“You had fun, Sherri,” Maggie corrected with a wry smile. “You always left with the hot guy and I got left behind with the wingman.” Which wasn’t always a bad thing, she had to admit. She’d met some very interesting people that way. Men who were like her – guilted into going out with their hot-looking friends so they wouldn’t have to go out alone. In general, wingmen tended to be more down to earth and more interesting than the gods and goddesses, as Maggie called them.
She was quite fond of Sherri, but it was a true exercise in humility going out with her. Sherri was classically pretty with light blond hair and flirty blue eyes that sparkled with promises of fun. Around five-seven with at least half of that belonging to her long, shapely legs, Sherri was the female equivalent of magnetic north for men. Their dicks always pointed right to her. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she moonlighted as an exotic dancer at Angels, Pine Ridge’s local “gentleman’s club”. The woman was a walking, talking fantasy for most functioning, post-pubescent heterosexual males.
“Can I help it if I’m approachable?” Sherri asked with no trace of vanity whatsoever.
“No,” Maggie sighed. Sherri had been born beautiful, lithe, and innately friendly. How could Maggie hold that against her? It was like hating a spectacular sunset or a soft summer breeze. You could do it, but you’d feel even worse if you did.
“Please, Mags. I’m really out on a limb here.”
Now there was a visual Maggie didn’t need – Sherri dangling gracefully from a tree, with a dozen hot firemen from the community charity calendar reaching up to save her. Actually, she believed that was one of the pictures in there two years ago...
Maggie shook her head to clear the image. “Maybe Crystal will come through.”
“Mags, she broke her leg. I really don’t think that’s going to heal by tomorrow night.”
“Don’t they make walking casts?”
“Not for pole dancing, no.”
“Good point. But there’s got to be someone else you can ask. Someone from the club, maybe, wanting to make a couple extra bucks.”
“No one that’s as pretty as you.”
Maggie turned around, expecting to see the mischievous, playful smile on her friend’s face, the one she always wore when she was blatantly blowing sunshine up someone’s ass to get what she wanted. What she saw instead was a look of total seriousness.
“And the guys are very particular.”
Maggie had to wonder exactly what it was they were particular about, which was followed almost immediately by trying to think of something she had that they might be interested in. She came up with nothing. Last she heard, most guys weren’t dreaming of Susie Homemaker introverts dancing at their bachelor parties. Maggie had no false perceptions of what she was – too short, too curvy, too boring, too plain. Especially next to someone like Sherri who literally oozed feminine sexuality.
“Yank someone else’s chain, Sher,” Maggie said, recovering. “I’m not biting.” She slipped off the apron and hung it on the hook beside the back door.
“Mags, have you looked at yourself lately?”
“Not if I can help it.” After all, why add insult to injury?
“Spencer was an idiot,” Sherri said softly from right behind Maggie, her arm going around her shoulder. “Losing him was the best thing that could have happened to you.”
Spencer Dumas was an idiot, that much was true, but he was a good-looking, wealthy, successful idiot. And Maggie had him trumped, easily surpassing him on the moron scale. She had actually believed all of his lies, had believed that someone like him could love someone like her. At least until she thought to surprise him one night while he was working late at his office and discovered his secretary taking dick-tation while bent over his imported desk.
An added bonus: she got to hear firsthand Spencer’s own account of his prudish, chubby fiancé, the one he was only marrying to get hold of her land.
Maggie had been strong. She’d left quietly after – calmly, numbly – revealing her presence, canceling the engagement, then removing herself completely from the social scene. How many of her supposed friends had known all along? How many had laughed at her behind her back or shaken their heads in silent pity at her total ignorance?
Apparently quite a lot. She hadn’t been able to face many since. Sherri was the one exception, but that was mainly because the woman was as tenacious as she was gorgeous. And she didn’t have a mean, catty bone in her body. The bitch.
“You are beautiful,” Sherri told her, reaching up to pull out the clip that held Maggie’s hair. The result was voluminous waves of ruby-red hair that cascaded halfway down her back. “God, I wish I had your hair.”
Maggie reached back and snatched the clip. She re-secured her hair immediately, turning crystalline green eyes on her friend, staring pointedly at the curtains of silken platinum that framed Sherri’s perfect features.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that men really hate blondes. A real turn-off. Must be hard on you. My heart bleeds, really.”