hadn’t taken a test since she was sixteen, and even when she was a kid she hadn’t done so good on them—she froze when she saw a list of questions and her head wouldn’t work. As for all that proper English and math, those things scared the crap out of her.
She got to Huckleberry Lodge and groaned when she saw a silver Lexus parked in front of the guesthouse. There weren’t that many fancy cars in Mahalaton Lake. It had to be Brendan Townsend.
God, what a prig.
He was conventional about everything—even his pizzas always had the same three toppings. She’d bet that in bed it was missionary position all the way—some action on the breasts, a quick swipe on the thigh and wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Sex was probably too earthy for him to do it right.
The first time she’d delivered a pizza to Brendan was on a hot day the previous summer, and she would never forget his expression when she’d arrived. She had been wearing skimpy shorts with a tube top and his eyes had narrowed with cool scorn. After that she’d started chewing gum whenever she brought food to his condo, making sure she snapped it loudly and blew at least two bubbles before he managed to pay her.
Not that she’d actually get mouthy while delivering a meal to him, but it was the sort of thing Brendan expected and she had to have a little fun. Besides, she’d grown up as the girl whose drunken father was in and out of jail for disorderly behavior, so there was no point in trying to fit in now. She might as well wear the clothes she liked and let the biddies gossip. And it wasn’t as if she was
staying
in Mahalaton Lake, as much as she liked it here. She wanted to get away from any reminders of her father, and having her GED would make getting a good job easier.
Of course, Brendan didn’t try to fit in, either. He wore a suit to everything, including the Founder’s Day picnic and the fire department’s monthly fund-raising dinners. Jeez, he’d been living in Mahalaton Lake for over a year; he should have loosened up by now. But there was one thing she
could
say for him—he tipped well.
Barbi debated for a minute before turning off the engine. She’d rather leave, but Hannah was expecting her and it would be rude. Besides, it was a chance to yank Brendan’s chain—she wasn’t delivering a pizza to him
now,
any more than when she saw him at one of the town’s events.
Grinning, Barbi got out of her battered Chevy; she undid the buttons on her shirt and snugly tied the tails beneath her breasts for a nice display of cleavage. Let Mr. Big Shot Attorney get a load of
this
.
Glancing up, she spotted a man standing at a window of Huckleberry Lodge. She waved to him. He must have gotten an eyeful when her shirt was open, but it wasn’t as if she had anything to be ashamed of—she’d stack her breasts up against any woman in Mahalaton Lake.
She trotted up the broad steps to Hannah’s porch and knocked. It seemed strange not to be carrying a pizza box; she delivered one to Hannah and Danny practically every week. And when a crowd of weekend skiers were staying at the lodge, she sometimes delivered a stack of giant pies to them three nights in a row—skiing worked up an appetite.
“Hi,” she said brightly when Brendan opened the door. “Whatcha doing here?”
“I brought dinner out for Hannah and Danny.”
“Really? I didn’t know I had competition—things must be slow at the office if you had to go into the delivery business. But I doubt you’ll get my tips—you don’t have my equipment.” She wiggled her shoulders provocatively.
It was satisfying to see Brendan focus directly on her chest. He might not approve of her showing some skin, but he wasn’t above getting his jollies at the sight. Men were predictable that way.
“For your information, I just...that is, Hannah and I...we had a meal together,” he spluttered.
“Maybe I should come back another night.”
“Nonsense.” It was Hannah and she elbowed Brendan
Learning to Kill: Stories