Selling Forever

“Want another beer?” Cara partially opened the fridge door, concealing her collection of week old takeout.
“No thanks, two’s my limit.” He held up his empty bottle. “I’m driving.”
“Interesting.” Cara grinned at the outright lie. “The taxi driver letting you drive tonight?”
“One of the perks.” His face reddened. “How come you know so much about me?”
Cara wasn’t about to answer that loaded question. “How come there was a message from my very excited father on my machine?”
His head bent a little more over that cupcake he was mauling. “How should I know?”
“Something about a delivery of baby back ribs ring any bells?” He was thoughtful to send her dad, a complete stranger to him, the gift. He certainly didn’t deserve the stingy label smacked on him by the press. But then, she already knew that. One of the things that first…
“Sorry, Quasimodo.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Came from the account of one Richard Thompson,” Cara prodded. “Meat lover extraordinaire.”
“Damn identity thieves.”
Cara had to laugh. The goof. She concentrated on her cupcake, suppressing the wild impulse to hug him. Him. A complete stranger.
And do other things, much less innocent. The few photos Cara found on the internet, horrid candid shots, hadn’t prepared her for Richard’s subtle good looks, his long, lean body. He wasn’t movie star handsome, but somehow she found him more appealing, more virile, and more male.
Combine that with his personality. Oh, sugar. The media had it all wrong there, too. Richard Thompson wasn’t sullen and silent, but witty and engaging.
“Shit.”
Maybe not so witty. She glanced up to find him folded behind the island, that butt of his sticking in the air.