It Takes a Rebel. Stephanie Bond

simply the most self-absorbed, tedious, annoying female I’ve ever met.”

      “There’s Gloria the Gold Digger,” Alex said, pointing her spoon.

      “At least she was smart enough to marry your father.”

      “True,” Alex conceded with a sigh. Hopes that she and her father would become closer after her mother died had been dashed by Gloria Bickum Georgeson Abrams. The woman had brought a disposable pan of the most hideous macaroni salad to their home after her mother’s funeral, and had been underfoot ever since.

      “I swear, Alex, I’m going to kill her.”

      “Gloria?”

      “No, Vicki. Do you know what she did?”

      “I can’t guess.”

      “Guess.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Sure you can.”

      Alex sighed. “Borrowed your suede coat again?”

      “She ruined it. No, worse.”

      “Forgot to pay a bill?”

      “I had to flash the cable man so he wouldn’t cut us off. But it’s worse.”

      “What?”

      “Guess.”

      “Lana—”

      “She’s dating Bill Friar.”

      Alex swallowed. “Oh.” Lana was the most popular, outgoing woman she knew, and her looks were extraordinary, if offbeat—classic bone structure and violet-colored eyes allowed her to pull off spiky bleach-white hair. But Lexington men did not stand in line for eccentric-looking women with an I.Q. that put her on the Mensa mailing list. Bill Friar had seemed to be the exception—at first. Then the big phony had broken her friend’s big heart.

      “Yeah, ‘oh,’ is right.” Lana shoveled in another huge bite. “She has the nerve to rub it in my face.”

      Alex felt a pang for her friend. “Are they getting serious?”

      “No, she’s dating a dozen other guys. She only went out with him to get back at me.”

      “How did she know you and Bill were once an item?”

      Lana stirred the spoon aimlessly, her eyebrows drawn together. “She read my diary.”

      Alex sucked on her spoon, her eyes wide. “She didn’t.”

      “She did and, just watch, I’m going to get her back.”

      “Why don’t you just find another roommate?”

      “We both signed the lease, so I’m stuck for another eight months, but after that, I’m outta there. Meanwhile,” Lana said, holding up the ornate spoon, “I’m going to borrow her things for a while. These are her earrings, too.”

      Alex leaned forward to get a better look at the copper spheres. “Nice.”

      “Aren’t they? So what’s new with you?” Lana asked, fully vented and ready to listen. “I phoned you this morning for lunch, but your secretary said you were out.”

      “I was running an errand on the east side.”

      “Eww. Why?”

      Alex took another slow bite before answering. “Ever hear of a guy named Jack Stillman?”

      Her friend blinked. “Sure. Hotshot receiver for UK when we were freshmen. Don’t you remember?”

      Alex worked her mouth from side to side. “Maybe, maybe not.”

      “Great looking, big man on campus, dated the varsity and the junior varsity cheerleading squads.”

      “He sounds pretty forgettable.”

      Lana laughed. “He had a perfect record his senior year—never once dropped the ball. Of course I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You practically slept at the store back then to impress Daddy, not that things have changed much in fifteen years.” Her smile was teasing. “You really need to get out more, Alex.”

      “Heath and I go out.”

      “That tree? Please. My blow up doll Harry is more exciting.”

      Alex had heard Lana’s lukewarm opinion on Heath too many times to let the comment bother her. So he wasn’t Mr. Excitement—she didn’t mind. “To each her own.”

      Lana put away another glob of empty calories. “I suppose. Why the questions about Jack Stillman?”

      “He owns an ad agency in town and he’s pitching to us in the morning.”

      “Well, I guess he grew up after all.”

      “I wouldn’t go that far,” Alex said dryly. “This morning I dropped in to check out his operation and had the displeasure of meeting the man.”

      Lana leaned forward, poised for gossip. “Is he still gorgeous?”

      “I couldn’t tell under that heavy layer of male chauvinism.”

      Her friend frowned, then her mouth fell open. “He got under your skin, didn’t he?”

      Alex squirmed against the suddenly uncomfortable over-stuffed goose down cushions. “Not in the way you’re implying.”

      Lana whooped. “Oh, yeah, under like a syringe.”

      She sighed, exasperated. “Lana, believe me, the man is no one I would remotely want to work with.”

      “So, who’s talking about work?”

      Alex rolled her eyes. “Or anything else. He’s a player if I’ve ever seen one, and the man doesn’t exactly scream success, if you know what I mean.”

      Lana made a sympathetic sound. “Too bad. He used to be hot.”

      “I believe he still operates under that delusion.”

      “So you don’t think he’ll get your business?”

      “Not if I can help it.”

      “Well, let me know how it goes,” Lana said, standing and stretching into a yawn.

      Alex frowned. “You have to go already?”

      “Four-thirty comes mighty early.”

      “When are you going to buy that coffee shop?”

      “Maybe when I acquire a taste for the dreadful stuff,” her friend said with a grimace. “I still keep a stash of Earl Grey under the counter. I’m busy tomorrow, but let’s have lunch the day after and you can let me know how it goes with Jack the Attack.”

      “Jack the Attack?”

      Lana nodded toward the wall of bookshelves. “Check your college yearbook, bookworm. Goodnight.”

      “Here’s your spoon.”

      Lana grinned. “Keep it.”

      Alex was still laughing when the door closed behind her friend, but sobered when Jack Stillman’s face rose in her mind to taunt her. The man was shaping up to be more of a potential threat than she’d imagined. She walked over to a laden bookshelf and removed the yearbook for her freshman year of college. Within seconds, she located the sports section and, as Lana had said, it seemed that Jack Stillman had been the man of the hour. Although UK was renowned for all of its team sports programs, Jack the Attack had been heralded for single-handedly taking his football team to a prestigious post-season bowl game, and winning it.

      Page after page showed Jack in various midmotion poses: catching the football, running past opponents, crossing into the end zone. The last page featured Jack in his mud-stained uniform, arm in arm with a casually dressed man who was a taller, wider version of himself, behind whose unsuspecting