A Write Time for Love
Chapter 3
MCRW Round Robin
Author: C.S. Doyle
Original Publication Date in Love Notes: January 2003

C.P. worked his way through the half-filled tables. Not a bad crowd for Monday night. Better than last week, not as good as next — assuming Maggie showed up and wrote a review.

The woman’s writing flair more than made up for her sixth grade conversation skills. And she knew her music. Built herself quite a following with her weekly music review. That’s why C.P. wanted her to cover Jim Leary tonight. A favorable review from Maggie would pack the audience next week.

He frowned at the memory of the dynamo who’d refused to back down from the copy room dare. Taking her pants down in front of twenty drunken leches didn’t indicate much in the way of common sense.

Especially since half of them wanted to ask her out. The other half had asked, and wished they hadn’t. Or so said Amanda Jane, the sixty year old admin assistant who’d served his father and also controlled the office grapevine — and had for the last thirty years.

Personally, he found it hard to believe. The Maggie he remembered looked like she’d never met a mascara wand and hid herself under oversized men’s clothes. Although, judging from that butt print, she had nothing to be ashamed of in the body department. Her new hair cut, now that’s something she needed to hide.

He’d met her before on one of his rare as he could make them visits to the newspaper. Even stuffed into a rubber band, the kind the delivery boys used on newspapers before the days of plastic sleeves, her long dark curls deserved star billing in a fantasy. Why she’d cut off her one asset beat him. Cut? Mutilated was more like it.

Not that it mattered to him. He still couldn’t believe that Maggie thought he’d called her for a date. Not likely.

C.P. had a reputation to maintain, one built around tall, leggy blondes. Women who preferred Cabernet to Coors, silk stockings to sneakers, and French kissing to French diplomatic relations.

So, why was he standing at the entrance to the Big Corral? He told Maggie he’d leave the tickets there for her. No reason to deliver them personally. No reason at all. Except curiosity.

He wanted to know what kind of guy had braved a forest of thorns and convinced Maggie to go out on a date. For Amanda Jane. She’d want all the details. Especially since she seemed to have a soft spot for the tomboy. Then again, Amanda Jane was a mother hen at heart.

A crack of thunder, easily audible over Jim’s mellow guitar licks, preceded a deluge of rain. A rush of customers, caught in between cars and the door, shoved their way past him. Most cursed at their wet clothes and ruined hairstyles.

Especially the stiff in the black shirt, buttoned to the neck, and the color coordinated blazer. L.A. transplant. Had to be. The guy’s date laughed, a middle of the night, whiskey and sex laugh. “It’s only water.”

“This is silk. Water ruins silk. And my hair. God, I must look a fright.”

A fright? Definitely L.A.

“Your hair? Look at mine.”

C.P. watched from behind as she shook her head. Droplets of water flew from her short black curls. Adorable, little girl curls. Not the body, though. The short red number was clearly designed to leave little to the imagination. Soaking wet, it revealed every line, every curve. Man oh man, this chick had some curves to show. And that butt.

Stop the presses. He’d seen that behind from behind before. “Maggie?” He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until she turned.

“Cole–hi. Are you leaving?”

Every muscle in his body froze, except one. That one pointed in her direction like a hound dog that found its prey.

“Maggie?” Cole asked again, sure a mistake of cosmic proportions had occurred. The siren in the red dress, the one with curves in front to match the ones in back, couldn’t be the Maggie he knew. He looked in her eyes, big, almond shaped eyes, eyes so dark he knew they held mysteries it’d take a lifetime to unravel. But he wanted to try.

And now he knew what every ounce of testosterone at the paper had known all along. Maggie Breedlove was made for love. The hot, sweaty, comethreetimesanight kind of love.

***

Three times a night, huh?  Find out if they even go once in Chapter 4

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