"Sure," she says. "If looking is a threat, the relationship has other problems.

"Huh." Then it occurs to me. "Nikki is perfect for our first lesson."

"I thought paragliding was our first lesson," Ally says.

"Yes, but you failed it. Nikki is Falco personified."

"Are you speaking English?" Ian asks me.

I ignore him to speak to Ally. "Watch and model your behavior on hers."

I head toward Nikki with the others following at a discreet distance.

I catch up with her at the snack counter. Ally, Rachel, and Ian pretend to scan the vast choices of soggy nachos and chocolate to cover their shameless eavesdropping.

I just hope Ally doesn't pull out a notebook. Not out of the realm of possibility.

I put my hand on Nikki's arm. "Nikki. How are you, s.e.xy?"

She gives me a total c.o.c.ktease smile and my body responds.

"Sam Cruz," she purrs in a throaty voice. "Been a while. But I'm very good."

Judging by the blood rushing away from my head, yes, she is.

"Glad to hear it," I reply. "I was thinking we should get together, but you have a bad habit of blowing people off."

"Only the deserving," she says.

"Good things come to those who wait?" I ask cheekily.

"Baby," she murmurs, "it's gonna be like Christmas."

"Aunt Nikki," a high-pitched voice pipes up, "why does he get Christmas early?"

We look down at the scruffy kid tugging on Nikki, a pair of knotted bowling shoes in her hand.

"I'm really, really good," I explain to the little girl.

Nikki just laughs. She unties the shoes and hands them back to her niece.

The girl turns to me. "You like presents? I rip mine open."

I keep my tone rated G but my answer is an R for Nikki. "I unwrap them slowly."

"I hope there's a little sumthin' under the tree for me," Nikki responds, totally getting it.

"Why?" the kid demands. "You haven't been good. You've been mean all day."

Nikki turns the girl around toward her lane. "Shoes. Now."

The girl scowls at her, but seeing the look on Nikki's face, leaves.

I wait until the kid is gone before adding "I'm a firm believer in the spirit of giving."

"Even if I've been naughty?" Nikki asks.

"Especially if you've been naughty."

Nikki rewards me with a very feline grin.

It's so on.

Chapter twelve.

Ian looks impressed. "Cracking."

"A stellar performance on both sides," Rachel agrees.

I glance over at Sam and Nikki, my lesson clearly forgotten in their hormone parade. "You think they have DVDs?"

Surprisingly, Sam does return to us. I'm guessing Nikki is busy with the rugrats that evening but has promised him future delights since he seems pretty pleased with himself, whistling cheerfully.

The four of us make a quick stop for cat food because apparently Sam really does have a cat, then head to my place to hang out and watch a movie.

Mom is racing around transferring items from her daytime purse to her nighttime one because she's meeting Dad downtown for a date.

"Don't eat me out of house and home," she scolds cheerfully.

"Aunt Elise, got any diet root beer?" asks Rachel.

"Check the laundry room. It's not cold though."

"Got it." Rach makes a quick trip off the kitchen to the laundry room for her diet caffeine fix.

Mom shakes her head at Sam drinking straight out of the juice container. "Gla.s.s, Sam. Now. You know better."

He stops mid-chug and looks up guiltily. "I was going to finish it."

"Not cool, kiddo. What were you, raised by wolves?"

"Yeah, you. Foxy lady."

"Ewww!" I groan loudly.

Mom thinks it's hilarious. "You'll be glad when you look as good as I do one day," she tells me. "Now play nicely and have fun. I'm off to get my husband drunk and have my way with him."

"Moooom!" I'm horrified.

Mom grins. "That never gets old. Bye kids."

She leaves.

I rock in the fetal position for a bit.

Rachel returns with some pop cans. "Oh grow up. Be glad you got the sister you did for your mom. At least she's got a sense of humor. Mine could make lemonade with that sour face of hers," Rachel complains.

She has a point.

"No dissing Elise." Sam is really protective of my mom. I know he's thinking that I should feel lucky I have her. And I do. I just don't want to know about her and Dad's s.e.x life. I prefer to think I was a result of In Vitro. A miracle of science.

"Have fun with Nikki earlier?" I ask Sam.

"She's a fun girl," he retorts. "Enough with the chit chat. Show me what you got." He rips open a bag of chips, his eyes on me.

I take a deep breath and shake out all my tension. Everyone watches. It's almost comical.

"Here goes." I smile mysteriously at Sam.

He nods in approval. "Nice. Good start."

I wink.

"Mmm, not where I'd go, but alright," he mutters through a mouthful.

"Could work," Ian offers.

I keep winking, aware that I must look like I'm caught in a spastic loop but I can't stop. There's dirt in my eye or something and it's driving me mad.

I scrunch up my face and sharply shake my head, hoping that might help dislodge it. d.a.m.n contacts.

Sam freezes in mid-reach for more chips. "Quit it, you're freaking me out."

"Oh good," Rachel adds. "It's not just me." She takes the bag from Sam and dumps the rest of the chips into a bowl for all to share.

I want to tell them to shut up. That I'm not a total psycho, it's just that I've got what feels like a nail grinding into my eyeball.

"There's. Something. In. My. Eye." I manage to grit out.

I jab my finger into my eye and rub it around. Sweet relief. It's gone.

I blink at Sam.

"Your eye looks a bit dodgy," Ian offers, snagging Rachel's diet pop.

"Because it's the size of a golf ball and red?" Sam replies.

"Sorta. Yeah."

"Focus," I order. I concentrate, holding a picture of Falco in my mind. "You know. I think maybe the problem is that Falco needs to be a she."

Sam looks aghast but I revamp my vision.

"Much better. I can be Falca no problem."

"No. You cannot call her Falca," Sam insists. "You're killing me."

"What the h.e.l.l are they on about?" Rachel mumbles to Ian.

"You're right. I can't." I let Sam have his moment of relief before destroying it with relish.

"Falcalita. Latinas are uber s.e.xy."

And this Falcalita is going to need a bold move to wipe the memory of the eyeball away.

Aha! I lean forward, stroking my cleavage. It's perhaps not as smooth a motion as I'd like, but I feel it does convey the general idea. Trampy come hither.

"I'm so hot," I breathe.

Sam, Rachel, and Ian trade alarmed looks.

"Are you having an allergic reaction?" Sam asks.

I slam my hand down on the counter. "I'm flirting!"

"I'll get an antihistamine," Rachel offers, opening cupboards to look for medication.

"New tactic," Sam says.

"With bullet points? Maybe graphs?" I ask hopefully. Improv is evidently not my strong suit and if I'm to have any hope of becoming hot stuff, I need specifics. Lots of them.

"Since I'm not sure I want to know what kind of graphs Sam could possibly come up with on this subject," Rachel begins, "Ian and I will go pick something off Netflix for us to watch."

"I'm fascinated," Ian protests.

Rachel whispers something in his ear.

"Take your time," he a.s.sures us and follows her with a stupid grin on his face.

Sam watches them go. "Think I might skip the film," he says.

"Yeah. Me too. So?"