LITMIR.BIZ

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of stature. “Women don’t look at short guys,” he often grumbled. And short guys who (like Jonathan) weren’t so confident and quick with the flattery—well, they really didn’t get noticed, even by girls their own height. This had been a hard cross to bear in high school when it seemed that every girl Kyle liked chose some giant basketball player over him. These days the competition wore a different type of uniform, the one worn to the office, but his frustration level remained the same.

      The grumpy expression on his face tonight said it all before he so much as opened his mouth. “What’s with chicks, anyway?” he demanded as he set a six-pack of Hale’s Ale on Jonathan’s counter.

      If Jonathan knew that, he’d be married to the woman of his dreams by now. He shrugged.

      “Okay, so Darrow looks like friggin’ Ryan Reynolds.”

      Ted Darrow, Kyle’s nemesis. “And drives a Jag,” Jonathan supplied. Darrow was also Kyle’s boss, which put him higher up the ladder of success, always a sexy attribute.

      “But he’s the world’s biggest ass-wipe,” Kyle said with a scowl. “I don’t know what Jillian sees in him.”

      Jonathan knew. Like called to like. Beautiful people naturally gravitated to one another. He had seen Jillian when he’d gone to Kyle’s company, Safe Hands Insurance, to install their new computer system. As the receptionist, it had been her job to greet him and he’d seen right away why his friend was smitten. She was hot, with supermodel-long legs. Women like that went for the Ted Darrows of the world.

      Or the Rand Burwells.

      Jonathan shoved that last thought out of his mind. “Hey, you might as well give up. You’re not gonna get her.” It was hard to say that to his best friend, but friends didn’t let friends drive themselves crazy over women who were out of their league. Kyle would do the same for him—if he knew Jonathan had suffered a relapse last Christmas and had once again picked up the torch for his own perfect dream girl. The road to crazy was a clogged thoroughfare these days.

      Kyle heaved a discouraged sigh. “Yeah.” He pulled an opener out of a kitchen drawer and popped the top off one of the bottles. “It’s just that, well, damn. If she looked my way for longer than two seconds, she’d see I’m twice the man Darrow is.”

      “I hear you,” Jonathan said, and opened a bag of corn chips, setting them alongside the beer.

      Next in the door was Bernardo Ruiz, who came bearing some of his wife’s homemade salsa. Bernardo was happily married and owned a small orchard outside town, in which he took great pride. He wasn’t much taller than Kyle, but he swaggered like he was six feet.

      “Who died?” he asked, looking from one friend to the other.

      “Nobody,” Kyle snapped.

      Bernardo eyed him suspiciously. “You mooning around over that bimbo at work again?”

      “She’s not a bimbo,” Kyle said irritably.

      Bernardo shook his head in disgust. “Little man, you are a fool to chase after a woman who doesn’t want you. That kind of a woman, she’ll only make you feel small on the inside.”

      Any reference to being small, either on the inside or outside, never went over well with Kyle, so it was probably a good thing that Adam Edwards arrived with more beer and chips. A sales rep for a pharmaceutical company, he earned more than Jonathan and Kyle put together and had the toys to prove it—a big house on the river, a classic Corvette, a snowmobile and a beach house on the Washington coast. He also had a pretty little wife, which proved Jonathan’s theory of like calling to like, since Adam was tall and broad-shouldered and looked as though he belonged in Hollywood instead of Icicle Falls. Some guys had all the luck.

      “Vance’ll be late,” Adam informed them. “He has to finish up something and says to go ahead and start without him.”

      Vance Fish, the newest member of their group, was somewhere in his fifties, which made him the senior member. He’d built a big house on River Road about a mile down from Adam’s place. The two men had bonded over fishing lures, and Adam had invited him to join their poker group.

      Although Vance claimed to be semiretired, he was always working. He owned a bookstore in Seattle called Emerald City Books. He’d recently started selling Sweet Dreams Chocolates there, making himself popular with the Sterling family, who owned the company.

      He dressed like he was on his last dime, usually in sweats or jeans and an oversize black T-shirt that hung clumsily over his double-XL belly, but his fancy house was proof that Vance was doing okay.

      “That means we won’t see him for at least an hour,” Kyle predicted.

      “What kind of project?” Bernardo wondered. “Is he building something over there in that fine house of his? I never seen no tools or workbench in his garage.”

      “It has to do with the bookstore,” Adam said. “I don’t know what.”

      “Well, all the better for me,” Kyle said gleefully. “I’ll have you guys fleeced by the time he gets here.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m feeling lucky tonight.”

      He proved it by raking in their money.

      “Bernardo, you should just empty your pockets on the table as soon as you get here,” Adam joked. “I’ve never seen anybody so unlucky at cards.”

      “That’s because I’m lucky in love,” Bernardo insisted.

      His remark wiped the victory smirk right off Kyle’s face. “Chicks,” he muttered.

      “If you’re going where I think you’re going, don’t,” Adam said, frowning at him.

      “What?” Kyle protested.

      Adam pointed his beer bottle at Kyle. “If I hear one more word about Jillian, I’m gonna club you with this.”

      “Oh, no,” said a deep voice. “I thought you clowns would be done talking about women by now.”

      Jonathan turned to see Vance strolling into the room, stylish as ever in his favorite black T-shirt, baggy jeans and sandals. In honor of the occasion he hadn’t shaved. Aside from the extra pounds (well, and that bald spot on the top of his head), he wasn’t too bad-looking. His sandy hair was shot with gray but he had the craggy brow and strong jaw women seemed to like even in a big man. They were wasted on Vance; he wasn’t interested. “Been there, done that,” he often said.

      “We’re finished talking about women,” Adam assured him.

      Vance clapped him on the back. “Glad to hear it, ’cause the last thing I want after a hard day’s work is to listen to you losers crab about them.”

      “I wasn’t crabbing,” Kyle said, looking sullen.

      Vance sat down at the table. “It’s that babe where you work, isn’t it? She got your jockeys tight again?” Kyle glared at him, but Vance waved off his anger with a pudgy paw. “You know, women can sense desperation a mile away. It’s a turnoff.”

      “And I guess you’d be an expert on what turns women off,” Adam teased.

      “There isn’t a man on this planet who’s an expert on anything about women. And if you meet one who says he is, he’s lying. Now, let’s play poker.” Vance eyed the pile of chips in front of Kyle. “You need to be relieved of some of those, my friend.”

      “I think not,” Kyle said, and the game began in earnest.

      After an hour and a half, Vance announced that he had to tap a kidney.

      “I need some chips and salsa,” Adam said, and everyone took a break.

      “Did you get the announcement in the mail?” Kyle asked Jonathan.

      No, not this again.

      “What announcement?” Adam asked.

      “High

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