Tom began eating while Sheila was still standing at the stove. His mouth spread in an impish grin. His eyes darted from one side to the other. Then he grabbed a piece of chicken and ate it quickly. He looked up at her, that damn grin on his face as though asking her to laugh at the childish antics.

Five years ago she had thought those actions to be completely irresistible. She had been the happiest girl in school when Tom noticed her. She knew that he screwed any girl he dated. That didn't matter to the redhead. She was deliriously happy with the chance to offer him her cherry. He had popped her on their first date. He had fucked her, then bragged about it to the other boys on the team. He fucked her regularly after that. He usually kept his buddies up to date on just how many times he had gotten her pussy, too.

Their screwing had never been fulfilling to Sheila. Hell, just about the time she started feeling anything, he had already shot his wad. What he lacked in finesse, however, he tried to make up for in vigor. When Tom Linn fucked a girl, she knew she'd had a man between her legs. He bragged about that. The bastard would brag about that as he lay beside her, that juvenile grin on his face, while she shuddered with desire that had only begun to rise.

Tom had eaten two pieces of chicken and was finishing a third by the time Sheila slipped into her chair across from him. The young woman ate daintily while her husband continued to stuff his mouth. He nodded his approval of her cooking, grabbed a fourth piece of meat, looked from side to side, grinned, and started bolting down that piece of chicken. He struggled to swallow a huge mouthful, then spoke to her while the remains threatened to drop down his chin.

"You made up your mind about the convention?" he asked, referring to the forthcoming meetings of her company to be held in New Orleans. "You decided to go?"

Sheila had about decided not to attend. Mr.