“Thank God,” Rachel said and turned, headed to the kitchen to wash her belly and her hands, but she noticed her message light was blinking. “Hey, it worked!” She laughed and punched the button on her way by.
“Ah . . . hi, Rachel. This is Mike. You know, from last night?” He paused, chuckled a little. “Listen, I tried to call your cell, but some guy answered . . .”
“Ohmigod, it did work,” a wide-eyed Dagne whispered reverently.
“You weren’t doing the old wrong number routine, were you?” Mike said as Rachel ran to her bag and dug through it with her clean hand best she could. No cell. Goddammit, Myron!
“So if this is really your crib, will you give me a call? I was hoping we could get together sometime over Thanksgiving if you’re around.” He rattled off his phone number, made some joke about giving her the right number, and said he’d be in later.
The message clicked off. Rachel glared at Dagne. “Myron took my phone again, that asshole!”
“So? Are you going to call Mike?” Dagne asked excitedly, blowing right past Myron.
“No! I’m going out with Flynn, remember?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Rachel! Go out with both of them! Be in charge of your life! Don’t let opportunities pass you up and don’t let men dictate who you will see. You decide which one suits you.”
She was so adamant that Rachel almost expected Dagne to pull out some Women of the World Unite! banner and march down the street. Nevertheless, Rachel thought about it. It seemed weird, especially for her, who wasn’t exactly experienced in dating at all. Much less two guys. At once.
Dagne must have read her thoughts because she followed her into the kitchen and made her case while Rachel cleaned up. “Look at it this way. What if you go out with Flynn and discover it is true what they say about English guys—that they can’t fuck to save their lives? Then what? Mike could be the best lay in town, and you’ve missed it. There’s no law that says you can’t see more than one guy at once, you know? The smart, chic women see as many guys as they can.”
Dagne was right. Not that this was about getting laid, really, although that would be very nice. But she really had no reason to hold back. For the first time in her life, a couple of guys were interested in Miss Fortune. Why not take advantage of it? It sure wasn’t like she had anything to lose, was it? Hell, she deserved it. She had spent her entire life being the chubby, doll-faced little sister of the two most beautiful women in Houston, and watched them go on date after date while she sat home and read romance novels. For once in her life, she had guys after her, and by God, she wasn’t going to pass it up. Rachel picked up the phone, punched in the number Mike had left, felt her heart beating like a drum in her chest as it rang once, then twice, then three—
“Yo,” he said when he picked up the phone.
“Ah . . . Mike?”
“Rachel?” he said and sounded genuinely glad to hear from her. “Hey, you called.”
Rachel looked at Dagne, gave her a thumbs-up. Dagne grinned, waved her hands in a way that said Rachel was to talk.
“So listen, what do you say we get together over the Thanksgiving holiday? I mean, are you going to be around?”
“Yes,” Rachel said. “I’d like that.”
“Great.” He sounded relieved. “I’m really glad we met, Rachel. I never expected to meet someone like you at those catered things. So, why don’t we plan on hooking up the Friday after Thanksgiving? I’ve got a gig down at the shore to work for a couple of weeks, and then see the folks on Thanksgiving Day. But I’m coming back that Friday. Think you’ll be free?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Fantastic. There’s a club I go to you might like—great food, great music.”
It sounded wonderful. Mike sounded wonderful. “That sounds wonderful,” she said, beaming.
“All right. I’ll give you a call late in the week and we’ll firm it up.”
Now she was positively levitating. “Thanks, Mike. I’m looking forward to it.” She hung up, looked up at Dagne. “I have to go shopping again!” she said with a squeal of laughter.
Flynn woke to the sound of a trumpeting phone on Sunday and groped his way out of bed, found the phone, then noticed he had an erection the size of a skyscraper. That would be due to one very erotic dream of a girl named Rachel, thank you.
“Hello,” he croaked into the phone.
“Flynn darling!” Iris fawned.
“Iris.”
“I should be very cross with you, Flynn Oliver! You promised to ring me yesterday, do you recall?”
“Sorry—I had to work.”
“They sound like monsters, the Americans, always making you work,” she said petulantly. “When are you coming home, Flynnie?”
“I can’t say,” he told her truthfully. Both projects were taking more time than he’d anticipated. “It may be a while yet.”
Iris sighed her displeasure. “Oh, Flynn,” she said softly. “I do believe you’ll never forgive me.”