Start Me Up (Man of the Month 4)

"Who is...?"

"On vacation, apparently. And the Saturday morning DJ."

Since Shelby had made no move to tune in, Hannah plugged her own phone into Shelby's small set of speakers and opened up the streaming app. The one that Shelby had very sternly talked herself out of downloading last night after a long hot shower and two glasses of Chardonnay.

There was a crackle of static, and then the last verse of The Rolling Stones' (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction filled the room.

Hannah tilted her head toward the speakers. "Got something to confess?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Shelby said.

"Mmm." Hannah pulled out a long, slinky red dress and held it up in front of Shelby.

"I'm not wearing red to a wedding."

Hannah made a face. "Good point. But it's loose on me. You should try it on."

Shelby tilted her head. "I don't want to climb in and out of your wardrobe. I only need one dress. And why do you have so many cocktail and evening dresses anyway? I know you aren't off doing weekly galas because half of these still have tags."

Hannah lifted her chin, looking a little defensive. "I found a few online discount stores I really like. Besides, if I weren't a mobile closet, you'd be out of luck."

"That one," Shelby said, deciding it was time to change the subject. The dress was cerulean blue, with a halter-style top, a full skirt, and a built-in petticoat.

"Good choice," Hannah said. "I'm impressed."

"Just because I dress professionally at work doesn't mean I want to wear sackcloth to a wedding."

"I know." Hannah winked. "It's just so much fun to tease you."

She passed Shelby the dress just as the song ended, and Shelby's breath caught in her throat as Nolan's voice filtered out from the speakers. "But I tried," he said, his voice singsong. "And in the end, I got bupkis. So I ask you folks, is she playing hard to get? Or am I just hardheaded? We'll do a little psychoanalysis of me, Nolan Wood standing in for Wayne Dorsey on Sunny-side Saturday, right after this message from our sponsor."

Hannah crossed her arms and stared Shelby down as an ad for a local pet store started.

"Fine," Shelby said when Hannah's stare started to get creepy. "He came over yesterday."

"And?"

"And nothing," Shelby admitted. "I told him I had a date and sent him away." She cringed a little, then confessed. "He came by the day before, and I pretended I wasn't home."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Sadly, no. Apparently, at heart, I'm an eleven-year-old girl."

"Well, thirteen, maybe. Tops." Hannah exhaled, the sound weirdly maternal. Then she sat on the edge of the couch, crunching at least five dress skirts in the process. "Okay, let's analyze this. Do you like him?"

"Yeah," Shelby said honestly. "We had a lot of fun. He's a genuinely nice guy." Who did genuinely nice things to her body--but sex did not a relationship make. And she had a future planned with Alan, even if none of it was official yet.

"Okay. Check in the like column. Was the sex good?"

"Hannah!"

"Right. Check in the mind-blowing column."

Shelby rolled her eyes but, since Hannah wasn't wrong, didn't argue.

"Do you want to see him again?"

"No." The answer came out firm--mostly because Shelby forced it out from between her lips that way.