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  THE IDEAL GUY

  Adam leaned in and asked, “So what do you do? Are you a musician, too?”

  “Actually, no. I’m a biochemist. My company’s developing a perfume.”

  “What’s it like?”

  I scooted over. “I’m wearing it. Can you smell it?”

  He met me halfway, eyes dilating black. I knew I shouldn’t be flirting. He didn’t appear to meet a single one of my criteria and, in fact, actively ticked boxes from the “deal-breaker” list. I didn’t want to lead him on only to have to give him the heave-ho in the next thirty minutes.

  He lifted my wrist up to smell the fragrance Thanh had given me. “Mmm. That’s nice.”

  Then he brushed his lips across my skin, and an electric current shot up every nerve in my arm. I drew my hand back, shrugging off the shiver that hit me like an aftershock.

  “And you? What do you do?”

  He laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I’m a musician.”

  I blinked back my disappointment.

  On my list of suitable professions for my prospective mate, musician wasn’t at the absolute bottom. There were plenty more embarrassing or unstable career choices. I wouldn’t date plumbers or proctologists for obvious reasons. Salesmen either because, well, I didn’t like salesmen, but also because their financial situation might be uncertain. Plus they tended to travel. My ideal guy, I’d decided, would be an architect.

  I had nothing against musicians. On the contrary, I loved them. I’d supported my brother in his career, but the lifestyle was too precarious for my peace of mind. Even the most talented had a hard time making ends meet. Traveling and selling merchandise became a necessity.

  Unfortunately, all the doctors, lawyers, and architects I encountered were usually not interested in jean-clad, concert T-shirt wearing me. This train of thought brought me around to the realization I’d judged Adam for dressing exactly the same way.

  Micah saved me from sticking my foot in my mouth when he appeared at our side.

  “Adam! I’m glad to see you here. I see you’ve met my sister.” He turned to me. “Eden, do you mind if I steal him for a few?”

  Adam threw me a glance. “Will you be here when I get back?”

  The jolt of butterflies this simple question gave me came wholly unexpected. “I’ll be here. I’m leaving when Micah does.”

  He flashed a crooked smile at me, and I traced his lips with my eyes. He was going to be trouble.

  Some Kind of MAGIC

  Mary Ann Marlowe

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  THE IDEAL GUY

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  SOME KIND OF MAGIC

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  A CRAZY KIND OF LOVE

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Mary Ann Marlowe

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0807-6

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-0807-5

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: February 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-0806-9

  To Kristin

  For singing along with me

  Chapter 1

  My pen tapped out the drumbeat to the earworm on the radio. I glanced around to make sure I was alone, then grabbed an Erlenmeyer flask and belted out the chorus into my makeshift microphone.

  “I’m beeeegging you . . .”

  With the countertop centrifuge spinning out a white noise, I could imagine a stadium crowd cheering. My eyes closed, and the blinding lab fell away. I stood onstage in the spotlight.

  “Eden?” came a voice from the outer hall.

  I swiveled my stool toward the door, anticipating the arrival of my first fan. When Stacy came in, I bowed my head. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  She shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on a wooden peg. Unimpressed by my performance, she turned down the radio. “You’re early. How long have you been here?”

  “Since seven.” The centrifuge slowed, and I pulled out tubes filled with rodent sperm. “I want to leave a bit early to head into the city and catch Micah’s show.”

  She dragged a stool over. “Kelly and I are hitting the clubs tonight. You should come with.”

  “Yeah, right. Why don’t you come with me? Kelly’s such a—”

  “Such a what?” The devil herself stood in the doorway, phone in hand.

  Succubus from hell played on my lips. But it was too early to start a fight. “Such a guy magnet. Nobody can compete with you.”

  Kelly didn’t argue and turned her attention back to the phone.

  Stacy leaned her elbow on the counter, conspiratorially talking over my head. “Eden’s going to abandon us again to go hang out with Micah.”

  “At that filthy club?” Kelly’s lip curled, as if Stacy had just offered her a non-soy latte. “But there are never even any guys there. It’s always just a bunch of moms.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Micah’s fans are not all moms.” When Micah made it big, I was going to enjoy refusing her backstage passes to his eventual sold-out shows.

  Kelly snorted. “Oh, right. I suppose their husbands might be there, too.”

  “That’s not fair,” Stacy said. “I’ve seen young guys at his shows.”

  “Teenage boys don’t count.” Kelly dropped an invisible microphone and turned toward her desk.

  I’d never admit that she was right about the crowd that came out to hear Micah’s solo shows. But unlike Kelly, I wasn’t interested in picking up random guys at bars. I spun a test tube like a top then clamped my hand down on it before it could careen off the counter. “Whatever. Sometimes Micah lets me sing.”

  Apparently Kelly smelled blood; her tone turned snide. “Ooh, maybe Eden’s dating her brother.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Kelly.” Stacy rolled her eyes and gave me her best don’t listen to her look.

  “Oh, right.” Kelly threw her head back for one last barb. “Eden would never consider dating a struggling musician.”

  The clock on the wall reminded me I had seven hours of prison left. I hated the feeling that I was wishing my life away one workday at a time.

  Thanh peeked
his head around the door and saved me. “Eden, I need you to come monitor one of the test subjects.”

  Inhaling deep to get my residual irritation under control, I followed Thanh down the hall to the holding cells. Behind the window, a cute blond sat with a wire snaking out of his charcoal-gray Dockers. Thanh instructed him to watch a screen flashing more or less pornographic images while I kept one eye on his vital signs.

  I bit my pen and put the test subject through my usual Terminator-robot full-body analysis to gauge his romantic eligibility. He wore a crisp dress shirt with a white cotton undershirt peeking out below the unbuttoned collar. I wagered he held a job I’d find acceptable, possibly in programming, accounting, or maybe even architecture. His fading tan, manicured nails, and fit build lent the impression that he had enough money and time to vacation, pamper himself, and work out. No ring on his finger. And blue eyes at that. On paper, he fit my mental checklist to a T.

  Even if he was strapped up to his balls in wires.

  Hmm. Scratch that. If he were financially secure, he wouldn’t need the compensation provided to participants in clinical trials for boner research. Never mind.

  Thanh came back in and sat next to me.

  I stifled a yawn and stretched my arms. “Don’t get me wrong. This is all very exciting, but could you please slip some arsenic in my coffee?”

  He punched buttons on the complex machine monitoring the erectile event in the other room. “Why are you still working here, Eden? Weren’t you supposed to start grad school this year?”

  “I was.” I sketched a small circle in the margin of the paper on the table.

  “You need to start applying soon for next year. Are you waiting till you’ve saved enough money?”

  “No, I’ve saved enough.” I drew a flower around the circle and shaded it in. I’d already had this conversation with my parents.

  “If you want to do much more than what you’re doing now, you need to get your PhD.”

  I sighed and turned in my chair to face him. “Thanh, you’ve got your PhD, and you’re doing the same thing as me.”

  When he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Yes, but it has always been my lifelong dream to help men maintain a medically induced long-lasting erection.”

  I looked at my hands, thinking. “Thanh, I’m not sure this is what I want to do with my life. I’ve lost that loving feeling.”

  “Well, then, you’re in the right place.”

  I snickered at the erectile dysfunction humor. The guy in the testing room shifted, and I thought for the first time to ask. “What are you even testing today?”

  “Top secret.”

  “You can’t tell me?”

  “No, I mean you’d already know if you read your e-mails.”

  “I do read the e-mails.” That was partly true. I skimmed and deleted them unless they pertained to my own work. I didn’t care about corporate policy changes, congratulations to the sales division, farewells to employees leaving after six wonderful years, tickets to be pawned, baby pictures, or the company chili cook-off.

  He reached into a drawer and brought out a small vial containing a clear yellow liquid. When he removed the stopper, a sweet aroma filled the room, like jasmine.

  “What’s that?”

  He handed it to me. “Put some on, right here.” He touched my wrist.

  I tipped it onto my finger and dabbed both my wrists. Then I waited. “What’s it supposed to do?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel any different?”

  I ran an internal assessment. “Uh, nope. Should I?”

  “Do me a favor. Walk into that room.”

  “With the test subject?” It was bad enough that poor guy’s schwanz was hooked up to monitors, but he didn’t need to know exactly who was observing changes in his penile turgidity. Thanh shooed me on through the door, so I went in.

  The erotica continued to run, but the guy’s eyes were now on me. I thought, Is that a sensor monitoring you, or are you just happy to see me?

  “Uh, hi.” I glanced back at the one-way mirror, as if I could telepathically understand when Thanh released me from this embarrassing ordeal.

  The guy sat patiently, expecting me to do something. So I reached over and adjusted one of the wires, up by the machines. He went back to watching the screen, as if I were just another technician. Nobody interesting.

  I backed out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, I asked Thanh, “What the hell was that?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. I expected something more. Some kind of reaction.” He started to place the vial back in the drawer. Then he had a second thought. “Do you like how this smells?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it’s good.”

  “Take it.” He tossed it over, and I threw it into my purse.

  The rest of the day passed slowly as I listened to Kelly and Stacy argue over the radio station or fight over some impossibly gorgeous actor or front man they’d never meet. Finally at four, I swung into the ladies’ room and changed out of my work clothes, which consisted of a rayon suit skirt and a button-up pin-striped shirt. Knowing I’d be hanging with Micah in the club later, I’d brought a pair of comfortable jeans and one of his band’s T-shirts. I shook my ponytail out and let my hair fall to my shoulders.

  When I went back to the lab to grab my purse and laptop, I wasn’t a bit surprised that Kelly disapproved of my entire look.

  “I have a low-cut shirt in my car if you want something more attractive.” She offered it as though she actually would’ve lent it to me. Knowing I’d decline, she got in a free dig at my wardrobe choices. We were a study in opposites—she with her overpermed blond hair and salon tan, me with my short-clipped fingernails and functioning brain cells.

  “No, thanks. Maybe next time.”

  “At least let me fix your makeup. Are you even wearing any?”

  I pretended she wasn’t bothering me. “No time. I have a train to catch.”

  She sniffed. “Well, you smell nice anyway. New perfume?”

  “Uh, yeah. It was a gift.” Her normally pouting lips rounded in anticipation of her next question. I zipped my computer bag and said, “Gotta go. See ya tomorrow, Stacy?”

  Stacy waved without turning her head away from whatever gossip site she’d logged on to, and I slipped out the door.

  As I stood on the train platform waiting for the 5:35 North-east Corridor train to Penn Station, I heard someone calling “Hello?” from inside my purse. I fetched my phone and found it connected somehow to my mom, whose voice messages I’d been ignoring.

  Foiled by technology and the gremlins living in my bag, I placed the phone to my ear. “Mom?”

  “Oh, there you are, Eden. I’m making corned beef and gravy tonight. Why don’t you come by before you go out?”

  I didn’t know how to cook, so my mom’s invitation was meant as charity. But since she was the reason I couldn’t cook, her promise of shit on a shingle wasn’t enough to lure me from my original plans.

  “No, thanks, Mom. I’m on my way into the city to hear Micah play tonight.”

  “Oh. Well, we’ll see you Sunday I hope. Would you come to church with us? We have a wonderful new minister and—”

  “No, Mom. But I’ll come by the house later.”

  “All right. Oh, don’t forget you’ve got a date with Dr. Whedon tomorrow night.”

  I groaned. She was relentless. “Is it too late to cancel?”

  “What’s the problem now, Eden?”

  I pictured Dr. Rick Whedon, DDS, tonguing my bicuspid as we French kissed. But she wouldn’t understand why I’d refuse to date a dentist, so instead, I presented an iron-clad excuse. “Mom, if we got married, I’d be Eden Whedon.”

  Her sigh came across loud and clear. “Eden, don’t be so unreasonable.”

  “I keep telling you you’re wasting your time, Mom.”

  “And you’re letting it slip by, waiting on a nonexistent man. You’re going to be twenty-nine soon.”

 
The train approached the station, so I put my finger in my ear and yelled into the phone. “In six months, Mom.”

  “What was wrong with Jack Talbot?”

  I thought for a second and then placed the last guy she’d tried to set me up with. “He had a mustache, Mom. And a tattoo. Also, he lives with his parents.”

  “That’s only temporary,” she snapped.

  “The mustache or the tattoo?” I thought back to the guy from the lab. “And you never know. Maybe I’ll meet Mr. Perfect soon.”

  “Well, if you do, bring him over on Sunday.”

  I chortled. The idea of bringing a guy over to my crazy house before I had a ring on my finger was ludicrous. “Sure, Mom. I’ll see you Sunday.”

  “Tell Micah to come, too?”

  My turn to sigh. Their pride in him was unflappable, and yet, I’d been the one to do everything they’d ever encouraged me to do, while he’d run off to pursue a pipe dream in music. So maybe they hadn’t encouraged me to work in the sex-drug industry, but at least I had a college degree and a stable income.

  “Okay, Mom. I’ll mention it. The train’s here. I have to go.”

  I climbed on the train and relaxed, so tired of everyone harassing me. At least I could count on Micah not to meddle in my love life.

  Chapter 2

  At seven thirty, I arrived at the back door of the club, trailing a cloud of profanity. “Fuck. My fucking phone died.”

  Micah exchanged a glance with the club owner, Tobin. “See? Eden doesn’t count.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” After two hours fighting mass transit, I’d lost my patience. My attitude would need to be recalibrated to match Micah’s easygoing demeanor.

  Micah ground out his cigarette with a twist of his shoe. “Tobin was laying a wager that only women would show up tonight, but I said you’d be here.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Micah’s small but avid female fan base faithfully came out whenever he put on an acoustic show. His hard-rock band, Theater of the Absurd, catered to a larger male following and performed to ever-increasing audiences. But he loved playing these smaller rooms, bantering with the crowd, hearing people sing along with familiar choruses.