Pamina grinned at Lindsay’s antics, noting that her smart mouth and sassy attitude completed the bad-girl package. Merging their minds as one, Pamina sifted through Lindsay’s thoughts, learning that she had a habit of dating men who’d done little more than scrounge off her. Men who wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it jumped up and bit them on their asses and who were more than happy to dip into her meager savings.
Anna Deveau raised one brow. “Bob?” she asked. Pamina turned her attention to the petite blonde. She took a moment to study her, gauging Anna’s response to Lindsay’s carefree sexual attitude. Anna worried her bottom lip, pushed her hands into her jeans pockets, and glanced up and down Main Street, seemingly embarrassed by the whole conversation.
“Bob stands for ‘battery-operated boyfriend’,” Candace Steele piped up, perfect white teeth flashing in a smile. “I think I’ll get one of those.” Toying with her long dark ponytail, she went up on the balls of her gym shoes and pressed her nose to the glass. Her green eyes lit with curiosity. “I wonder if it comes with extra batteries.” Then she added, “Now that I’m off men I’m going to need something to increase my heart rate and metabolism.”
Lindsay snorted and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Come on, Candace. Not everything has to be about your triathlons. This toy is designed to give you an orgasm, not to help you run faster, or longer.”
Candace winked at her friend. “Well, you know how I hate to peter out halfway through a race.”
Pamina took a moment to sift through Candace’s mind. It appeared the young athletic girl with a penchant for marathon sex attracted guys who were after her daddy’s connections and influence. They claimed to love her, but time and time again, Candace discovered otherwise.
“Um, we should go,” Anna squeaked out, color flooding her cheeks.
Lindsay twisted sideways and ruffled the lapels of Anna’s pristine white shirt. “You need to loosen up, girlfriend. Now that we’re all off men, you’re going to have to take matters into your own hands whether you like it or not.” Lindsay clicked her tongue and snapped her fingers. “And as my mother always said, when you want the job done right, you have to do it yourself.”
When Anna gave her friend a mortified look, Pamina surfed through her mind. Sweet romantic, Anna, a woman who, strangely enough, had a habit of attracting self-serving men. The men she had deemed boyfriends cared only about their own needs and desires, squashing her lifelong belief that she’d be swept off her feet by her very own Prince Charming and live happily ever after.
Pamina gave a resigned shake of her head and absentmindedly stroked her cat’s black fur. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Honestly, it’s no wonder they’ve sworn off men, Abra.”
Considering the best approach to help these girls, she scanned Mason Creek and calculated her next move. When she came across an old, rundown Victorian house on the outskirts of town, a plan began to formulate, to take shape and pattern inside her mind.
Pamina reached outside her window and twisted a juicy red apple from the branch. Ah yes, the old house would provide the perfect setting for seduction. With that last thought in mind, she closed her eyes and bit into the apple, preparing herself for the shift. In the next instant, she reopened her lids and found herself standing on the sidewalk staring up at the old Victorian home.
It was time to pair each girl with their match and watch the sexual sparks fly.
With everything in place, she angled her head and glanced at a very disgruntled, very bedraggled, Abra. Much aggrieved, he tossed her a miffed look. Pamina resisted the urge to chuckle. Oops, she’d forgotten to warn him of the shift.
Before Abra had time to go to work on his tattered fur, she hastily smoothed down her white cotton dress and with a lighthearted bounce to her step said, “Come on, Abra. It’s not time to be worrying about your appearance. We have a lot of work to do.”
1
Nose crinkled in distaste, Lindsay Bell pushed open the car door and climbed from the passenger seat. She stepped to the curb, shaded the late-afternoon sun from her eyes and perused the huge, rundown Victorian home outside of town. The place looked like a designer’s worst nightmare, or a designer’s dream come true, depending on whom you were asking. Lips curled in aversion, Lindsay pinched her eyes shut and feigned a shiver.
Low-slung branches fringed the perimeter of the sunburnt yard, while unkempt vines coiled around the moss-laden veranda like snakes. White paint chips trickled from the tall wooden support posts and settled like snow on the faded blue deck. Overgrown shrubs, weeds, and fallen leaves camouflaged the long, insect-infested walkway. Crickets, grasshoppers and a few other unidentified pests scurried about in their fertile playground.
When Anna stepped onto the curb beside her, Lindsay angled her head to cast her a glance. “Are you sure this is the place?” She cut her hand through the air. “It doesn’t look like anyone has lived here for years.”
Anna furrowed her brow and nibbled on her bottom lip. She studied the paper in her hand, then read the rusty brass numbers dangling from the cedar shingles. “This is the address she gave.”
“Let me see that.” Without haste, Candace circled her Honda Civic, grabbed the paper and scanned it. “91 Oak Street.” She looked at the house and, with an open hand, gestured toward the front door. Never one to waste precious time, she said, “Then I guess this is it, ladies. Shall we?”
Lindsay pivoted on the ball of her foot and followed. Her very conventional, very so-not-her pumps tapped a steady beat as she trailed behind Candace’s long, athletic strides. She shifted uncomfortably in her business attire. God, she hated having to play
