With the help of Grayson’s cranky return, Rebecca was able to push Matt from her mind and focus what was left of her brain on Tom Masters’s Bingo Bash. She exchanged what seemed like no less than a thousand e-mails with Francine McDonough, the Silver Panthers’ president. The plan was simple: The pots would be split between the Silver Panthers Charity Drive (the proceeds to be donated to the charity of the winner’s choice), and reimbursing the Elks’ Lodge the expense of the room and food. As the Elks Lodge frequently held their own charitable bingo nights, Rebecca had all the bingo stuff lined up—bingo sheets, bingo balls, a bingo ball mixer-upper thing, as well as extra “dabbers.” And as Grandma was an avid bingo fan, she helped Rebecca line up the most important feature: the bingo caller, who, Grandma said, was the best this side of Louisiana.
Rebecca paid a couple of visits to the Elks’ Lodge to review the setup, making sure the refreshments and decorations were all in order. She even coaxed Grayson into helping her finger-paint some cute signs to be placed around the bingo room (Tom Masters for Lt. Governor!). She called Tom three times to make sure he understood where and when he should be in attendance, but could only get Gilbert, who assured her Tom was on board and would be where he needed to be at the appropriate time. She did not, however, make or receive a single call from Big Pants, and frankly, wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. On the one hand, she had told him—sort of—that she did not want it to go any further. But after he said what he did, she had thought . . . maybe even hoped a little . . . that he might call. Not that she wanted him to call, because she didn’t. Really.
So when he did call late the night before the bingo bash—when she was in her silk pajamas, curled up with Surviving Divorce: A Woman’s Path to Starting Over—she wasn’t sure if she should be put out with how long it had taken him or just politely pleased that he had called.
“Hey, Mork,” he said when she answered.
“Matt Parrish. Is there a problem?” she asked evenly, and God help him if he had really called at this hour about the campaign.
But with a chuckle that was surprisingly reassuring, he said, “I was going to ask the same of you.”
“Why would I have a problem?” she asked, pushing her book aside and pulling her knees up under her chin.
“God, where do I start?” he asked with a laugh as smooth as silk, and Rebecca smiled in spite of herself. “Actually,” he said, “I was just calling to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine! Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know—I guess it’s just that the last time I saw you, you seemed a little . . . befuddled.”
“Befuddled?” Rebecca laughed. “What sort of word is that?”
“The best I could think of.”
“And I suppose you thought I must be befuddled because I left you holding the bag, right?”
“No, Miss Priss,” Matt drawled. “Because you lost your panties.”
An intoxicating heat flooded her face and neck; grinning, Rebecca pushed her hair behind her ear and slid down into the pillows. “So . . . this is like a panties check?” she asked softly.
“Yeah. Wearing any?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Matt made some sort of guttural sound that was half laugh, half groan. “I would. But don’t tell me—let me imagine. Come on, Mork, imagine with me.”
“Matt . . .”
“Okay, I’ll go first. I am imagining you lying there with some pretty and skimpy little thing on, and I imagine you’re completely naked underneath—”
“Matt!” she exclaimed, laughing.
“And you’re getting all hot and bothered thinking about me—”
“I am so not doing that,” she insisted gaily, and hugged her knees tighter, lest she get too hot and bothered.
“And now your skin is flushed and you feel all warm inside, and you’re squirming a little, because all you can think about is when I was kissing you down—”
“MATT!” she cried, instantly pushing herself up.
“Okay,” he said, and added a long and exaggerated sigh. “I’ll just have to imagine by myself.”
“Do you have some pretty little thing on?” she asked.
“Darlin’, I’m just plain ol’ buck naked,” he said confidently. “Just me and my enormous and hard—”
“Okay, okay!” she said as the heat spread down to her toes.
Matt laughed low and knowingly. “I can take a hint, believe it or not. So you’re okay?” he asked once more. “Haven’t signed up for rehab or anything rash like that, right?”
Rebecca laughed. “I’m fine. But thank you for checking.”
“Sweet dreams, Rebecca,” he said softly, and clicked off.
But with an image of naked Matt dancing about her brain, it was a while before Rebecca could sleep.