"Improper English" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAlister Katie)

“That sounds rather uncomfortable.”

“The Cheeto-rubbing or the creeps? Doesn’t matter, they are both uncomfortable, so if you have some guy just hanging around looking for a babe, I’m your girl.”

“I’m not sure he is hanging around looking for a babe...”

“Course, he’s got to be fun. I don’t like those stodgy types, like lawyers and what-have-you. And I don’t have time for a real romance, you understand, just a quickie or two.”

Isabella frowned. “I’m sure my friend would want more from a relationship than just casual sex.”

“Oh. Damn. Well, then, you’d probably better not fix me up with him. I don’t have the time or strength to go through the whole serious-relationship thing with a guy. Do you know of anyone who does want casual sex?”

She smiled a distant, rather cold smile. “I’m sure you could find any number of such men at the Drake’s Bum.”

I made a face. I’d been to the Drake’s Bum—it was a local pub that had been modernized within an inch of its life. Now it was a trendy hangout, populated with people there to see and be seen; not my type of crowd at all. “I was kind of hoping for a guy who had been creep-vetted already.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I seldom count creeps amongst the men of my acquaintance.” She tried to sidle past me.

I turned to block her progress and took a moment to wax philosophical. “You know, Isabella, I’ve always said that men are like a bag of potato chips. They may look scrumptious and tasty, but once you’ve had them, all you’re left with is an empty bag.”

She paused, frowning slightly. “I don’t quite see the analogy.”

I waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. The point is that unless you know of a non-creep who wants a fling, I’m not interested in this guy of yours.”

She eased past me. “If you change your mind, let me know. The man I have in mind is a perfect match for you. I thought so the day you arrived, but I wanted to know you a little longer before I suggested him.”

A matchmaking landlady—just what I needed to complete my happiness. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

She nodded and stepped out the door. I watched her start up the stairs to the floor above, which she divided with another tenant, and leaned back against the door-jamb to scratch an itch between my shoulder blades. A perfect man. Ha! In the whole of my twenty-nine years I’d yet to see such a thing. Perfect for someone else, no doubt, but not me. I wasn’t going down that slippery slide into hell again. No sir, not me. Once burned, twice shy. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. A bird in the hand is worth two in the ... oh, dear.

“Um ... Isabella?”

“Yes?” she called down without pausing in her ascent.

“You said this guy is a perfect match?”

“Perfect for you, yes.”

She rounded the landing and disappeared up the last flight of stairs.

“How perfect?” I yelled after her, good manners flying out the window even as I told myself I wasn’t in the slightest bit interested.

“Perfect.” Even her voice was elegant, all rounded vowels and languid English richness.

I walked to the banister and peered up the stairwell. “Is this perfect man a friend of yours?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Her voice drifted downward, growing fainter. I heard the chimes that brush her door tinkle softly as she went into her flat. “He’s my lover.”