretty and nice, but I'm not the guy for you." Rip's voice grew tighter with irritation as he spoke. "I don't love you."

Her brows furrowed. "What's love got to do with it?" She pushed up on her knees and started to tangle her arms around him again.

He captured her wrists in his hands. "I'm serious. I don't want to have sex with you."

Bambi frowned then rolled off him to stand next to the bed. "Well, I know when I'm not wanted. I'll just get my things and be out of here. She stomped around the room collecting her purse, shoes and cell phone.

"Do you need a ride to your place?"

She tilted her chin up and looked down her nose at him. "I'll get myself there, no thanks to you. I'll call a cab."

"How will you get in?"

"I have a spare key in my purse."

"Why didn't you say so last night?" he asked, the heat of anger rising up around his neck.

She shrugged. "I wanted to spend time with you. But apparently, the feeling isn't mutual. Do me a favor, Rip, and don't bother calling me anymore." Bambi stood with her hand on the doorknob, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. "I won't be home."

Rip didn't point out that he hadn't called her in the first place. By letting her have the last word, she might think she was the one ending whatever it was between them.

When Bambi slammed the door to his apartment, the ensuing silence was refreshing. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Rip was caught short by a click. It came from his couch cushion. Funny, but it had sounded like the click of a phone hanging up.





5





"Really, Rip," Casey smiled across the console with false sweetness, her anger still burning a hole in her gut since "the call" over a week ago. Still, she wouldn't let it interfere with the job she had to do. And that was to be a co-host with Rip O'Rourke, the bastard. "Since you and I both agree we think this show going to be volatile and divisive, let ladies go first-I'll start off with the subject of mumbling."



       
         
       
        

"Mumbling?" Rip asked, then punched the "cough button" to ask her, "What kind of topic is that?"

Ignoring him, Casey hit the button so the audience could hear them. "Yes, mumbling. Why is it, ladies, when a man talks to a woman, he can't enunciate every word clearly enough to make sure he's understood?"

Rip grinned from across the console. "Could it be because women are always asking men about their feelings? What's up with that, anyway? Men will tell you if they want you to know. Otherwise-don't ask."

Rip didn't give her a chance to respond, instead he continued, "But let's get past all these pathetic pet peeves-past the toilet seats being left up and the crotch adjusting in public. Let's get down to real, knock-down, drag-out problems, like interrupting a man during the middle of a football game to tell him to take out the trash."

Casey volleyed, "I'm sure if a man did what he was supposed to do-when he was supposed to do it-the woman wouldn't have to tell him to take out the trash. Most women work outside of the home now. Why are they expected to do everything in the home while the man lays around on the couch drinking beer?"

"Maybe he'd prefer to lay around with his woman than take out the trash. The couch can be just as exciting as the bed, or better yet, the kitchen table." Rip winked.

"Yeah, and you would be the one to know that. Wouldn't you, Rip?"

"So?" His eyes narrowed as he stared across at Casey. "I'm single and footloose. Or are you jealous because I've shown you the benefits of thinking outside of the bedroom?" His lips curled in a wicked grin.

Heat rose from beneath Casey's collar. "Can we bring the discussion out of the bedroom?"