When Sparks Fly Read Online Free PDF Page B

Frankie, how long do you think it will take to fix her car?”
    “Looking to delay her departure? Where’s she staying, anyway? She find a room in Springfield?”
    “She’s staying at my folks’ house.”
    Loren waggled his eyebrows. “My, my, isn’t that convenient.”
    “It’s not like that!” Joe responded sharply. “She’s a nice woman with a young daughter who needed a place to stay. That’s all there is to it.” Turning away from his friends, he pushed away from the bar. Moving through the crowd, he headed to the men’s room.
    “I haven’t seen him this worked up over a woman since Becky Stringer in the eighth grade,” Loren commented, watching Joe stalk off. They’d grown up together, been best friends since kindergarten and met Frankie in middle school, after a particularly nasty altercation having to do with rights to the local fishing hole. The new kid in town had wasted no time in trying to assert himself as the baddest ass around…for a thirteen year old. Loren and Joe stood their ground and after ten minutes of flying fists, bloodied noses, and enough muddy clothing to make their mothers weep, the boys decided that fishing was better than fighting. They had been solid friends ever since.
    Loren Hamilton stood 6’1”, 185 lbs, with jet black hair and green eyes. His good looks and reputation as a ladies’ man preceded him, not only in Celebration but also in the surrounding county. It was well known that his idea of a relationship was three dates, tops. With that kind of record, it hadn’t taken him long to work his way through the available, and not so available, women in town. Always on the hunt for fresh blood, he rarely missed an opportunity to hit on a ‘newbie’, as he liked to call any new female visitor. He’d make an exception this time. Even without seeing this mystery woman, he recognized the look in Joe’s eye. He’d seen it twice before; once in the eighth grade and once ….
    Joe claimed an empty bar stool as he rejoined his friends. Tipping his bottle at the bartender, he cast a surly glance at his best friend, who adopted an apologetic, puppy-dog face. Dropping to his knees and clasping his hands together, Loren pleaded jokingly, “Puh-leeze forgive me. You know I can’t bear it when you’re mad at me.”
    “Moron,” Joe laughed, rolling his eyes.
    “If I may so humbly ask, what is the name of this fair maiden who has stolen your heart?”
    “Don’t push it,” Joe warned. “And for God’s sake, get up off the floor! You look like an idiot.”
    “Her name’s Monica Russo,” Frankie ventured. “And her kid’s name is Kimberly.”
    “Kimber,” Joe corrected, smiling at the memory of the child running off to show her picture to Grandma Fran.
    “Kimber. My mistake,” Frankie commented drily. He could see as well as Loren that their friend was falling fast and hard for a total stranger. He remembered the last time it had happened and the result hadn’t been pretty. “So what is going on between you and Monica?” His emphasis on her name left no question that he thought his friend was heading for trouble.
    “There’s nothing going on,” Joe clarified. “She’s just a woman who needed help when her car broke down. How’d you like to be stuck in the middle of nowhere and no one around to call?”
    “I’m just saying. I’ve seen that look in your eye before. Be careful, bro.”
    Joe stood and slid a bill onto the bar. Loren and Frankie were both studying him closely so he put on his best shit-eating grin and slapped them on the back. “There’s nothing to worry about. As soon as Frankie here fixes her car, she’ll be on her way to LA and all this will be a distant memory. In the meantime, nothing wrong with admiring the scenery, is there?” Sliding on his jacket, he fished his keys out of his pocket. “It’s getting late and I, for one, have to work tomorrow. It’s been fun as always, boys.”
    “You going to the game tomorrow night?”