Carats and Coconuts (23 page)

“
Okay. Maybe schmuck was a
little harsh. It’s not like you’re a total oaf. Some would actually
argue you’re brilliant.”

“
Now that sounds much more
like me.”

“
See? There you go. Right
back to Schmuck-ville. When your ego gets the best of you with
those shitty remarks, I can’t stand it.”

Oddly enough, Nicky Blane was then
silent for a long while. Long enough that before he said another
word, we’d exited the parking garage and were already on 465 North
headed to his farm.

“
Maybe my ego gets the best
of me ‘cause no one else does,” he muttered, barely loud enough for
me to hear him over the heat blasting and the wipers swiping at the
ice that was hitting the windshield.

“
What do you mean by that?
You’re a bestselling author many times over. I’d say, with you,
every reader gets the best.”

“
I’m not talking about my
readers.”

“
Then what
are
you talking about?” I
asked, thinking this was a very strange conversation to be having
with “the” Nicky Blane, Mr. Macho, who could have any chick he
wanted and who made a regular habit of keeping a steady stream of
them at his beck and call.

“
If you’re referring to
women, maybe if you got to know one, more than overnight, some
not-so-bright one might stick around for a while.”

“
Never mind. You’d never
understand. And hell, if you did, you sure as hell wouldn’t
care.”

Well now that wasn’t true. Okay. Maybe
sort of. But it’s not like I really actually hated the guy. He just
irritated the hell out of me. Kind of like a pesky fly at a picnic
that keeps showing up when all you want is another bite of your
pie.

“
Am I really that much of a
cold witch to you?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer,
but knowing that at least I could count on him to give me the
truth.

That’s one positive. The guy never
sugar-coated a damn thing.

“
I do call you
Allwitch.”

“
Point taken.”

“
I will give you some credit
though. It wasn’t until after your divorce that I lost all hope in
you having a heart.”

It was my turn to say ouch, which I
did.

“
I’m that bad?”

“
Yep…that bad,” Nicky said,
turning onto the two-lane highway that would take us almost another
hundred miles north to his farm.

“
Sorry about that,” I said,
settling back into the ultra-comfy leather of his Cadillac
SUV.

“
Me too,” he said, clearing
his throat then turning up the soft-rock station currently playing
some over-the-top depressing Air Supply tune.

I sooo did
not
need to be reminded
that I was “All Out of Love”.

Instead of the melancholy music that
appeared to be Nicky Blane’s preference, I decided to focus on the
scenery outside the SUV.

‘
Course with Valentine’s Day
upon us, I doubt we had many choices other than love
songs.

At least we weren’t tuned into that
God damn Delilah, who I swear had to be the cause of multiple
suicides across her syndicated talk show reach.

Okay…just for the record, I used to
luuuvvv Air Supply and Delilah.

But yes, that was also before The Big
D, when the man I thought was my prince turned into one mighty huge
and ugly-ass bullfrog!

As snowflakes fell around us in a
fury, slamming against the vehicle’s windows then dissolving into
big drops of water, I thought about what a flake I’d been to fall
for Hank Aldredge.

What if my heart and soul never thawed
out and instead remained frozen as solid as the two-foot high snow
drifts lining these northern Indiana country roads?

To be continued in STUCK WITH A STIFF
(Book One of the Stuck with a Series)…coming in March
2012