Love Unrehearsed

“I don’t need a map. I have the GPS,” Ry-an joked from the passenger seat as he fumbled with the in-dash navigation.

“Good thing Mike’s sober or we’d be driving in circles,” Marie teased.

Ryan turned and leered at her. “Hey, don’t talk about my man, Mike. He’s an important part of this mission.”

“Thank God. Lord knows someone’s got to defend you when all those horny housewives try to assault you in the aisles,” Marie joked.

“How much you want to bet that someone asks you to autograph their rump roast?” Mike laughed. “Wait. Does his signature actually have to go on meat or are all groceries included in this bet?”

Marie raised a brow at me. “All groceries,” she clarified. “Why? You seriously want to bet against me?”

“Why yes, darlin’, I believe I do. Women always dig in their purses for paper first,” Mike replied. “I’ll give you a few minutes to think about what you’re willing to lose in this bet. Choose wisely.”

His flirtatious comment surely didn’t go unnoticed in the backseat.

I grabbed a cart before we went into the store, sensing Ryan’s apprehension. He tugged his baseball hat lower, glancing around nervously.

As usual, Mike entered the store first. He did that wherever we went, getting the lay of the land before allowing Ryan entrance.

After he did his quick visual sweep of the produce section to make sure the vegetables weren’t staging an attack, he sidled up next to me and bumped my arm. “Jeez, woman. I thought we were here for Doritos. How much do you intend to buy?”

“For how much food you two pack away, I should get two carts. And unless you like wearing the same crusty underwear every day, I suggest you zip it and pick out your favorite fabric softener.” I gave him a playful elbow bump back.

Mike looked aghast. “Did you just threaten me with laundry?”

“Considering that we don’t qualify for on-set laundry services like some people . . . uh, yeah.”

Ryan was already piling the cart with fruit and some cookies that were on display when we first walked in. He frowned at Mike.

“There’s no food in our place and if she stops cooking for me because you’re being an ass I’m going to kill you.”

Mike held up his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to tell me twice. If it weren’t for Taryn I’d never get a home-cooked meal and if she’s willing to wash socks for me . . . Consider it shut.”

I grabbed some lettuce. “Marie is a better cook than I am. She can make soup from a stalk of celery and a rock.” Marie smiled broadly at me. It was one of our private jokes from back in the starving college days.

Ryan waved the pack of cookies in Marie’s direction. “There you go. Get your own cook.”

I took the pack of cookies out of the cart.

“Not on the approved diet from your trainer, babe.”

Ryan’s pout was heartbreaking. “No cookies?”

I felt like the mother of an overgrown baby. “No cookies. No doughnuts, either.” While Ryan glared at me, Mike stealthily gazed at Marie. Our dear bodyguard’s face might have been impassive, but his eyes definitely gave it away that he was considering her, weighing out his options. Marie had a hell of a figure on her, including the kind of boobs that got women into trouble.

There were several times I wanted to dig into Mike’s business, beyond knowing he spent ten years in the Marine Corps and was capable of killing someone a hundred different ways with his bare hands, but I never wanted to embarrass him. His love life was something that never came up in conversation. I suppose living on the road like he was was not the most conducive situation to try to maintain a relationship.

The possibility that he could be gay flitted through my brain once, but that quickly dissipated when Mike took a bit of an interest in Trish. That interest, however, was nothing compared to how he was now hanging on to Marie’s every word as if she were the most intriguing woman on the planet.

A woman in aisle three did a less than inconspicuous gaze when she spotted Ryan.

Her skin flushed as if she was both excited and unsure, but still she never approached.

Too nervous, apparently.

I pushed my cart, enjoying the view of Mike trying to talk to Marie, attempting to be casually cool as he spoke.

“You never did specify the terms of the bet. Ten, twenty? Decide quickly. Stretch Pants Lady is fumbling with her purse.” Marie looked confident but slightly bashful. I noticed she rubbed the finger that used to have a wedding ring on it. There was nothing there now but bare skin and the hopes of a fresh start.

“How about dinner?” she tossed back. “If you win, pick out anything in the store and I’ll cook for you. But if I win, you’re wearing the apron.”

Mike laughed, surreptitiously placing his body between Ryan and some older man coming down the aisle. “You may want to rethink that, unless you really love mac-’n’-

cheese and ramen noodles and want to see me in an apron. Then who am I to disappoint?”

Nothing but an apron, I amended silently for her. Yeah, she’s smirking. Dirty minds think alike.

She quickly recovered. “Not much of a cook?”

“Well, I have tried to make celery-rock soup once before. It probably wasn’t as good as yours, though.”

Ryan grabbed a jar of spaghetti sauce. His arms were piled with things. He walked up to Mike. “Wait, I thought we planned on taking them out to dinner tomorrow? That’s what you said you wanted to do.”

Mike looked like he wanted to throttle Ry-an on the spot, that is, until several customers started leering down the aisle. One girl pulled out her cell, aiming it to take a quick snapshot.

Son of a . . . why, people? Do you think that famous people don’t eat or shop? Come on! I darted to Ryan’s side, bumping shoulders with Mike and blocking Ryan as much as possible. He couldn’t be left alone for two minutes without someone taking a piece of him.

Marie whipped out her phone and aimed right back. The girl quickly started to back up. “Wait! Where are you going? I need to update my Facebook page.”

Ryan frowned, showing his disapproval.

“Don’t do that. Just let them take their pictures. You start saying shit and that gets recorded . . . Just do me a favor and don’t.”

“Sorry,” Marie said quickly, not looking sorry at all.

Mike gave her an elbow nudge. “Trouble-maker! Seems as though you need a keeper, too.”