The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) by Gretchen Galway Page A

arriving, led by the golf cart
guys in their white uniforms, but Miles didn’t recognize them. More
and more guests were trickling in today, though most weren’t
officially invited until later in the week. The spa had too many
perks to waste, Huntley said—not that Lucy seemed to be taking
advantage of them.
    He lifted the screen to see what the serious
redhead would be working on instead of having her soft, naked body
rubbed with scented oils.
    Or maybe he could play solitaire, distract
him from the image of Lucy having her soft, naked body rubbed with
scented oils. Or worse, the thought of Alex doing the rubbing.
    The screen lit up in the middle of a
spreadsheet of all things, and he remembered she said she was some
kind of analyst for a drug company.
    But this was no work spreadsheet.
    He looked up at the door where she’d
disappeared. If she suspected he’d open this up, she never would
have left it with him. No wonder she’d hesitated.
    He wiggled his butt deeper in the chair to
savor the delightfully incriminating document in front of him.
Quickly, so he didn’t miss a thing if she came back early.
    Her manhunt was documented.
    The columns were color-coded, which was a
nice touch. He especially appreciated how PHYSICAL APPEAL was a
bright, garish red—though she’d numbered that as seventeen, putting
it in a row at the bottom, far below such important characteristics
as LIKES AQUARIUMS and REGULAR FLOSSER. Maybe the red stood for
stop. Or danger.
    He couldn’t help but grin. The worst impulses
in his nature were in motion like a wind-up toy. Lucy thought
SALARIED JOB was more important than GOOD WITH KIDS? That was bad
enough, but having RECYCLES rated six rows above TONGUE?
    And did that mean what he thought it did?
    Another quick glance at the door, then Miles
had his fingers on the keys to make a few revisions. As a favor. It
was obvious she was going about her husband selection the totally
wrong way.
    He hesitated, realizing how invasive and
immoral it was to do this. He was a private person. He’d be furious
if anyone ever did this to him.
    Then again, he wasn’t the one
comparison-shopping men as though it was no different than buying a
camera on Amazon.
    Were all women like this? Or just women
freaking out about passing thirty?
    Like Felicia.
    As a compromise to his conscience, he did a
SAVE AS and began moving columns and adding fields that were both
helpful, suggestive, and honest.
    Really, it was the least he could do.
    For her, Alex, and men everywhere.
     
     

Chapter 8
     
     
    “Thanks for the walk,” Lucy said as they
approached her cabin.
    Alex had his hands in his pockets, watching
the pavement at his feet, and he glanced at her with a smile. “My
pleasure.”
    She didn’t say anything else, unable to hide
her happiness that the hike was over. The wind was cutting through
her clothes, even her usual jeans and sweater. The hot tub called
to her.
    “I suppose you’ve guessed by now,” Alex
said.
    She paused with her foot on the bottom stair
to her cabin. The wind battered the wood chimes hanging from the
cabin’s overhanging roof, and she had to shove aside her vision of
steaming water for a moment to realize what he was talking
about.
    She had to appreciate his direct approach.
Fawn had tried to complicate things, but it defeated the benefits
of getting friends involved. She turned to him and smiled. “That
we’re interested in each other?”
    He laughed softly. “Nicely put.”
    Shoving her numb fingers deeper into her
jeans pockets, Lucy tried to twinkle, but really, her ass was ice.
“I enjoyed our hike.”
    “How about dinner?” He looked at his watch.
“After the tree ceremony. Unless that’s too early?”
    Lucy only had a vague memory about a tree
ceremony being on the schedule that afternoon. Something Fawn had
set up. “No, that’s fine.”
    “That gives us time to catch the movie
afterward. It’s an old film about modern life being out of balance.
The score’s by