Kera pushed a honey-colored tendril of hair from her forehead. "One day we'll all find men who love us, who we can trust with our hopes and dreams. Men who-"

My laugh cut her off. "The idea of a loving, caring, trustworthy male is too ludicrous to contemplate even for a second."

"Hear, hear," Mel seconded. She'd experienced her fair share of broken hearts. In fact, she'd inflicted her fair share of broken hearts, but that was beside the point. We were man bashing, not airing our own dirty secrets.

"There's nothing special about love. It sucks and it's messy." I hated to disillusion Kera, but she needed to know the truth. The longer she drifted through life thinking her true love waited just beyond the corner, the more she risked getting hurt.

And, to be honest, I hated the thought of Kera's sweetheartedness being obliterated by a walking penis.

"I refuse to believe love means nothing," she said. "Just because you thought you were in love with Richard the Bastard doesn't mean you had actually found your true love. Your soul mate is out there, Naomi, just waiting for you to find him."

Lord, I hoped not.

However, a wave of trepidation washed over me as Royce's perfectly chiseled face filled my mind. I quickly brushed the sensation-and the image-aside. I didn't believe in soul mates. Not anymore. My mom had thought my real dad was her soul mate the entire ten years they'd been married. That's why she took him back every time he hit her. Every time he cheated on her. Still, I couldn't deny that when I'd fallen into Royce's arms, the contact had been electric; something I'd never experienced before. Not even with my ex.

But that didn't mean Royce was my soul mate.

"So, when do you see the delectable Mr. Powell again?" Kera asked.

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug, trying to act casual. "Tomorrow." Oh, God. Tomorrow. I gulped. I wasn't sure I would survive our next meeting.

Mel nibbled on the edge of her bagel. "Mmm, I'll want all the delectable details, of course."

With the word delectable ringing in my mind, my gaze strayed once more to the newspaper photo. I just couldn't help myself. The camera had managed to capture Royce's raw masculinity, but the film failed to reveal the blatant sexuality that oozed from his every pore.

"I can give you all the details right now," I told them, using my next words as a vow to myself. "Nothing's going to happen between Royce and me because I won't let it."

Circling a fingertip over the rim of her glass, Mel said, "Whatever you say, you dirty sex kitten."

I pinched the bride of my nose. I wished to God I could add Royce's name to my To Be Avoided list. He was causing trouble already. Truly, a smart woman would have called him and ended all association. But with my new motto-I'll Plan a Party in Your Ass if the Price Is Right-I had to stick it out.

"I, for one, am grateful Royce entered your life. He's causing your sex drive to finally kick into gear." Mel drained the last of her juice. "About time, too."

"Hey, did you read this part? I missed it earlier." Kera suddenly grabbed the paper. She hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Royce actually lists the qualities he wants in his wife."

"I've read it." I grabbed another muffin, mimicking: "She must share my interest in backgammon. She cannot complain too much. If she doesn't speak at all, even better. And she absolutely must love the color green." Disgusted, I shook my head. "That's either meant to be a joke or the man needs intense psychotherapy."

"You know," Kera said, brightening, "we need a list like this."

"A stupid one?" I asked.

Kera pursed her lips. "No, a list of requirements."

"What for? Mel's taken. I'm not looking. And you, well, all you have to do is breathe to gain a man's attention." Which was true. She and Mel might be identical, but there was an innocent sensuality to Kera that somehow personified the term wet dream. Men went crazy for her.

"Actually, I'm a free woman now," Mel said, not an ounce of remorse in her tone. "So I'm on the prowl."

I couldn't hide my surprise. "What happened to Harry? Last I heard, you two were hot and heavy."

"I dumped him. He kept asking to borrow my panties." She shook her head, blond hair dancing with the movement. "It wouldn't have been so bad, except he wanted them so he could wear them."

Nose crinkled, Kera wiggled until her legs were folded under her. "I never liked him. He was too…funky."

"What kind of name is Harry Johnson, anyway?" Mel said. "What could I use as an endearment? Woody?"

"I think Harry Johnson is a great name," I said, deadpan. "As long as he's got a father named Peter and a brother named Dick."

Mel chuckled. "Let's not talk about Harry, Harry, the Panty Wearer, okay?"

"I'd rather talk about our list." Propping her elbows on the tabletop, Kera regarded us with expectation. "I want to make one with our top ten requirements for Mr. Right."

"That sounds fun," Mel replied dryly. She clapped her hands with mock excitement.

"A Mr. Right list has been done by every woman in America and they all say the same thing," I said, then rattled off the usual handsome, charming, blah, blah, blah. "What we need is a list for Mr. Wrong."

Silence.

"Like how to spot a loser…" Mel nodded, getting into the game. "I love it. Let's do it!"

Kera said, "We all know how much you like to make lists, Naomi, so you're in charge of writing everything down."

Getting into the spirit of things myself, I stood, gathered a sheet of paper and a pencil and plopped back down at the table. "Ready."

"I know what number one should be," Kera said. "Unemployed."

"That's so cliche." Pensive, Mel tapped a finger on her chin. "We have to think creatively." Pause. Gasp. "Number one should be a man who says we'd look great in our clothes if we'd just lose ten pounds."

"Bastard," I growled. I'd heard the opposite from Richard, but I completely understood the sentiment. You'd look great if you'd just put on some weight, Naomi. Have you ever considered a boob job, Naomi? Your ass bone is killing me, Naomi, maybe you should get off my lap and sit over there. "That's perfect."

"The man I dated before Harry had a lazy eye," Mel said. She licked her lips, snagging a bagel crumb. "Make that number two. A man with a lazy eye."

"There's nothing wrong with a lazy eye," I said, meeting her gaze.

"There is when one eye stares at your boobs and the other at your crotch."

"Okay, okay." Kera uttered a chuckle. "Number three. A man who thinks quality time is a quickie during commercials."

I lifted my orange juice in salute. "Hear, hear."

"Number four." Mel folded her arms over her stomach. "A man who tells you he can't go out in daylight with you because he's too sensitive to the sunlight, but later you find out he only said that because he's married with four children and-"

"Whoa, there. Rein it in," I said on a laugh. She was growling with the force of her increasing fury. I eased back in my seat and propped the notepad in my lap. "I think lying bastard will cover number four."

She drew in a deep breath, then another. More calmly, she said, "With this year's crop, I think we need to add men who belch and scratch in public. And never shave! I hate the way beard stubble burns my cheeks."

"Excellent," I said, writing in her requirements. But I have to admit, I kind of like the feel of beard stubble. Okay, I really like to feel a man's stubble. It makes for some delicious friction. Maybe I'd cross that one out when I was alone.

"What about a man who can't listen?" Kera glanced around the table, waiting for nods of approval.

"That works for me," Mel said. "I once dated a man who fell asleep every time I opened my mouth. Well, unless I was using my mouth to-"