Jennifer Shirk

“Special. Cute. Friends. He wished she'd just cut his testicles off and be done with it already. Depending on the next adjective she chose for him, he would either qualify as a card-carrying member of Emasculated Men's Club or a Muppet. No wonder he avoided love for as long as he had. When it went unrequited, it truly sucked.”

“Georgie?” He reached out with both hands to steady her—and himself. His mind had trouble focusing. He couldn’t believe Georgie was actually standing in front of him. She looked liked an angel—in knee-high biker boots. Those boots looked even better in real life than in his imagination. He gazed into her eyes and was filled with so many emotions, so many things he wanted to say to her, he didn’t know where to start. “I like your shoes,” he said.”

“Stalking?” Brad made a face, drawing back as if he’d been asked to host a Pampered Chef party. “I didn’t say anything about stalking. All I want you to do is stick close to her and check out who she talks to… see where she goes… maybe find out what kind of guys are approaching her. That sort of thing. Then report it all back to me.”

“Sunny laughed. "It's okay. You're right, Emma. My name is unusual, but I like to think of it as... special also."Special?Sam cocked his head as he studied Sunny. Almost all of her hair had escaped out of her ponytail now. She wore a baggy pink sweatshirt and had on the kind of drawstring plaid pants that would've set Bozo the Clown's heart pitter-pattering with envy. Her yellow tennis shoes were covered with dog hair.Yeah, special was one word for her.”

“Arrr, shiver me timbers,” he said in an exaggerated pirate twang. He winked his uncovered eye and hooked his thumbs in his pants. “This is the nicest your mom’s been to a poor old bloke like me-self in days.”Sandra poked a finger in his chest, but grinned. “Don’t make me regret it, or you’ll walk the plank.”He grinned back and, with that eye patch, turned knee-meltingly rakish in under ten seconds flat. “Aye, I won’t be asking you to make me Roger jolly, if that’s what has you worrying.”

“You know, typically a nickname is shorter than the given name.”“Is it?” he asked in mock seriousness. “Oh. Well, tell you what, you can call me…”She waited several beats, thinking of more than a few unkind examples. “I can call you what?” she finally asked.“That’s it.” He shot her his bone-melting smile. “You can just call me. Anytime.”She rolled her eyes, refusing to give in to the smile that threatened. “That sounds like a line from one of your movies.”He shot her a triumphant look. “Ah, ha! I knew you were a fan.”

“Wait a minute,” Sandra said, sounding skeptical. “You were really stuck?”Things were starting to get worse.Her mouth dropped open and she began to laugh—the kind of laugh that would have been music to his ears if she were laughing with him and not at him.Things were definitely worse.”

“Sorry, Sam, but I call 'em like see 'em. When you hire a nanny for the kids, you hire Mrs. Doubtfire. When you hire someone who looks like Sunny...well, then I'm afraid you hired her for yourself.”