The Last Guy

Both men’s brows are lowered, and the muscle in Cade’s perfectly square jaw ripples back and forth. I have got to get out of here.

“Either way, we need you in the newsroom. Vicky wants to do a quick rundown of the ten o’clock show. We’re shuffling stories around in view of this afternoon’s . . . mishap.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Cade answers. “I’d like to finish up what I’m doing here.”

Flipping the door closed on the dishwasher, I scamper to where I left my purse and jacket. “It’s okay. I’ve got to get home.”

“Probably for the best,” Marv says. “Goodnight, Rebecca.”

“Wait—” Cade is moving in my direction, and his tone twists my stomach.

“Goodnight!” I say brightly, not looking back. I’m moving so fast, it’s just short of running, and I don’t even stop as I pass through the newsroom, not even for Vicky calling out to me. I only wave. “Chat tomorrow!”

I’m out the door, snatching off my heels and full-out sprinting to my Prius. I can’t take a chance Cade might follow me. It’s a matter of survival, of holding onto my plans. Marv appeared at just the right time to keep me from making another huge mistake. Getting mixed up with my coworker, getting my heart smashed into a million pieces by the Killer, on top of everything else that has happened, it would be the third strike.

I am not going out.

Not without a fight.

“And the hits just keep on coming!” Chas holds a martini glass in one hand, and with the other she does a large swoop straight over her head.

I’m curled on the couch in the fetal position with a pillow tight over my head. “You have absolutely no idea,” I moan.

“Cheer up, buttercup! Your breast made prime time! If I were Lady Diana Ross, Miss Mahogany herself, I would give you a tit-check like she did Lil Kim at the VMAs.”

“Don’t talk about it. I never want to see another petting zoo as long as I live. Or a monkey.”

“Then you’d better stay off the Internet for the duration. You’ve already racked up three million hits on Youtube, and it’s only been four hours. You’re hotter than that little girl who sang like a tree frog.”

“Stop looking at it!”

“I wish I could, but it’s like one of those car wrecks, or a drive-by shooting—a drive-by boobing.”

Slowly pushing up on the couch, I smooth my hair. “It’s one of the hazards of doing live coverage . . . like being a reporter in a war zone. Sometimes bombs go off. I was simply doing my job, and the wildlife got out of control.”

“Mm-hm.” Chas takes another sip. “I keep telling you no children, no animals. These are very basic rules of show business.”

“It seemed like a fun idea!” Leaning forward, I rub my hands over my face. “How was I to know Pixie was an octopus? A hairy, brown, pink-bow-wearing date rapist.”

“She’s a mon-key!” My roommate drags out the syllables. “Didn’t you hear about that woman in New York whose pet monkey went nuts and nearly ate her face off? You took your life in your hands holding that thing.”

“Good lord, Chas!” Frowning, I look up at her. She’s wrapped in a hot-pink satin robe and on her head is a cream-colored turban.

“Oh, sweetie, really with that frown. Think of your forehead.”

Lifting my eyebrows, I shake it off. Just then our enormous flatscreen TV returns from commercial, and Cade Hill fills the frame in all his sexy, dark-brown, blue-eyed deliciousness. I fall onto my side again, hugging the faux-mink pillow against the ache in my stomach. “Pixie’s not the half of my problem,” I whimper. “I’m doomed.”

“Shew! That is one sexy sportscaster. That’s gotta be great for ratings.” Chas fans a hand in front of her face. “Tell me what’s got you so doomed.”

It’s no use covering this up. Besides, if anybody can help me out of this bed I keep trying to fall into, my roommate tops the list. “I can’t keep my fucking hands off him.”

“Him . . .” Cade’s dark eyes move to the side then a huge, white smile splits her cheeks. “HIM! Oh, yes, you know that’s right.”

“No! It’s not right! Marv almost caught me climbing him like a tree this evening.”

She’s bouncing in place, laughing. “Once you get a taste, there’s no going back.”

That makes me sit up fast. “Stop bouncing—I have to go back! I have to stop this. It’s the perfect ammunition Marv is looking for to kill my shot at the anchor chair.”

“Why would he do that? You’re the most experienced reporter up there.”

“He wants to give it to Savannah Winston.”

“Savannah Winston!” Eyes, mouth, Chas’s whole face is an O. “That little blonde airhead? You know I heard her say loof-leaf instead of loose-leaf paper during a back-to-school story?”

In spite of it all, I snort. “You did not.”

“I did!” Chas shouts, but I’m skeptical.

“You’re just making that up, or she got tongue-tied. Nobody says loof-leaf.”

“Well, she did call the poor citizens of Ghana Gonorrheans on a live broadcast.”

“She did not!” I’m laughing harder now. “That was a lady from your church talking about a mission trip.”

“Oh, that’s right,” my roommate nods. “Shirley Faye never was the brightest bulb in the makeup mirror. Still, she’s better than that little girl pretending to be a newswoman.”

This time, I lean over, placing my head on Chas’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Your boob was totally ready for prime time, by the way. No wonder that sexy sportsman wants to buy everything you’re selling.”

Taking a deep breath, I do a little growl through my exhale. “How did my life get so fucked up, Chas? I used to have it all together. This is all James’s fault. He threw me off my game.”

We sit in silence watching Cade on mute. I’m mesmerized by his full lips moving like pink pillows in a sexy sea of brown beard. I remember scratching my fingernails up his cheeks, and every tiny hair on my body rises at the memory of his kisses.

“Ugh!” I groan, scrubbing my hands over my eyes. “I’ve got to get him out of my head.”

“James?” Chas is rightfully disgusted.

“No! Cade.”

She kicks out her feet and leans forward, scooping up her silver MacBook Air. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Her long, brown fingers fly over the keys, and I watch the screen as it flickers to life with pictures of couples smiling into each other’s faces, embracing, doing everything but skipping.

“What is this?”

“Let’s get started!” Chas says in her best game show announcer voice. “Tell me a little about what you’re looking for in a man.”

“What. The fuck.”

“Rebecca Fieldstone.” My drag bestie turns those enormous doe eyes on me. “The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one. We’re going to shake your mind loose from James and Cade.”

Pushing off the sofa, I start to leave the room. “I am NOT going out with some weirdo you find on the Internet.”

Chas grabs my wrist, stopping me. “That is a very medieval attitude. Don’t you know that most people who meet on Hookup4Luv.com wind up married?”