Kitabı oku: «Turn Up the Heat», sayfa 2
2
JUSTIN PULLED ON his thermal jacket, thrust his hands into puffy black gloves and stepped into boots that promised to keep his feet warm and dry through whatever winter could offer. So far it had offered a lot. Very generous was winter here in Wisconsin. Not much in common with the last thirty winters of his life spent in San Diego. When he’d announced his plans to move to Milwaukee, his friends all got the same bewildered look in their eyes. Dude, what are you smoking? They’d predicted he’d last through January then come shivering back to sunny California.
So far he was holding strong, but days like this …
He peered through the back window at the outdoor thermometer the previous owners left with the house, which he could barely see. Five-thirty and nearly dark. And this was better than it had been in December, when it had started to get dark an hour earlier.
The temperature registered … eighteen? Sorry, but that wasn’t enough degrees for him. Who was responsible? Who could come to the state and fix it? Shouldn’t spring have started by now? Near the end of January? He was certainly ready.
He braced himself and opened the door, cringing at the blast of air that attacked him as if he were naked. The day before had been miraculously warmer, enough to melt the snow on his roof, which meant that as temperatures dropped again, his gutters became icicle hangers and his driveway a skating rink.
Yes, he had moved here on purpose.
He closed his eyes, briefly picturing palm trees, sunshine—he’d seen the sun maybe ten times during the three months he’d been here—sandy beaches, waves made for surfing.
No point torturing himself. He started on the perilous journey toward his garage for a bag of salt, reminding himself that he owned this spacious two-thousand-square-foot house with full basement, instead of the cramped two-bedroom he’d sold in Solana Beach, his hometown on the California coast. Point in Wisconsin’s favor, they were practically giving houses away here. He’d jumped on this one, a typically midwestern brick bungalow on a quiet street in Shorewood, just north of the city of Milwaukee, and made enough profit on the sale of his old house not only to buy the place with cash, but to allow himself time to settle in and write the first book in what could turn out to be a very profitable series with Troy, his closest friend from college.
Justin hadn’t been planning to move, but the coauthoring book deal from Troy and the amount of work they’d need to do together, coupled with the nasty break-up of a relationship, had certainly planted the seed. It wasn’t until his new neighbor, out of the blue, made a very generous offer to purchase his house that Justin started to view the idea seriously. In the end, it almost seemed as if the fates were pointing him here.
The fates clearly had a high tolerance for cold.
He made it to the garage, no falls or bruises, all bones intact, hefted the bag of salt and managed to work out a method of sprinkling and shuffling carefully forward at the same time, ice crackling under the mineral assault. If he was lucky, he could get the car over this and onto the street without smashing into anything. Snow driving and Justin were only just getting acquainted.
At the end of the driveway he’d turned and started on the sidewalk when a movement across the street caught his eye. His neighbor, whatever her name was, had emerged from her house into the strong beam of her back-door light, and was sauntering toward her car, a bright red minivan parked on the street. He’d seen her through the window a couple of times, but meeting people on a block where no one was ever outside unless he or she was pushing a roaring snowblower had proved complicated.
This woman intrigued him. Not just because she was young, attractive and he hadn’t happened to see a guy attached to her, but because, unless she was one of twins or triplets, every time he’d seen her in the past week she’d been sporting a completely different look. Not just different clothes, but hair, accessory styles, even her movements. The first time he’d noticed the change from her usual casual outfit and aura, she’d been striding aggressively toward her car in a pantsuit masculine enough that he could have worn it, no coat, hair in a severe bun, eyes imprisoned by thick, dark-framed glasses. The second time, late one evening, she’d been taking out her trash at the same time he was watering plants in his living room—plants he’d bought to remind himself that not every living thing had died in October. That time, Mysterious Neighbor wore unobtrusive rimless glasses and had her hair in a soft, long braid, exposing chunky gold earrings. On her slender body a bulky hip-length cream sweater hung over casual tan pants and sensible brown shoes. She’d moved in slow dreamy steps, a book tucked under her arm.
Tonight? Whew.
Dark hair hanging sexily loose past her shoulders, tight black miniskirt, fabulous legs in sheer black stockings, which happened to be one of his favorite looks. His gaze followed those shapely legs downward into black lace-up stiletto ankle boots. Under her gaping long black sweater—she must be part Siberian not to be wearing a coat—a purple clingy top dropped low enough to make him yearn for a two-scoop ice cream sundae in spite of the cold. Delicate silver earrings, a silver bracelet, rings on her fingers—bells on her toes?
He realized he was gaping and gave what he hoped was a friendly and neighborly wave, which was all they’d exchanged so far. Her answering smile reached across the street and practically pushed him off his feet.
Whoa.
He crossed, almost forgetting to check for cars, took off his right glove and offered to shake with frozen fingers. “Hi there. I’m Justin.”
Her fingers, extracted from black leather and lace, were warm. “I’m Candy.”
He was about to say, yes you are, when it occurred to him what could be a fun compliment from someone she trusted would sound slimy coming from a stranger. “Nice to meet you, Candy …”
“Graham.”
“Candy-gram?”
She shrugged, smiling wryly. “Dad had a weird sense of humor. My real name is Catherine. I’ve tried to switch to the full name, but …”
He knew this one. “But everyone has always called you Candy, and using another name would be like throwing part of yourself away.”
Her turn to gape at him, but unfortunately not because he was the hottest thing she’d seen all winter long as had been the situation when he was doing it. “How did you know?”
“My last name is Case.”
“Case?”
“Justin …”
“Justin Case.” She cringed, where every other person who made the connection burst out laughing. “Oof. Sorry.”
“Thanks.” He was distracted by the way her full curving lips were colored a plummy shade that complemented her top. She parted those lips and her breath emerged, a soft white cloud in the dim light. He had a sudden and urgent desire to kiss her, and when he lifted his gaze to her eyes and felt the earthquake shock of attraction, he almost did.
Almost. “Uh, yeah, my dad was quite the jokester, too.”
“Apparently.” She broke the eye contact, glancing across the street at his house. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Justin Case. How long have you been here?”
“Since November.” He put his glove back on, crossed his arms over his chest. She had dynamite eyes, lashes long but not fake-looking; subtle liner and smoky brown shadow made them large and smoldering, yet he had the feeling that when she wasn’t dressed and made-up in one of her guises, she’d look farm-girl sweet. Nothing turned him on more than the combination of heat and innocence. He wanted to ask if she was seeing anyone, and how she’d feel about staying indoors with him for the rest of this miserable season. “Pretty serious cold here today, huh.”
“Today?” She blinked at him.
“My thermometer said eighteen. Brutal!” He shook his head, taken aback when she looked puzzled. “For this time of year, I mean.”
“You’re not from Wisconsin, are you.”
“Uh. Southern California?”
She smirked. “That explains it. Eighteen is a pretty normal temperature. This winter has actually been really mild. We usually go subzero in January.”
He shuddered. Were there flights out of Milwaukee to anywhere warm leaving this afternoon?
“It’s not that bad.” She shifted on the sidewalk, gesturing with her hands in her pockets; her sweater gaped and he got a very nice eyeful. She wasn’t tall—he was six-one and she came up to his chin in those incredible boots—but perfectly proportioned. If anything could warm him up … “What made you move here, Justin?”
“A book contract.” His teeth started to chatter; he wondered if she’d think he was making a move on her if he invited her to continue their conversation inside.
“No, kidding! What about?”
“An interactive how-to computer manual. There will be a disk with the book, and an e-version. In the ebooks, readers will be able to click links to pursue subjects further, see short animated demos or try out software screens. We’re trying to duplicate a classroom experience. A friend pitched the idea to our publisher. He’s the computer guy. I’m the writer.” Could she tell his sentences were getting shorter and shorter as his body started to want to shake in earnest? It took more and more energy to hold still. Not macho to start violent trembling. “If it flies they’ll want a whole series.”
“No kidding! That is most excellent. Did you write in California? Where were you from exactly? I have a friend in L.A.” Her conversation tumbled out, as if she’d been holding back before.
“I’m from Solana Beach, outside San Diego. Yes, I wrote, technical manuals for a scientific engineering company.”
“Oh, wow. That sounds so …” She faltered.
“Unbelievably exciting? Universe-altering, in fact?”
“Of course.” She tipped her head, smiling again, hair hanging in a shiny curtain behind her right ear. If he wasn’t about to turn into Frosty the Snowman, he’d really enjoy being on the receiving end of that deep-brown gaze, imagining what else she might find unbelievably exciting.
But he was about to turn into Frosty the Snowman.
“Listen, I know you natives consider this a balmy day in paradise, but I am about to start dropping limbs. Would you like to bring this conversation over to my house? I have coffee on, though at this point I’m thinking of bathing in it.”
She laughed. “I’d love to, but I have a … date.”
“Yeah, okay.” He was surprised to be so disappointed. But of course a woman like this would have a boyfriend, or guys all over her. Guys who’d walk around on a day like today in shorts, shirtless and not even have their balls retract. His were somewhere up near where they’d been the day he was born. “I should have figured with you so dressed up.”
“I don’t always dress like this.”
He almost said “No kidding” but didn’t want her thinking—okay, knowing—that he’d taken a somewhat voyeur-type interest in her and was already curious about her abrupt changes in style. “Too bad.”
She smiled, and under her sex-aura he thought he detected shyness. “Thank you.”
“You … go on a lot of dates?”
“Recently, yes.”
He took a step back. He really liked the look of this woman, the way she smiled so often, and the sensual energy she emitted, but he wasn’t the type to stand in a testosterone line. Angie, his ex-girlfriend, was like that. A man-magnet, who was a lot better at attracting than at repelling, for which she was unapologetic, to say the least. She was one of the reasons he’d done more than just consider cutting ties to his home state.
“I joined a dating site.”
“Yeah?” He stopped moving back. That would explain all the dates—easy access to a pool of single guys. But not the variety of outfits. “How’s that working?”
“Not bad. Not great.” She laughed. “Sometimes I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”
He nodded, not really understanding. For someone who didn’t think it was a good idea, she sure put a lot of effort into transforming herself.
“My friend owns the site. Milwaukeedates.com. It’s … sort of a favor to her.”
“Really.” Now that was interesting. She was going on dates to help out a friend, not to find someone? What about the women who signed up legitimately at the website? What about the poor men who thought they were on a real date and had a chance with her? “The company isn’t doing well? Needs more women?”
“Oh.” She dropped her eyes, clearly flustered. “No, she … No, it’s doing very well. In fact, Marie won a Best Success Stories award last year from Women in Power, a local organization of female business owners. I belong, too.”
“Good for her.” His reporter instinct started humming. Something was making this appetizing Candy-gram pretty uncomfortable. After graduating with a degree in journalism from the University of Southern California, Justin made most of his money through his technical-writing job, but kept his hand in investigative reporting simply because he loved it.
“What do you do?”
“I have my own event-planning company. We do kids’ parties, adult parties, corporate events, whatever anyone needs.”
“What a great job.”
“I enjoy it a lot.”
His mind was still spinning. Bob Rondell, longtime friend and ex-roommate, a good-looking successful guy who loved conspiracy theories, had one about a dating site he’d joined in San Diego. He was convinced the company employed hot women, put up their profiles, and had them show up on two or three chaste dates per new enrollee, to boost the site’s cachet and to keep the men eagerly paying steep monthly dues in case the next date worked out better. At the time Justin had chalked up the theory to Bob’s bruised ego.
But … he’d heard other rumors of deceptive practices on dating sites. It could happen. Justin had learned to trust his instinct when it told him something was worth probing further. Just not here, now, with his ears on fire, his nose running and his toes going numb.
“Well, enjoy your date.”
She looked rueful. “Coffee in your kitchen sounds more fun.”
“The offer stands for another time.” He backed into the street a few steps, keeping their eye contact going, and then turned and did everything he could to amble casually up to his back door when every frozen cell in his body was begging him to run as fast as he safely could.
Was it spring yet?
Inside, still enjoying the mental picture of Candy’s body beckoning in purple and black, but feeling bad for the guy she was going to meet with all the excitement of someone facing jail time, he let himself warm up for a few minutes, turning over the meager facts. Nothing substantial to go on. But … an article exposing fraud of any type was always fascinating to readers, and it wouldn’t do any harm for him to check further.
He hauled out his phone and dialed Bob in California with fingers still clumsy from the chill. Would he ever get used to winter in this place? He missed surfing the most. Maybe he should take up cross-country skiing. Supposed to be a good enough workout that you didn’t mind so much being flash-frozen.
“Bob, hey, it’s Justin. What’s going on?”
“Sitting on my balcony in a swimsuit, getting some sun, enjoying a good book and a beer. You?”
Justin made a noise of disgust. “Up to my testes in ice.”
“Ha! Dude, I knew you’d get hammered there. Serious winter. Come home, the living is still easy.”
“Nah, I like it so far. Except for the cold.”
“Right, and that’s only a mere eight months of the year. I lived in Boston and nearly died. Wisconsin is worse.”
“Don’t need to hear it, I’m living it.”
“I’m telling you … How’s the book coming with Troy?”
“We’ve made a good start.”
“Yeah? I can’t picture the two of you doing anything but goofing around drinking beer.”
“We’re working. We have deadlines, we have to.” He put icy fingers under his arm to try to thaw them. “Listen, are you still signed up at that dating site?”
“CalDates? No-ho-ho-ho.” He chuckled out the syllables. “Waste of good money. I told you my theory.”
“That’s why I’m calling.” He outlined the situation with Candy, her odd behavior and his completely unfounded suspicions.
“One question. Is she hot?”
“Let’s just say hers is the only house on the block without snow.”
Bob snorted. “Then yes. I bet you anything she’s working for this friend of hers who owns the site. Probably whoever comes in, he’s matched up with her in whatever disguise he seems to want, and bingo, she walks in and he’s thinking ‘look at this chick, this is the site for me!’ Then she disappears after a couple of dates. ‘It’s not you, it’s me. No, really.’
“After that, he keeps striking out, but the memory of that first hot woman keeps him renewing the charges. I’m telling you, men are simple. Lonely men are even simpler. ‘Do I have a hope of getting laid again someday? I’ll keep paying.’”
Justin made a noncommital sound and switched his hands so the other one could have hope of getting feeling back. He wasn’t sure he liked hearing men classified as simpletons, though he admitted one glance at Candy dressed the way she was today, and he’d been having some pretty simple thoughts: Me want that.
“You know they did some study of chickens pecking at levers. One group always got food when it pecked. Pretty soon those birds got full and stopped. One group never got food from pecking. They gave up, too, pretty quick. The third group sometimes got food, sometimes didn’t. Those guys never stopped pecking. See what I mean?”
“Uh …”
“Dude, men are the same. Give us a little hope, a few dates with a fantasy babe, and we’ll keep trying forever. It’s brilliant when you stop to think about it.”
“Brilliant.” He was even more uncomfortable now. The chicken story was a little close to home when he thought about his relationship with Angie. For every week she was horrible to him, there was one he was in, and yeah, he kept pecking that lever for way too long. “Well, thanks, I’ll stay in touch.”
“You do that. And visit. You’ll crack by March at the latest. Government there will be handing out free straitjackets by the end of the month, I’m telling you.”
“We’ll see.” Justin said goodbye and hung up, chuckling and shaking his head. Bob the Man. Full of it, on many levels.
However, as much as Justin was skeptical of his friend’s theory, it wouldn’t hurt to check out Milwaukeedates.com. He missed the journalistic rush of adrenaline as worthwhile stories emerged under his digging, and would like to keep that part of his career going in Milwaukee. Uncovering a dating-site scam wouldn’t earn him a Pulitzer, but it could be a solid foot in the door in this new city. Once he got enough details and felt a story was possible he could put together a proposal and see who bit.
Only one problem as far as he could see.
If he was investigating Ms. Graham’s involvement, he couldn’t ask her out with anything more in mind than coffee and information. While where she was concerned, his mind was full of a whole lot more than that.
3
CANDY GOT INTO HER CAR and slammed the door, trying not to stare at Justin’s very nicely put-together body making its way cautiously over his icy driveway. Oh, my goodness. She hadn’t been affected that much by a man in … well not since she’d met Chuck in her senior year at University of Wisconsin Stevens Point. He’d sat behind her in their British Novel class and kicked the back of her chair until she got so annoyed she’d turned around to tell him to knock it off—and encountered the world’s most winning grin and a note waved in her direction: I just fell in love with the back of your head. Meet me for coffee after class?
She had, coffee that lasted through her free hour, her Entrepreneurship class, too much homework time, dinner and the next five wonderful years. During all that time, and in the last year of horrible grief, Candy had hardly looked at another man.
Oh. Well. There was that guy she’d met at the bachelor party she organized last year. And the father of the little girl who had the Barbie birthday party a couple of years before that. And the cute guy who helped her ver-r-ry attentively at Best Buy when she was getting Chuck a new TV for his birthday.
But those men were either spoken for, or she was, so she’d been friendly, and left it at that. Now, gulp, she was free. And if Justin had recently moved, maybe there wasn’t a girlfriend in the picture, unless he’d left one on the beach in California.
Candy turned on the engine, shivering—not from eighteen degrees as much as from Justin. Maybe he was only being neighborly, but her female instincts told her he’d been more than that; the excitement of possibilities had been buzzing in the air between them. Look how she’d jumped to make it seem the whole multiple-dates thing was just a favor to Marie. Candy hadn’t wanted him thinking she was desperate for a man, but obviously she’d also wanted him to know she hadn’t been swept away by anyone yet. Hint, hint.
She wanted to cancel her date tonight with Ralph, knock on Justin’s door and see what talking to him felt like, even though common sense told her this was a temporary thrill. No matter how wonderful Justin turned out to be, odds were he’d end up just a friend in the long run.
Though, mmm, the idea of what could happen in the short run was enticing. Maybe Justin would turn out to be the person Marie prescribed to banish Candy’s ghosts of Valentine’s Day romantic failure.
Oof. Pull back, girl. She was getting ahead of herself, which was a good trait when she was planning an event and imagining everything that could go right or wrong, but not so good when she bulldozed ahead, making assumptions and decisions based on factors she couldn’t control. After all, Justin said he wanted her to come over because he was cold, maybe that was all there was to it.
And romance with a neighbor could be complicated. Candy had inherited her late grandmother’s house here in Shorewood four years ago, bless Grandma, which meant Candy had been able to put her savings toward starting up the party business. But it also meant she wasn’t ever planning to move. Having an ex-boyfriend across the street could be awkward.
One other uneasy thought: Candy had waved hello to Justin a few times, but today was the first time he’d approached, when she was dressed like the kind of person she wasn’t. If that was all that attracted him, they had little hope of hitting it off. Her usual look—sweats and fuzzy slippers, glasses and no makeup—would make him run.
There. Reality was much more reliable than fantasy, as Chuck always had to remind her. Tonight, she’d simply celebrate that she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life with a dormant sex drive, since seeing Justin had woken her hormones from hibernation in a big hurry.
Baby steps toward healing, maybe, but forward motion was the only way Candy would get there.
She pulled out onto Prospect Street and headed for Harry’s Bar and Grill on Oakland. Tonight she was meeting Ralph Stodges who apparently liked his women dressed to seduce, since Marie had matched him up with Sexy Glamour Girl. Despite Candy’s initial misgivings, dating as different types had so far been the perfect way to ease into the concept of new romance with an appropriate sense of fun.
Her first date, as Superwoman—coffee at Alterra by the Lake—had been … interesting. Frank was good-looking and intelligent, but seemed to feel challenged, and kept trying to prove he knew more about pretty much every topic that came up. Tedious, but she’d enjoyed indulging her sense of power and smarts even if she did have to wear that god-awful severe suit.
Her next date—lunch at The Knick as the Professor—was much more fun, probably because that personality came most naturally. Certainly more natural than the one she was trying out tonight. Sam had been thoughtful, interesting and funny, though there was a decided lack of sizzle between them.
Fine by her. She needed to enjoy this experimentation and continue the process of accepting that she and Chuck weren’t going to end up together forever. Admittedly, there were times, home alone in bed, when she still had hope he’d come back, and still times she thought resuming a dating life was a mistake, that she was merely looking for second-best after she’d already had the love of her life. What was the point?
Maybe the point was that second-best would turn out to be better than nothing? She should count herself lucky that she’d loved so deeply. Many people never did.
Somehow that didn’t make her feel much better.
Her late arrival at the bar was made later when it took ten minutes circling blocks before she found a place to park. Then she couldn’t resist calling her best friend since fourth grade, Abigail Glucklich, because God forbid anything should happen the two of them didn’t share immediately.
“It’s quarter after six, you’re supposed to be on your date. Why are you calling me? Is Ralph horrible?”
“I haven’t met him yet.” She got out, locked the car and started toward the bar.
“Losing your nerve? You were a mess when we were picking outfits, no matter how often I told you how gorgeous you were.”
Candy grinned. Abigail had provided clothes, shoes, makeup and advice to bring Sexy Glamour Girl to life, since Candy’s wardrobe definitely wouldn’t suit. And yes, Candy had been squirmingly uncomfortable no matter what the mirror said. She kept hearing Chuck’s voice assuring her she was pretty and sexy without artificial trappings. “No, not losing my nerve.”
“Then …?”
“I met a guy.” Her voice turned girlish and giggly without her permission.
“What?” Abigail’s normal sleepy tone rose an octave. “Where? How? When?”
“Just now. My neighbor across the street.”
“The Bakers’ old house?”
“That’s the one.”
“What happened? You went over and jumped in bed with him?”
“I said I met him. As in ‘Hi, how are you, I’m Candy.’”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. That was Abigail. In Candy’s place she would have accepted Justin’s invitation for coffee and made sure they drank it in the bedroom, leaving poor Ralph at Harry’s glancing at his watch, wondering what had happened to his date. “What is so momentous about meeting your neighbor? Though of course I can guess.”
“He’s gorgeous.”
“Now we’re talking.”
“And from what I can tell, available.”
“Even better.”
“So what do I do next?”
“Take him cookies.”
Candy stopped on the sidewalk and burst out laughing. “Do what now?”
“Cookies. A plate of homemade cookies says, ‘Hello and welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Candy and I can bake. What’s more, in bed I can cook. Let’s get married.’”
Candy snorted and kept walking. “Oh, that’s subtle.”
“That’s how I got Ron. All the other women after him dressed like bimbos and acted as if all they brought to the table was sex and permission for him to spend millions on them. On our first date, I brought to the table a bag of sugar-oatmeal cookies I baked. He never saw what hit him.”
“True enough.”
Abigail had grown up in West Allis, one of five boisterous siblings in a house without enough love or money, and had decided the latter was more important, therefore she got herself engaged to the first gazillionaire she could find. He ducked out—the infamous Valentine’s Day non-wedding—but she married the next one, Ron Glucklich. They lived in a mansion overlooking Lake Michigan with a three-car garage the size of Candy’s house. Until the start of her pregnancy four months earlier, Abigail was always rushing off to this or that country, resort, beach, et al, and was hardly ever around long enough for her house to feel like home, at least as Candy saw it. Now that Abigail had finally stopped throwing up, she and Ron would be off again soon, to Jamaica. Candy wouldn’t want her life for anything.
Okay, maybe for a month. Or two. Abigail didn’t have to dress up and pretend to be Sexy Glamour Girl, she lived it.
“Where are you?”
“On my way to meet Ralph.” She stopped outside the restaurant entrance. “I’m here, in fact. He’s probably thinking by now that I’m not going to show.”
“My, my, you are certainly rolling in men.” Abigail sounded wistful. “Those were the days.”
“Like you’d trade what you have now?” She snorted. Though there were times Candy suspected Abigail missed having the kind of love Candy had found with Chuck, she and Ron got along well and were both thrilled about the coming baby. “I’ll let you know how it goes. What are you doing tonight?”
“Ron’s traveling. I’m going to hang out, watch TV and try not to eat Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Those miniature ones are so cute you think they don’t count, then you reach the end of the bag and realize that’s a whole day’s allotment of calories and none of them were good for the little one.” She let out a groan of exasperation that couldn’t hide her joy. “This baby-making is a major responsibility.”
“Worth it, though?”
“Oh, yeah.” She sighed blissfully. “The little nugget has me already. I’m a goner.”
“I knew that about you.” Candy grinned over a twinge of envy. Abigail was finally looking out for someone other than herself. That was worth grinning over. The envy … well, Candy had thought that by now she and Chuck would be married and starting a family, too.
“So go. Have fun. I’ll fret about calories and you have wild sex.”
“We’ll see.”
“Oh, and I was serious about baking Neighbor Guy cookies, Candy. Make those chocolate chunk ones I nearly gained forty pounds on once I stopped wanting to throw up every hour. He’ll fall like bricks.”
“Will do.”
“And call me the second you’re done with the Ralph-date. If he doesn’t get a stiffy at the sight of you, he’s gay.”
