Page 5 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“I’m sorry, man, but I’ve got to talk to somebody.”

“Can’t we talk about football? Or maybe the relative merits of owning versus leasing a vehicle?”

“I need some help here, Matt. JoBeth’s been listening to that Dr. Olivia. I need somebody on my side.”

Matt looked to his producer, Ben, for assistance, but the coward refused to look him in the eye. A check of his monitor showed only one caller waiting. There wasn’t a

commercial break in sight.

"All right, all right. What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, I don’t think there is a problem. But JoBeth keeps going on about her biological clock. Says it’s time to settle down and start a family.”

“Why don’t you just tell her you need some time? I’m sure she doesn’t want to rush you into anything. How long have you been dating?”

“Three years.”

“Three years? Good Lord. How long does it take to figure out whether you want to be with somebody?”

“That’s what she said. And aren’t you the one to talk? How many times have you been named ‘Bachelor of the Year’ now, Ransom?”

“A few.”

Dawg snorted. “Not exactly settling down and making any life-altering commitments yourself, are you?”

“Nope.”

“How come your girlfriends aren’t calling in on that show to complain?”

“Because I don’t give them anything to complain about. I’m honest. I tell them right up front what they can expect, namely a good time, but I don’t pretend I’m offering anything more than that.”

“And that works for you?”

“Always has. Let me put it this way, Dawg: Real guys need to be real clear. Then there’s no problem.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that now. JoBeth’s great and all, but I’m just not ready to do the marriage thing again.”

“I hear you, Dawg. But I’ll tell you, it’s a whole lot easier to say that up front instead of later in self-defense. You’ve put yourself in the middle of a classic no-win situation. Whatever you do now, you’re pretty much screwed.”

Matt terminated the call and glanced at the clock, relieved to discover it was almost time for a commercial break. He took one of the holding calls, listened to some more less-than-macho whimpering, and dumped the rest, signaling Ben he was ready to move on.

This was what came of telling men they were supposed to have a sensitive side; it made them wimpy. And he was not about wimpy.

At long last Matt heard his theme music start up. He needed this break, and when he came back on the air he wasn’t going to allow any more whining. Matt looked

through the small plate-glass window, glared at Ben on general principle, and then leaned into the microphone. “This is Guy Talk... not Dr. Phil. If you wanna talk guy stuff, give me a call. It’s a Freefall Friday.”

At the all-clear signal, Matt stood, removed his headphones, and headed out of the studio. He made it past the control room, down the corridor, and through the security door before slowing down. The last two days were enough to spoil a man’s good time. First, T.J. had to go and share his budget dilemma with him, and now his audience was trying to turn him into Oprah. Ugh.

As far as Matt was concerned, the best relationships were every bit as uncomplicated as he’d said. Two people got together, they enjoyed each other’s company, and they moved on when it stopped being fun. If you didn’t get too close, no one got too hurt. He’d been living that philosophy successfully all his adult life, with the exception of one long-ago assault on his heartstrings, and he saw no reason to reconsider that philosophy now.

He stopped in front of a publicity photo someone had tacked up on the bulletin board and studied Olivia Moore, Ph.D. Funny how completely she’d managed to intrude into his life, once again. Not only was her show beginning to change the face of his own, but according to T.J., Olivia was now the competition. One of their shows could go.

He narrowed his gaze and contemplated the likeness more closely. She’d grown sleeker, more sophisticated, but physically Olivia hadn’t changed much since Chicago. Her cheekbones still angled dramatically upward on either side of the straight, slightly pointed nose, while her lips remained too full for the determined chin underneath. Her silky blonde hair fell straight to the shoulder like it always had and her wide-set green eyes glittered with wicked intelligence just like he remembered.

And she still turned him on without even trying.

Matt poured himself a last cup of hours-old coffee, zapped it back to life in the microwave, and headed toward the control room, his mind full of Olivia. When the time came for T.J. to make his choice, he’d be strangely sorry to see her go.

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