Playing by the Rules (22 page)

She stopped to pick up a small statue of a dancer and cradled it in one hand as she rubbed at non-existent finger marks.

‘Maybe I’m just not destined to be with a man. Maybe I need to “find myself”. Take flamenco lessons, or cooking classes or something. Isn’t that what the mags tell you to do? Focus on your own interests? Find your bliss?’

She gestured dramatically as she spoke, then, realising that she still had the dancer in her hand, put it down with exaggerated care and looked at her friend, who was watching with raised eyebrows.

‘Find your bliss? And that means . . .?’

Jo felt her face relax into a grin. ‘God knows. But I think it’s time I found out. And I’m not going to do that by going on date after pointless date just because guys keep asking me. It’s time I had a new direction. Starting right now.’

She drew herself up to her full height, clasped her hands over her heart and adopted a full-speed-ahead-and-damn-the-torpedoes look.

‘From this moment on, I, Jo Marchant, am committed to finding my bliss – whatever, or wherever, that may be – and I shall let no man get in my way. As of now, I am officially a man-free zone!’

Kate clapped and Jo bowed. This felt good. It must be the right thing to do. Excellent. She was on the way to finding her bliss.

Then Kate shook her head and let her down with thud. ‘Well, I wish you luck – but frankly, I give it a week. No – wait – it’s Thursday. I give it three days.’

Jo abandoned the pose as her elation fell away. She put her hands on her hips and glared at her friend. ‘And what
exactly
is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that, apart from time off for illness, I don’t think you’ve gone a fortnight without a date since you left high school.’

‘Oh Kate, don’t exaggerate!’

‘Okay, call it three weeks, then. Can you deny that?’

Put on the spot, Jo did a quick mental calculation. It might just be true. On average, anyway. But was that her fault? She met a lot of men in the course of her job. If they wanted to buy her dinner, who was she to argue? It was good for business and the food was better than if she cooked for herself. Besides, she had always maintained that if they had the guts to ask, the least she could do was give them a chance.

‘Okay, I suppose I can’t deny it. But so what?’

‘So, I don’t think you’d know what to do with yourself without men in your life. How would you amuse yourself without your playthings?’

Jo heard herself emit a high-pitched squeak of outrage. ‘Kate Adams!’

‘Marchant,’ her friend replied, again with maddening calm.

‘Whatever. I do not treat men like playthings!’

‘Yes, you do. You said it yourself: you play with them until you get bored, then you return them to storage and find another.’

Jo felt her mouth drop open. She
had
said something very like that. But since when did Kate call her on every word like this?

‘That’s not
exactly
what I said. In any case, even if I admit I treat them like playthings – and I don’t! – it’s no different from the way they’d treat me, given half a chance.’

‘Hmm. Maybe. Anyway, the point is, full marks for wanting to give up men, but I don’t believe you can do it.’

Jo felt her determination rise with the challenge. ‘Oh ye of little faith. I can
so
do this. Just you watch me!’

‘For how long?’

Jo looked at her friend suspiciously. If she didn’t know better, she would think Kate was deliberately baiting her. But Kate wasn’t like that. At least, she never had been before. She must really doubt her.

Could she be right? Was Jo really so addicted to dates that she couldn’t go a fortnight without one?

Humph! That wasn’t true. And if it were, all the more reason to go through with this.

Kate took advantage of her silence. ‘If you’re really serious, you’ll put a time on it. Come on, Jo – I’m goal girl, remember? If you want to set a goal, it should be realistic, attainable and measurable. You’ve already blown the first two but you should at least go for one out of three.’ Jo opened her mouth, but Kate didn’t give her a chance to speak. ‘So, give me a time line. Tell me exactly how long you think you can maintain this charade of not being interested in men.’

‘Six weeks.’ It was the first figure that came to mind, and, on reflection, Jo thought it might be a little ambitious, but Kate had issued a challenge and Jo was congenitally incapable of refusing a challenge. Besides, it might have started as a bit of a joke, but in the course of the conversation the idea had turned serious. She
would
give up men. It would be a good experience for her. It would be cleansing and educational.

And maybe it would get rid of the vague but growing sense of dissatisfaction that had been niggling at her for months now.

‘That’s how long you said Declan needs to stay, isn’t it? Six weeks?’

Kate nodded.

‘Right, then. Six weeks it is. For the next six weeks, I will not date, kiss, or sexually interact in any way with a male of the species. Satisfied?’

Kate nodded again. ‘Fully satisfied. Now all that remains to be seen is whether you can pull it off.’

‘Just watch me! Watch me and weep, you doubting Thomasina. And at the end of the six weeks, when I’ve wiped the floor with your doubt, you’ll owe me dinner.’

‘And if you don’t make it, you owe me six months of babysitting, plus an extra month for each week you fall short.’ Kate was grinning now, clearly enjoying herself.

Jo nodded firmly. ‘Deal.’ Then she frowned. ‘But you know, Kate, I’m not sure that my brother is a good influence on you. You didn’t use to drive such a hard bargain.’

‘And that’s the least of what he’s taught me . . . but that’s a conversation for another time. Right now, the baby’s demanding food, so if you can tear yourself away from the art for an hour, I think it’s time we rounded up those blokes and went to dinner. What do you say?’

Jo smiled fondly at her friend. ‘Sure, we can do that. The expectant mother must be fed. I’ll come back and finish up later. Where are the guys, anyway?’

In answer, Kate gestured towards the front window again and busied herself with trying to get up off the low bench. Surprised, Jo turned to look. Sure enough, there was her brother, leaning against the same four-wheel drive that had been there earlier, chatting companionably with its hunk-of-muscle owner. Jo heard herself make a noise like a balloon slowly deflating and forgot all about helping Kate up.

‘Oh . . . so that’s Declan.’

‘Yep, that’s him,’ Kate replied. ‘Did I not mention that before?’

Jo looked at her doubtfully, but Kate seemed fully occupied with levering herself into an upright position.

‘What did I do with my handbag?’

Jo went and picked it up off her desk and handed it to Kate silently, her mind working furiously to absorb the new information.

So the hottie with the body to die for was Declan. That was okay. She’d made a resolution. She had given up men and she was going to find her bliss. She wasn’t going to back out of the deal just because she was about to start sharing a house with a man who could raise her temperature from the other side of reinforced glass.

She clamped her teeth together in determination. After all, it was her record with guys just like Declan that had brought her to this decision. He was her past and she was looking towards the future. A better future; one that didn’t involve going around in circles with unsuitable men.

Her hands clenched to match her teeth. This was all fine. She could do this. She would make it through the six weeks without so much as flirting with the delectable Declan. It would be a good experience for her and, with any luck, it would silence Kate forever on the subject of ‘types’.

All the same, as she picked up her own bag, turned off the lights and locked up, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was going to be a very long six weeks.