"Oh!" Marissa shook her head as though he could see her through the line, then she dashed inside, so no one in the parking lot could see her flaming face. Had she just unknowingly propositioned Trent Jackson? And had he accepted?

And was that really a bad thing?

Yes. Yes, it was. She released Petie's leash and let him run through the apartment with it dragging behind him. No time to chase him; she had to straighten things out, and quick, preferably before she gave Trent Jackson, the enemy, directions to her house.

"I was talking to my dog." Not the brightest of responses, but the truth, nonetheless.

"O-kay." He didn't say anything else, and again, Marissa felt compelled to explain. Unfortunately.

"N-no," she stammered. d.a.m.n. This was getting worse. "He wouldn't come back inside when I pulled on the leash, after I took him out to pee. Because he has to pee every morning, and I have to get up and take him out. Usually we see Mr. Nance and his Noodle, but they weren't out today."

"His-noodle?" Trent asked, and had the audacity to chuckle.

"I mean, his dog, Noodle," Marissa continued. What was wrong with her? And was she actually sweating? Yes, yes she was. A tiny trickle beaded at her neck and tumbled in a jagged line toward her right breast.

Not good.

"Why did you call me?" she asked.

"I wanted to find out what time you need to be at work."

Okay, not what she was expecting. "Why?"

"Have you been on the Net this morning?" he asked, and her curiosity skyrocketed. What now?

"No," she said, hurrying to the breakfast nook to boot up her laptop. "Why?"

"What's your home page?" he asked.

Strange question, she thought, but she answered. "MSN."

"Perfect. Log on, and tell me what you see."

"This better be good." She entered her pa.s.sword, then waited for the machine to boot.

"It's even better than I thought it'd be," he said, while MSN's home page displayed on her screen.

"What is?" she asked, scanning the headlines at the top of the page. Politics. Trouble in the Middle East. Forest fires in California. What was she looking for? "What's even better than you thought?" she repeated.

"Your voice. It was always raspy in school, and you didn't like it. You said it made you sound like a boy, but I thought it was cool. I just didn't know why I thought it was so incredible back then, but now I do."

Have mercy! What was he trying to do to her? And why was he doing it at 7:00 A.M A.M. over the phone, instead of at night, all night. Wait. This was Trent Jackson, the guy who claimed she lied and even put a clever little quotation on his site about the fict.i.tious allegation. She did not not care what he thought of her voice. care what he thought of her voice.

And she'd just have to keep telling herself that. Over and over and over.

"So, did you find it?" he asked, snapping her back to reality.

"What exactly am I looking for?"

"Okay, so we didn't make the top half of the page, but we're still pretty prominent. Scroll down."

Marissa did, and gasped when she saw the photos from last Sunday's AJ-C AJ-C.

"There you go," he said, as though he could see her through the phone. "Now click on the link. That's what hooked Coleman and Speedy."

Marissa clicked on the link, then let his words sink in. "Coleman and Speedy? The radio DJs? That That Coleman and Speedy?" Coleman and Speedy?"

"The very same."

"I love their show," she said automatically, then gasped again when more photos, the ones that didn't make the paper, were displayed. Marissa and Trent, behind their desks in various poses, along with the bold black-and-white dueling advertis.e.m.e.nts from the AJ-C AJ-C. "What's this about?"

"Read the caption," he instructed, and made her feel like they were in school, with him the s.e.xy instructor and her the more-than-willing pupil.

There she went with a s.e.xual image again. But how did you talk to this voice, to this heavenly handsome man, without thinking of s.e.x? How was she supposed to remember that she did not not like him? And what was the gist of this MSN story? like him? And what was the gist of this MSN story?

She read the headline, in block letters, big enough that it looked like it belonged on a movie marquee.

World Wide Web War.

Beneath the headline was a condensed version of the feud that had started Sunday, merely five days ago, between TheGirlLies.com and TheGuyCheats.com, along with insightful miniphotos of Trent's page on TheGuy Cheats, complete with his horn-embellished teenage face, and Marissa's page on his site, complete with her bubble quote.

"Unbelievable," she said.

"Yeah. I think that may have been one of the adjectives Coleman and Speedy used when they called me this morning."

"They called you? Today? About this?" No. Way. No. Way.

"Yeah, even put me on the air, believe it or not. Seems we're major news, babe. And they want to do an interview with the feuding pair."

Babe? Marissa would've argued with him about the term, but the remainder of his news needed her immediate attention. "An interview? With us?" Marissa would've argued with him about the term, but the remainder of his news needed her immediate attention. "An interview? With us?"

"Yeah, that isn't a problem, is it?"

She'd been interviewed by the AJ-C AJ-C, and even with the humiliation that followed, it hadn't gone that badly. Her subscribers for AtlantaTellAll had increased, and her fees for advertising on her site had, too. And now there was the MSN footage. Why shouldn't she do radio? She was getting used to all of this publicity stuff, anyway. Plus, Coleman and Speedy wanted both of them, together. She and Trent Jackson, in the same place, and at the same time. Marissa couldn't deny that she wanted that, too, merely to see if he looked as good in person, that was all. Not because she actually wanted to be near him.

Uh-huh.

"When and where?" she asked, then remembered a few minutes ago, when he'd asked the very same thing, but talking about something very, very different. Something hot and sweaty and . . .

"At the radio station, in two hours," he said, then corrected. "Make that an hour and forty-five minutes."

"You've got to be kidding," she said, glancing down at her old T-shirt and shorts. She hadn't even showered. "I don't know where the station is, and I have to be at work in an hour and a half."

"The station is in Marietta. I can pick you up, if you want."

"No, I can find it," she said, not wanting to risk attacking him outright if they were in as closed-in a s.p.a.ce as his car. And she wasn't even sure what kind of attacking she was talking about-beating him up over the things he'd said on the web, or tackling him in a s.e.xual frenzy over the things he'd said on the phone. The latter had much more appeal. "I want to drive," she added. "But that still doesn't fix the work problem. I'm supposed to be there by nine."

"You're a computer programmer, right? That's what the article in the paper said."

"Yeah, what's your point?"

"So call in and tell them you'll be programming a little later today. It isn't as though it won't wait. h.e.l.l, all of the programmers at my company work from home and only come in for staff meetings. Even then it's rare, since we conduct the majority of our staff meetings with video conferencing."

Marissa forced herself not to ask for a job. That'd be the dream position, working from home, where she could have a real life and maybe even raise a family, someday, and still have a steady income while she pursued the dream, the webzine. How cool would that be?

"They can live without you for an hour, can't they?" Trent continued, relentless in obtaining his goal. Was he that determined about everything? Not stopping until he was satisfied with the result? And wouldn't that be . . . nice?

She had to get her mind off s.e.x. It'd help if she'd had s.e.x lately, but she hadn't, so there. She'd just have to concentrate. Hard.

"Sure, they can do without me for a while," she said, and knew it was true. She actually had flex hours, so she could come in as early as she wanted and leave as late as she wanted, as long as she got her minimum eight hours. That had seemed like a really nice perk, until she heard Trent say his programmers worked from home. Probably in their pajamas. Talk about a perk. "I'll meet you at the radio station."

"Then it's a date," he said.

"It's a date," she repeated, then disconnected and looked at Petie, eyeing her suspiciously from the door of her bedroom with his leash trailing behind him and a tab of toilet paper hanging from one edge of his mouth. "You unrolled it again, didn't you?" she accused, moving toward him, then pulling the telltale paper from his teeth. The corner of his mouth remained tugged upward, as though he were smiling. Maybe he was. "All males are trouble," she stated. "And you're no exception."

Amazingly enough, that crook in Petie's smile inched a little higher, as though he knew that if she thought this was trouble, she hadn't seen anything yet.

"You're right," Marissa said, and felt somewhat ridiculous for talking to her dog, but not enough to stop. "I need backup." She picked up the phone and dialed Amy's number.

"Hey, did you know you're on the Yahoo home page?" Amy said, taking advantage of her caller ID and not bothering with a simple h.e.l.lo.

Marissa's throat tightened and her nerves were jittery, agitated by this new tidbit of information. "No. I saw it on MSN, but not Yahoo."

"No kidding? MSN, too?" Amy asked, and Marissa listened to computer keys clicking. "Have mercy, this is incredible. Just think how many visitors we'll have on our site!"

"Yeah, incredible." And just think how many people would be listening to her on the radio in-she glanced at the clock on her microwave-an hour and a half. "Listen, I need help."

"You name it," Amy said, then added, "superstar." Her giggle echoed through the line. "This is almost as exciting as winning the industry award for Pinky."

Nothing like vibrator talk to knock you completely off-balance, Marissa realized, as Amy rambled on and on about her famous creation, nicknamed Pinky. But Marissa had to stay focused, and she had to have someone with her when she faced off with Trent Jackson. She knew her hormones couldn't handle him one on one, for lots of reasons.

"Listen, Trent Jackson just called me-"

"Quit it," Amy interrupted, halting all talk of pink vibrators that lit up like a rainbow and were guaranteed to hit the G-spot.

"No, I'm serious. Evidently, Coleman and Speedy saw some of the press coverage for our website battle and want the two of us on their show, together, today. At nine." Marissa paused. "I need you to go with me, Amy. I can't be alone with him."

"Why? Do you think he's dangerous?"

"No." Yes. Yes, Yes, YES! Yes. Yes, Yes, YES! Dangerous for her brain, dangerous for her body, dangerous for her business, and way too dangerous for her deprived libido. h.e.l.l, yes, the man was dangerous. "No, of course not," she lied. Again. Dangerous for her brain, dangerous for her body, dangerous for her business, and way too dangerous for her deprived libido. h.e.l.l, yes, the man was dangerous. "No, of course not," she lied. Again.

"Right," Amy said, unconvinced.

"Okay, the truth. The guy merely talked to me on the phone and I got so turned on! So there."

"Do tell," Amy said, then laughed so hard she snorted. "Oh, man, you've got it for your very first cheater. And you've got it bad."

"No, I don't. It's just that-well, he said that he liked my voice-and then he offered to let me personally check his anatomy to make sure Robin Grenade had lied. Oh, and then he wanted to check my tongue, to see if it was talented, or something like that. I don't know," Marissa blathered. "Everything got kind of, um, muddled."

"Muddled? Muddled!" Amy exclaimed. "Sounds like everything got moving, at warp speed. What'd you do, put on the brakes? And why on earth would you do that? It's been a long time since you've had a proposition like that, and you saw the guy. Have mercy, he's a s.e.x toy walking."

This time Marissa snorted. s.e.x toy walking seemed an accurate description. "You are so bad."

"Landon says that's why he married me."

"Seriously, though, I'm afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I'm with him in person, and truthfully, I'm afraid of what else my body might involuntarily do, too. I need you to come with me, Amy. Can Landon watch Bo this morning? Or can Lettie?"

"Landon went in early, and Lettie's bringing Ginny over to stay with me for the weekend while she and Bill go to Tybee Island to celebrate their anniversary. I'm afraid I can't help you this time."

"I've got to go alone." Marissa hated how pathetic she sounded, but that was the way she felt. True, she wanted to know whether Trent was as s.e.xy in person, but she didn't want to be alone in that studio with him and his killer smile, bedroom eyes, seductive voice. She tripped all over her words merely trying to talk to the guy on the phone. What would she say in person, and on the air?

"Good grief, I can feel your pulse increasing through the phone. I've never known you to get this worked up over a guy."

Marissa simply waited. It wouldn't take Amy long to remember.

"Well, there was Blake, but that was different."

Bingo. "What was different?" Marissa asked, curious about Amy's take on that particular disaster.

"Easy. You were in love with Blake, but you aren't in love with Trent, are you?"

"I don't even know him anymore."

"Exactly. You're in l.u.s.t with him, and for now, that's exactly what you need. I say jump his bones and give your body, your mind, the whole nine yards. This is what you need to move forward. And while you're at it, you can show him that liars really do have talented tongues."

"I haven't lied," Marissa said, then felt foolish when Amy's laughter rolled through the line.

"Who cares about the lying? I was talking about the tongue. And it's funny that you went straight for the lying part, but didn't say a thing about not wanting to use your tongue, in whatever way you choose, on Trent Jackson. That says a lot."

"I still don't want to go to the radio station alone," Marissa said, "whether I end up jumping his bones or not. And I sure don't want to even have the slightest hint of 'I want to jump you' on my face when I get to that station. You know Coleman and Speedy; they won't miss anything, and they sure won't miss pointing it out to their listening audience. That's all I need, for Atlanta to know I'm sitting there drooling over the guy who called me a liar. And their station is the one that we listen to at work. When I come in later, my coworkers, mostly male, will know everything I said."

"Will he be drooling over you?"

"What?" Marissa asked, while Petie charged through the living room with his leash and a long stream of toilet paper trailing in his wake. "Oh, shoot, I've got to catch Petie, and then I've got to get ready-if someone will go with me. Is there any way you can go?"

"No, I can't let Lettie down," Amy said, "But Candi is off today. I'll have her over here by the time you're out of the shower. Now go get ready and stop panicking."

"Thanks," Marissa said, vastly relieved, even if she couldn't catch the silver dog with the mischievous twinkle in his eye. She made a lunge for him as he pa.s.sed, but missed, and ended up hitting the floor with a thud.

"But there's a condition," Amy quickly added.

Marissa gave up on Petie, for now. "What's that?" she asked, breathless.

"When you do decide that you're definitely going to jump his bones, let me know first. I mean, before it happens."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Nope, serious," Amy said.