A Trashy Affair by Lynn Shurr Read Free Book Online

supposed put our clippings on the curb until that week. I guess it will stay there until just before Christmas since we missed the last pickup.”
    “The chipper will take care of most of it. Say, you better get out of that wet T-shirt. I can tell you’re cold. Don’t want you to get sick before our big night out. Be ready at six-thirty.”
    Jane slammed the door on his wicked laughter.
    By five p.m., Merlin had reduced a huge pile of branches to tiny chips and created an impressive mulch pile next to the garage. Jane admitted to herself she wouldn’t have to pay for mulch for several years to come, not that she had a great deal of use for mulch. Still irked about the wet T-shirt, she stayed inside and used her laptop to work on the proposal.
    Let him go for coffee at the hideous convenience store with the six gas pumps Bernard Freeman put up at the crossroads on the other side of the traffic light. Its glaring lights burned all night long blotting out the stars. The odor of fried chicken invaded her yard twice every day and the boxes often ended up in her ditch. No wonder the great horned owl that once called the pecan tree home had flown away. Even the name of the place offended—the Fast ’N Fun, as if it were some titty bar.
    Merlin Tauzin was just a big, womanizing jerk. She’d thank him for his hard work by going dancing with him just this once, and she’d pay for both their dinners. Dancing, not her strong point, especially not Cajun dancing. Oh, she’d go out and gyrate around in a crowd, but at Mulate’s serious dancers took the floor, each one outdoing the next with their footwork and twirls. The thought made her stomach nervous.
    The annoying, distracting grind of the wood chipper ceased. She peeked through her kitchen curtain to watch Merlin put down a ramp and haul it into the electric blue truck possessing a color very close to that of his eyes. Those eyes turned her way. Caught!
    “Six-thirty,” he reminded her, got into the cab, and drove away.
    Only an hour and a half to get ready! No, no, plenty of time. No need to primp and impress this man. It wasn’t as if he were some state senator with a vote that could give more money to improving the environment of Ste. Jeanne d’Arc Parish. But what to wear? Mulate’s like most Louisiana dance halls called for casual. Jeans would be fine, but she found herself taking a dress from the closet.
    The shimmering blue-green of the fabric ramped up the color of her eyes. It had a snug bodice but wasn’t terribly low cut. The skirt, loose and flirty, would flare if she spun around. That called for wearing pantyhose. After her shower and blowing her hair dry, she put on a green lace bra and panties and struggled into the nylons. Bending before her mirror, Jane blended the lightest touch of bronze eye shadow on her lids and curled her lashes. Foundation, a few strokes of blush, a light slick of pale coral lipstick, and she declared herself ready to go once she curled the ends of her hair under and fastened the necklace made of chunks of recycled glass in the same shades as her gown.
    Shoes, what to do about shoes? Flats would make her seem small next to Merlin. Her work pumps, too dowdy. Four-inch heels and she’d be a danger to herself and everyone on the dance floor. She settled on bronze-toned sandals with two-inch heels and stocked a small matching bag with a credit card, twenty dollars, her license, a lipstick, a pen, comb, tissues, and her ever handy pepper spray. You never knew when it came to men. A last quick spritz of hairspray, and done. She hadn’t primped—much.
    The doorbell rang. She’d half expected him to let himself in the backdoor, but he’d come around the front and filled that doorway as only a big man can. My God! Merlin had shaved, showing off his impressive jaw. For a split second, he reminded her of someone she couldn’t place, but oh hell, he looked toothsome. He wore a deep blue shirt that he didn’t need to bring out the color