Impulsive (6 page)

One line wanted her to list the names of close relatives, living
or deceased, and include any relevant or interesting details about them.
Another actually inquired about sexually transmitted diseases, and if she'd
ever been tested for AIDS! Additionally, there was a query about any medical
problems, such as diabetes, allergies, ulcers, recent or pending operations, or
drug addictions! Was there a family history of heart problems, migraines,
or—the topper—mental illness? Then he got really nit-picky and wanted to know
if she wore dentures, eyeglasses or contact lenses, if she snored, and how
severe she would rate her PMS.

The list went on and on, asking about everything from her favorite
color and food preferences, to the type of undies, nighties or pajamas she
wore—or did she sleep in the nude? What size was her bed? Did it have a regular
mattress or was it a waterbed? Did she prefer one side of the bed to the other?
Could she swim? Did she have any annoying habits, other than being a wise-ass?
What were her hobbies? What games or sports did she like? Was she a health nut?
Did she exercise
regularly? By the time she was finished reading, Jess was
surprised he hadn't inquired if she suffered from irregularity, though he had
thought to ask what brand of toothpaste she used, and if she preferred a shower
to a bath.

To say she was ticked was an understatement. Talk about brass
balls! This guy had to be sporting a pair of stainless steel bowling balls! Her
headache forgotten, or more likely overridden by fury, Jess sat down at her
desk. Within minutes, she was firing a return fax message back to him:

If you think for one minute I am going to answer your asinine
questions, you are certifiably insane. For all I know you'd broadcast my
answers on the Internet. Furthermore, this is not a game of "you show me
yours, and I'll show you mine." I'm only doing this for Tommy, who is on
my black list right alongside you for giving you my fax number. So shove your
questionnaire where the sun doesn't shine, super jock.

As
soon as the fax signaled "message sent and received,"
Jess shut off the machine, pulled the plug for good measure, and stomped
angrily back to her bedroom. She'd scarcely put her head on the pillow when her
bedside phone rang.

Yanking the receiver up, she barked out, "Buzz off, pond
scum!"

"Oh, come on, Jess." It was him. "We really need to
get to know some of these intimate details about each other if we're going to
convince everyone we're hot for each other. And I'd certainly never put such
information 'on line.' I'm not that much of a cad."

"How am I supposed to know that?" she countered stiffly.

"You would, if you'd give me a chance—if you'd cooperate with
me instead of bucking me at every turn. So, how about it?"

"No way, José. You'll find out on a 'need-to-know basis.'
"

"And risk blowing the whole scam? What will your dear Tommy
think of that?"

"Frankly, Scarlett..." her voice trailed off, letting
him fill in the rest.

"Neither would I, except that I'd like to keep my job, so why
don't you stop being such a prude? These are the nineties, after all."

"I know the year. Unlike you, I'm also aware of the hour. Good
night. Don't call me again."

She hung up, but before she could unplug the phone, it rang again.
Even knowing better, she answered it. "Can't you take a hint?"

"If you won't fax your responses, give them to me over the
phone. I promise confidentiality on the really personal stuff."

"Look, James, give it up. While I appreciate this modern
technical age, I don't trust it with private matters. That goes for computers,
modems, fax, phone, and mail. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some
sleep."

"Wait! Don't hang up yet!"

She sighed audibly. "What is it now?"

"Meet me in the morning. Here. There. Wherever you choose. We
can have breakfast and go over the list of questions one by one. For every
reply you give, I'll match it. You can even add to the list if you want."

"And delete those I don't like," she bargained.

"It's a deal. Where and when?"

"You're late." Jess speared Ty with a put-out look.

He slid into the booth seat opposite her. "It took me a while
to find the place," he told her, his voice rife with exasperation.
"I'm not all that familiar with Columbus as yet, and your directions,
'Denny's near me,' weren't very explicit, you know."

She offered an indifferent shrug. "Sorry about that."

He snorted in disbelief. "And pigs fly, too." Placing a
sheaf of papers on the table, he said, "Did you bring your copy?"

"Yes. I thought about using it for toilet tissue, but I
figured as stubborn as you are you'd only run off another batch."

He grinned. "You bet your sweet tush, I would. Shall we
get
started?"

"Can we at least order breakfast first, Mr. Impatience?"

Ty ordered eggs, bacon, blueberry pancakes, juice, and a pot of
coffee on the side. Jess requested French toast, juice, half a melon, and a
glass of chocolate milk.

"Chocolate milk?" Ty teased. "No grown-up
beverage?"

Jess scowled at him. "I intend to have coffee, too, but I
want my calcium."

"Then why not order white milk? I recall hearing somewhere
that you deplete all the vitamins and minerals in milk when you add chocolate
to it."

"Hogwash. Pure, unadulterated tripe. All the chocolate does
is add flavoring, which is the only way I'll drink it. I detest plain milk;
have since I could toddle."

He pointed his fork for emphasis. "See there? That's the kind
of thing I was talking about. Common everyday details. Wouldn't it seem odd if
we went someplace and I ordered white milk for you? People would naturally
assume, if we're seeing one another regularly, that I would know you didn't
like it."

"I suppose so," she conceded. "That or you're just
a big snoop."

"And you, as a reporter, aren't?" he huffed. Jess held
up her hand, signaling for a truce. "Okay, okay. Point taken."

Ty drew his pen from his shirt pocket. "Let's start with the
easy stuff. What books have you read, and what movies have you seen
lately?"

Forty-five minutes later, Jess sat back with a sigh. "Whoa.
Stop. Enough. I'm drowning in trivia here. I need some time to assimilate what
you've told me already."

"Me, too," Ty admitted. "Let's adjourn and pick it
up later. Say tonight, for dinner? Just you and me?"

She thought about it for a moment, then agreed. "As long as
it's not someplace swanky. I don't do swanky unless it's absolutely
imperative."

"Why?"

"Because I hate to wear flats or those stupid-looking dinky
heels. Even I know they don't complement an evening dress worth beans. I might
as well wear army boots and have done with it."

"So wear regular high heels."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Right. And look like a
giraffe? Besides, I don't even own a pair."

"Buy some. You can wear them when we go out, if no other
time. I'll still be taller than you." He paused a minute, then added,
"You should stand tall and proud, Jess, with your back straight, and your
chest thrown out. You can't do diddly damn about your height, anyway, so why
not flaunt it instead of creeping around all hunched over, as if you think
you're some freak?"

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You're a
walking, talking ad for physical perfection, and you darn well know it. You're
the type of guy all the girls go ga-ga over. Couldn't you at least get your
nose broken, or chip a tooth, or something to make yourself a little less
gorgeous? Just one tiny flaw or two, so the rest of us don't feel so
inferior?"

As she spoke, she unconsciously rubbed at the small bump on the
bridge of her own nose, evidence that she'd had it broken at one time.

Reaching across the table, Ty brushed her fingers aside. His
fingers replaced hers, stroking the almost indiscernible lump. "How'd you
break it?"

"Playing soccer." It irritated her that goose bumps had
popped up on her nape and her words emerged on a breathless whisper. She was
reacting to his mere touch like a moon-struck calf!

"Didn't they set it at the hospital? Not that it's all that
obvious. I didn't even notice it until you started rubbing at it."

His hand had dropped away, and she could speak normally again. She
explained. "For some reason, the X-rays didn't show the break, maybe
because they were wet when the doctor reviewed them. Anyway, the doctor didn't
catch it right away. By the time the mistake was discovered, my nose was well
on the way to healing. There was no way I was going to let them
rebreak
it and go through all that pain again. Not to mention running around looking
like a giant raccoon for several more weeks, with two huge neon shiners."

"Can't blame you there," he concurred. "Besides,
like I said, it's not that noticeable. Now, if they'd left you looking like
Karl Maiden, that would be another matter altogether."

Jess had to laugh. "I guess I should be thankful. It could
have been worse."

"Lots of things could be worse," he agreed. "We
should all remember more often to be thankful when they aren't. They say that
to an optimist, a half-filled glass is always half full. To a pessimist, that
same glass is half empty. Sometimes, it's all in your perspective."

Jess's wry grin mocked his curbside philosophizing. "To my
way of thinking, it's still a glass that needs washing."

Jess had some research to do on her computer, so she didn't see Ty
again until he showed up at her door that evening. She'd dressed casually, in
lightweight slacks and boat neck pullover, and had exchanged her comfy tennies
for a pair of sandals. Ty was even more casually clothed, in shorts and summer
knit shirt.

He glanced over her attire and approved it with a nod. "Nice,
but if you want to change into shorts, I'll be glad to wait. It's hotter than
Hades, and twice as humid. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable, and we're
not going anywhere fancy. In fact, if it's all right with you, I figured we'd
pick up a bucket of chicken and the fixings and head to the park, or maybe find
a spot down by the river, on the off chance of catching a breeze."

"Sounds fine with me, and in that case I'll take you up on
your offer and switch to shorts."

He followed her into the apartment, gratefully sucking in the dry,
cool air. "Ah, air-conditioning. God bless the man who invented it!"

"Make yourself comfortable," Jess told him, heading down
the hall. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

"Mind if I take a look around the place?" he asked.

"Go ahead. Help yourself to some iced tea if you want."

Like Jess, her apartment wasn't showy. Her living room furniture
appeared more comfortable than trendy, though instead of the usual couch or
loveseat she had chosen a futon. Ty had seen them in stores, but had never sat
on one before. He lowered himself onto the puffy cushion and bounced lightly.

"Hey! Is this thing really comfortable to sleep on?" he
called out to her.

"The futon?" she yelled back, hazarding a guess.

"Is that what it's called? This couch-thing that folds
out?"

"Yes, it's not bad at all, but I wouldn't want to be
relegated to it on a nightly basis."

Skirting an oak end table, Ty zeroed in on her entertainment
center. Her TV was a color portable with a built-in VCR, nice but nothing to
rave about. But her stereo system, now that was state-of-the-art! Ty perused
her collection of tapes and CDs.

"I see you like some of the same music I do," he shouted
over his shoulder.

"You don't have to yell; I'm right here." She'd come
into the room so quietly he hadn't heard her.

"Sorry. I thought you were still changing." His gaze,
when he turned, traveled lingeringly over the super-long, shapely expanse of
her legs. His eyes widened and seemed to grow darker, becoming more midnight
blue than indigo. He coughed to clear his throat, and said huskily, "I'll
take you up on that iced tea if you don't mind. I haven't made my way past the
living room yet."

"So I see." Jess headed for the kitchen, with Ty
trailing behind. She walked to the refrigerator, retrieved the pitcher of tea,
turned around and bumped smack into him. He was peering over her shoulder into
the refrigerator.

"If you're that hungry, I can make you a sandwich," she
said, pushing past him to the cupboard where she kept the glasses. "Or we
can leave now if you prefer."

"No, I'm fine." His head was half-buried in the fridge
as he inventoried its contents.

Jess didn't know whether to be perturbed or to laugh. "Uh,
Ty. What are you doing?"

"Finding out what kinds of foods you like."