A Nice Guy

Debbie knew one thing about her sister: she was a bitch. How or why a nice guy like Randy could end up with someone so cruel boggled Debbie’s mind. It’s like Mr. Rodgers marrying Cruella de Vil. It’s a travesty.

Her week long visit to her sister’s house (which, incidentally, also belonged to Randy) limped into its third day. Debbie couldn’t wait to get home, and she still had three days to go. She wouldn’t make it. Thirty-eight was too old to waste an entire weekend someplace she didn’t want to be. And, apparently, she wasn’t wanted…

Except by Randy, of course.

The argument over dinner started out as a conversation, then a discussion and then an argument. Debbie and Randy fled the house when it finally morphed into a screaming match. Her sister’s last words were “I don’t give a FUCK where you go, just get OUT of my sight.” Then she slammed her bedroom door hard enough to splinter the door frame.

Her younger sister had always been temperamental. Things came too easy to her. They always had. A pretty, natural blonde with large breasts. A figure that stayed svelte no matter what she ate or did.

Debbie, on the other hand, had the same looks and breasts, but had to work out at least an hour a day to maintain her figure. Every day. Hell, she hadn’t eaten pizza or a hamburger in six months. French fries? Over a year.

Every year it got harder. She needed to find a man soon or no amount of lunges or crunches would hold her together. She needed…

To tell the truth, she needed a man like Randy.

Randy.

An honest lawyer, which was a mini-miracle in itself. Randy could have harvested a million a year in Chicago. He certainly had the brains. Instead, he established a private firm consisting of two paralegals and him.

He routinely accepted pro bono cases and, last year, headlined a regional newspaper for winning an elderly woman eighty thousand dollars from a corrupt insurance company. In the newspaper photo the old lady planted a sloppy smooch right on Randy’s cheek. He looked so…happy.

Debbie would never tell him, but that clipping sat tucked into her desk drawer.

His looks still held at forty. More than held. Actually flourished. Handsome with dark eyes and a sharp jaw line. She hated weak chins, and Randy had anything but. He stood a little over six feet tall with no trace of a belly.

He wasn’t over-muscled like the meatheads at her health club. He didn’t worship the “burn” or concoct vitamin shakes or target muscle groups. He stayed trim. She didn’t know how he did it, but he looked great. Especially today, in his khaki Dockers and snug golf polo.

As they walked into the grocery store, Debbie brushed her eyes across his chest and noticed the fabric exhibited the rise of his nipples. She immediately squashed that flush of lust. What was she thinking? This was her brother-in-law.

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