Page 42 of Bad Girls Don't Marry Marines (Rock Canyon, Idaho 3)

“Don’t worry about him. I saw him taking multiple puffs of his inhaler earlier, so I’m pretty sure you just dodged a bullet,” a gravelly voice to her left said.

Val turned and smiled at an older man in his forties sporting a goatee, a shaved head, and a skull-faced tattoo just under the sleeve of his American Chopper T-shit.

“Why is asthma enough to send me running in the other direction?” Val asked.

“Didn’t you see his nerdy superhero T-shirt? If that guy doesn’t have a thousand action figures or live in his mother’s basement, I’d be shocked,” the man said.

Val smothered her laugh with a cough before holding her hand out to him. “I’m Val.”

“Kevin.” His big hand squeezed hers and she returned the gesture. He smiled. “You got a grip for just a little bit.”

“My dad always told me to make my handshake mean business,” she said, leaning back as the server set a plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns in front of her. Another server put a gravy boat and a basket of biscuits in the middle of the table. When the dweeb started to reach for it, Kevin grabbed it away from him.

“Easy, sneezy, I’ll hand you one.”

When she laughed this time, Val used her napkin, pressing it against her mouth and turning her back on the dweeb, her shoulders shaking. After her laughter subsided she whispered, “You’re a funny guy.”

“You should call up my ex-wives and tell them that,” Kevin said, putting a couple of biscuits on his plate before handing the basket to her.

“How many are there?”

“Three. Here looking for lucky number four,” he said, tossing her a wink before taking a bite of his food, gravy dribbling down his chin.

“Wow,” she said. She had a hard time imagining anyone wanting to get married twice, let alone four times.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, you aren’t my type. I like my women on the thicker side. Like that one over there.”

Val followed his pointed fork to a full-figured woman in her thirties with a pretty face and a tattoo she couldn’t make out on her upper breast. “She’s pretty.”

“Yep. Who you got your eye on?”

Val’s eyes traveled to where Justin was smiling at Barbie and nearly gnashed her teeth. “No one special.”

“Hello there.”

Val turned in her chair to find Dorothy Love behind her, smiling.

“Hello,” Val said, standing up to shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Val.”

“How’s your head? You took quite a hit.”

“It’s all right as long as I don’t press on it or move too fast.”

“Oh, I’m so glad. The handsome military man was worried about you,” Dorothy said, and Val caught her sly grin.

“Justin? Yeah, he drove me back from the hospital,” Val said, adding quickly, “but we’re just friends.”

Dorothy snorted, to Val’s surprise. “I highly doubt he feels the same.”

Val’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“In my opinion, the only way a man and woman could be strictly platonic friends, with no feelings for each other besides respect, is if they were both gay,” Dorothy continued, shocking her further. “You show me a man and a woman who are just friends and I’ll show you a story of unrequited love or two people in denial.”

“That seems a little cynical,” Val said, finally finding her voice.

“Just as I don’t believe in platonic friendships between the genders, I’m sure some people find my perfect matches preposterous.”

Val could see her point, but she also had one of her own. “If you think there’s a perfect match for everyone, what about serial killers?”