ear Reader,

The night before our youngest son went off to college, I sat at the bottom of the stairs looking at his pile of belongings, and I cried my eyes out. I wasn’t ready for this part of my life to be over. The years slipped away, and I remembered how I’d yearned to have a baby. In that moment, the seeds for NOBODY’S BABY BUT MINE were planted.

Find a cozy corner, a comfortable chair, and come with me on a very special journey filled with love and passion. You’ll meet an endearing woman who’s smart about some things and confused about others, along with a strong, sexy heartthrob of a man who’ll take your breath away. You’ll also meet a married couple who’ve lost sight of what they mean to each other.

NOBODY’S BABY BUT MINE delivers lots of sizzle, but you’ll find tenderness too, along with laughter, and maybe even a tear here and there. Curl up in your favorite chair and lose yourself in the adventures of these maddening, mismatched, but ultimately endearing lovers.

Happy reading,

To my mother

Chapter One

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“Let me get this straight,” Jodie Pulanski said. “You want to give Cal Bonner awoman for a birthday present.”

The three offensive linemen, who were spending the November evening sitting in the back booth at Zebras, the DuPage County sports bar favored by the Chicago Stars football players, all nodded at once.

Junior Duncan gestured toward the waitress for another round. “He’s going to be thirty-six, so we wanted to make this extra special.”

“Bull,” Jodie said. Everybody who knew anything about football knew that Cal Bonner, the Stars’ brilliant quarterback, had been demanding, temperamental, and generally impossible to get along with ever since the season started. Bonner, popularly known as the “Bomber” because of his fondness for throwing explosive passes, was the top-ranked quarterback in the AFC and a legend.

Jodie crossed her arms over the form-fitting white tank top that was part of her hostess uniform. It didn’t occur to either her or any of the three men at the table to consider the moral dimensions of their discussion, let alone notions of political correctness. This was, after all, the NFL. “You think if you get him a woman, he’ll ease up on all of you,” she said.

Willie Jarrell gazed down into his beer through a pair of thickly-lashed dark brown eyes. “Sonovabitch been kickin’ so much ass lately, nobody can stand being around him.”

Junior shook his head. “Yesterday, he called Germaine Clark adebutante. Germaine!”

Jodie lifted one eyebrow, which was penciled several shades darker than her brassy blond hair. Germaine Clark was All-Pro and one of the meanest defensive tackles in the NFL. “From what I’ve seen, the Bomber already has more women than he knows what to do with.”

Junior nodded. “Yeah, but, the thing of it is, he doesn’t seem to be sleepin’ with any of them?”

“What?”

“It’s true.” Chris Plummer, the Stars’ left guard spoke up. “We just found it out. His girlfriends have been talking to some of the wives, and it seems Cal’s not using them for anything more than window dressing.”

Willie Jarrell spoke up. “Maybe if he waited until they were out of diapers, he could get turned on.”

Junior chose to take his remark seriously. “Don’t say things like that, Willie. You know Cal won’t date ’em till they’re twenty.”

Cal Bonner might be getting older, but the females in his life weren’t. No one could remember him dating anyone over the age of twenty-two.

“Far as anybody knows,” Willie said, “the Bomber hasn’t slept with anybody since he broke up with Kelly, and that was last February. It’s not natural.”

Kelly Berkley had been Cal’s beautiful twenty-one-year-old companion until she’d gotten tired of waiting for a wedding ring that wasn’t ever going to come and run off with a twenty-three-year-old

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guitarist for a heavy metal band. Since then, Cal Bonner had been concentrating on winning football games, dating a new woman every week, and kicking his teammates’ asses.

Jodie Pulanski was the Stars’ favorite groupie, but although she hadn’t yet turned twenty-three, none of the men suggested that she offer her own body as Cal Bonner’s birthday present. It was a well-known fact he’d already rejected her at least a dozen times. That made the Bomber Public Enemy Number One on Jodie’s personal hate list, even though she kept a collection of blue-and-gold Stars’ jerseys in her bedroom closet, one jersey for every Stars player she’d slept with, and was always eager to add more.

“What we need is somebody who won’t remind him of Kelly,” Chris said.

“That means she needs to be real classy,” Willie added. “And older. We think it would be good for the Bomber to try someone maybe twenty-five.”

“Sort of dignified.” Junior took a sip of beer. “One of those society types.”

Jodie wasn’t known for her brains, but even she could see the problem with that one. “I don’t think too many society types are going to volunteer to be a man’s birthday present. Not even Cal Bonner’s.”

“Yeah, that’s what we was thinking, too, so we might have to use a hooker.”

“But a real classy one,” Willie said hastily, since everyone knew Cal didn’t go for hookers.

Junior gazed glumly into his beer. “Problem is, we haven’t been able to find one.”

Jodie knew some hookers, but none of them were what she’d call classy. Neither were her friends. She ran with a group of hard-drinking, party-loving women, whose single goal in life was to sleep with as many professional athletes as they could. “What do you want from me?”

“We want you to use your connections and find somebody for him,” Junior said. “His birthday’s coming up in ten days, and we got to have a woman for him before then.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Since all three of their jerseys already hung in her closet, they knew they’d have to go out on a limb. Chris spoke cautiously. “You got a particular number you’re interested in adding to your collection?”

“Other than number eighteen,” Willie quickly interjected, eighteen being the Bomber’s number.

Jodie thought about it. She’d rather screw over the Bomber than find him a woman. On the other hand, there was one particular number that she wanted real bad. “As a matter of fact, I do. If I find your birthday present, number twelve’s mine.”

The men groaned. “Shit, Jodie, Kevin Tucker’s got too many women as it is.”

“That’s your problem.”

Tucker was the Stars’ backup quarterback. Young, aggressive, and sublimely talented, he had been handpicked by the Stars to take over the starting position when age or injury prevented Cal from getting the job done. Although the two men were polite in public, both were fierce competitors, and they hated each other’s guts, which made Kevin Tucker all the more desirable to Jodie.

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The men grumbled, but eventually agreed that they’d make sure Tucker did his part if she found the right woman for Cal’s birthday present.

Two new customers entered Zebras, and since Jodie was the bar’s hostess, she got up to greet them. As she made her way to the door, she mentally sorted through her female acquaintances, trying to come up with one of them who would qualify, but she drew a blank. She had a lot of female friends, but not a single one of them was classy.

Two days later, Jodie was still mulling over the problem as she dragged her hangover into the kitchen of her parents’ home in suburban Glen Ellyn, Illinois, where she was temporarily living until she got her Visa paid off. It was almost noon on Saturday, her parents were gone for the weekend, and she didn’t have to be at work until five, which was a good thing because she needed time to recover from last night’s partying.

She opened the cupboard door and saw nothing but a can of decaf.Shit. It was sleeting outside, and her head hurt too much to drive, but if she didn’t have a quart of caffeine inside her by kickoff time, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the game.

Nothing was going right. The Stars were playing in Buffalo that afternoon, so she couldn’t look forward to the players coming into Zebras after the game. And when she finally did see them, how was she going to break the news that she hadn’t been able to find the birthday present? One of the reasons the Stars paid so much attention to her was because she could always get them women.

She gazed out the kitchen window and saw a light on at the geek’s house next door. The geek was Jodie’s private name for Dr. Jane Darlington, her parents’ neighbor. She was a Ph.D. doctor, not a medical one, and Jodie’s mom was always going on about what a wonderful person she was because she’d been helping the Pulanskis with mail and shit ever since they’d moved in a couple of years ago. Maybe she’d help Jodie out with some coffee.

She did a quick fix on her makeup and, without bothering to put on underwear, slipped into a pair of tight black jeans, Willie Jarrell’s jersey, and her Frye boots. After grabbing one of her mother’s Tupperware containers, she headed next door.

Despite the sleet, she hadn’t bothered with a jacket, and by the time Dr. Jane got around to answering the bell, she was shivering. “Hi.”

Dr. Jane stood on the other side of the storm door staring at her through geeky, oversize glasses with tortoiseshell frames.

“I’m the Pulanskis’ daughter Jodie. From next door.”

Dr. Jane made no move to invite her inside.

“Listen, it’s cold as hell out here. Can I come in?”

The geek finally pushed open the storm door and let her in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”

Jodie stepped inside, and it didn’t take her more than two seconds to figure out why Dr. Jane hadn’t been in any big hurry to admit her. The eyes behind the lenses were teary and her nose red. Unless Jodie was more hungover than she thought, Dr. Jane had been crying her nerdy little heart out.

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The geek was tall, maybe five-eight, and Jodie had to look up as she extended the pink Tupperware container. “Can I bum a couple of scoops of coffee? There’s nothing but decaf in the house, and I need something stronger.”

Dr. Jane took the container, but she seemed to do it reluctantly. She didn’t strike Jodie as the stingy type, so her reaction probably meant she wasn’t in the mood for company. “Yes, I’ll—uh—get you some.” She turned away and headed for the kitchen, obviously expecting Jodie to wait where she was, but Jodie had a half hour to kill before the pregame show started, and she was curious enough to follow.

They passed through a living room that, at first glance, seemed pretty boring: off-white walls, comfortable furniture, boring-looking books everywhere. Jodie was getting ready to pass right through when the framed museum posters on the walls caught her attention. They all seemed to have been done by some lady named Georgia O’Keeffe, and Jodie knew she had a dirty mind, but she didn’t think that explained why every one of the flowers looked like female sex organs.

She saw flowers with deep, dark hearts. Flowers with petals flopping over moist, secret centers. She saw—jeez. It was a clamshell with this little wet pearl, and even somebody with the cleanest mind in the world would have to look twice at that one. She wondered if maybe the geek was a dike. Why else would she want to look at flower pussies every time she went into her living room?

Jodie wandered into the kitchen, which was pale lavender with pretty floral curtains hanging at the window, although these flowers were regular ones, not the X-rateds in the living-room paintings. Everything in the kitchen was cheery and cute except for the owner, who looked more dignified than God.

Dr. Jane was one of those neat, tweedy women. Her tailored slacks had small, tidy brown-and-black checks, and her soft, oatmeal-colored sweater looked like cashmere. Despite her height, she was small-boned, with well-proportioned legs and a slender waist. Jodie might have felt envious of her figure except for the fact that she had no boobs, or at least none to speak of.

Her hair was jaw-length—pale blond with streaks of flax, platinum, and gold that couldn’t have come from a bottle. It was arranged in one of those conservative hairstyles that Jodie wouldn’t have been caught dead in—brushed loosely back from her face and held in place with a narrow brown velvet clip-on headband.

She turned slightly so that Jodie got a better look. Too bad about those big, geeky glasses. They hid a nice set of green eyes. She also had a good forehead and a decent nose, neither too big nor too small. Her mouth was sort of interesting, with a thin upper lip and a plump bottom one. And she had great skin. But she didn’t seem to do much with herself. Jodie would have added a lot more makeup. All in all, the geek was a good-looking woman, but sort of intimidating, even with those red-rimmed eyes.

She put the lid on the Tupperware and held it out toward Jodie, who was just about to take it when she spotted the crumpled wrapping paper on the kitchen table and the small pile of gifts lying next to it.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing, really. It’s my birthday.” Her voice had an interesting huskiness to it, and for the first time Jodie noticed the tissues crumpled in her hand.

“Hey, no kidding. Happy birthday.”

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“Thank you.”

Ignoring the Tupperware container in Dr. Jane’s outstretched hand, Jodie walked over to the table and looked down at the assortment of presents: a puny little box of plain white stationary, an electric toothbrush, a pen, and a gift certificate for Jiffy Lube. Pathetic. Not a pair of crotchless panties or a sexy nightie in sight.

“Bummer.”

To her surprise, Dr. Jane gave a short laugh. “You’re right about that. My friend Caroline always comes through with the perfect gift, but she’s on a dig in Ethiopia.” And then, to Jodie’s surprise, a tear skidded out from under her glasses and slipped down her cheek.

Dr. Jane stiffened, as if it hadn’t happened, but the presents really were pathetic, and Jodie couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “Hey, it’s not so bad. At least you don’t have to worry about the sizes being wrong.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” She stiffened her bottom lip, but another tear slid out from beneath her glasses.

“It’s okay. Sit down, and I’ll make us some coffee.” She pushed Dr. Jane down into one of the kitchen chairs, then took the Tupperware container over to the counter where the coffeemaker sat. She started to ask Dr. J. where the filters were, but her forehead was all crumpled, and she seemed to be taking deep breaths, so Jodie opened a couple of cupboards until she found what she wanted and began making a fresh pot.

“So what birthday is it?”

“Thirty-four.”

Jodie was surprised. She wouldn’t have taken Dr. J. for any more than her late twenties. “Double bummer.”

“I’m sorry to be carrying on like this.” She dabbed her nose with a tissue. “I’m not usually so emotional.”

A couple of tears was hardly Jodie’s idea of “carrying on,” but for such an uptight chick, this was probably big-time hysterical. “I said it’s okay. You got any doughnuts or anything?”

“There are some whole wheat bran muffins in the freezer.”

Jodie made a face and headed back to the table. It was small and round with a glass top and metal chairs that looked like they belonged in a garden. She sat across from Dr. Jane.

“Who gave you the presents?”

She tried to manage one of those smiles that held people at a distance. “My colleagues.”

“You mean the people you work with?”

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“Yes. My associates at Newberry, and one of my friends at Preeze Laboratories.”

Jodie didn’t know about Preeze Laboratories, but Newberry was one of the most la-de-da colleges in the United States, and everybody was always bragging about the fact that it was located right here in DuPage County.

“That’s right. Don’t you teach science or something?”

“I’m a physicist. I teach graduate classes in relativistic quantum field theory. I also have special funding through Preeze Labs that lets me investigate top quarks with other physicists.”

“No shit. You must have been a real brain in high school.”

“I didn’t spend much time in high school. I started college when I was fourteen.” One more tear trickled down her cheeks, but, if anything, she sat even straighter.

“Fourteen? Get out of here.”

“By the time I was twenty, I had my Ph.D.” Something inside her seemed to give way. She set her elbows on the table, balled her hands into fists, and propped her forehead on top of them. Her shoulders trembled, but she made no noise, and the sight of this dignified woman coming all unraveled was so pathetic that Jodie couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She was also curious.

“You got troubles with your boyfriend?”

She kept her head ducked and shook her head. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I did. Dr. Craig Elkhart. We were together for six years.”

So the geek wasn’t a dike. “Long time.”

She lifted her head, and although her cheeks were wet, her jaw had a stubborn set to it. “He just married a twenty-year-old data-entry clerk named Pamela. When he left me, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Jane, but you don’t excite me anymore.’ ”

Considering Dr. J’s, basic uptight personality, Jodie couldn’t exactly blame him, but it had still been a shitty thing to say. “Men are basically assholes.”

“That’s not the worst part.” She clasped her hands together. “The worst part is that we were together for six years, and I don’t miss him.”

“Then what are you so broke up about?” The coffee was done, and she got up to fill their mugs.

“It’s not Craig. I’m just… It’s nothing, really. I shouldn’t be going on like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re thirty-four years old and somebody gave you a Jiffy Lube gift certificate for your birthday. Anybody would be bummed.”

She shuddered. “This is the same house I grew up in; did you know that? After Dad died, I was going to sell it, but I never got around to it.” Her voice developed a faraway sound, as if she’d forgotten Jodie was there. “I was doing research on ultrarelativistic heavy-ion collisions, and I didn’t want any

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distractions. Work has always been the center of my life. Until I was thirty, it was enough. But then one birthday followed another.”

“And you finally figured out all that physics stuff isn’t giving you any thrills in bed at night, right?”

She started, almost as if she’d forgotten Jodie was there. Then she shrugged. “It’s not just that. Frankly, I believe sex is overrated.” Uncomfortable, she looked down at her hands. “It’s more a sense of connection.”

“You don’t get much more connected than when you’re burning up the mattress.”

“Yes, well, that’s assuming one burns it up. Personally…” She sniffed and stood, slipping the tissues into the pocket of her trousers where they didn’t presume to leave a bump. “When I speak of connection, I’m thinking of something more lasting than sex.”

“Religious stuff?”

“Not exactly, although that’s important to me. Family. Children. Things like that.” Once again she drew her shoulders back and gave Jodie a brush-off smile. “I’ve gone on long enough. I shouldn’t be imposing on you like this. I’m afraid you caught me at a bad time.”

“I get it! You want a kid!”

Dr. J. delved into her pocket and yanked out the tissues. Her bottom lip trembled, and her entire face crumpled as she dropped back into the chair. “Yesterday Craig told me that Pamela is pregnant. It’s not… I’m not jealous. To be honest, I don’t care enough about him anymore to be jealous. I didn’t really want to marry him; I don’t want to marry anybody. It’s just that…” Her voice faded. “It’s just…”

“It’s just that you want a kid of your own.”

She gave a jerky nod and bit her lip. “I’ve wanted a child for so long. And now I’m thirty-four, and my eggs are getting older by the minute, but it doesn’t seem as if it’s going to happen.”

Jodie glanced at the kitchen clock. She wanted to hear the rest of this, but pregame was starting. “Do you mind if I turn on your TV while we finish this?”

Dr. J. looked confused, as if she weren’t exactly sure what a TV was. “No, I suppose not.”

“Cool.” Jodie picked up her mug and headed for the living room. She sat down on the couch, put her mug on the coffee table, and fished the remote out from under some kind of brainy journal. A beer commercial was playing, so she hit the mute button.

“Are you serious about wanting a baby? Even though you’re single.”

Dr. Jane had her glasses on again. She sat in an overstuffed chair with a ruffle around the bottom and the clam-shell painting hanging right behind her head, the one with that fat, wet pearl. She pressed her legs together, her feet side by side, anklebones touching. She had great ankles, Jodie noticed, slender and well shaped.

Once again that back stiffened, as if somebody had strapped a board to it. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I don’t ever plan to marry—my work is too important to me—but I want a child more

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than anything. And I think I’d be a good mother. I guess today I realized I have no way to make it happen, and that’s hit me hard.”

“I got a couple of friends who are single moms. It’s not easy. Still, you’ve got a lot better paying job than they do, so it shouldn’t be so tough for you.”

“The economics aren’t a problem. My problem is that I can’t seem to come up with a way to go about it.”

Jodie stared at her. For a smart woman, she sure was dumb. “Are you talking about the guy?”

She nodded stiffly.

“There’ve got to be a lot of them hanging around that college. It’s no big deal. Invite one of them over, put on some music, give him a couple of beers, and nail him.”

“Oh, it couldn’t be anyone I know.”

“So pick up somebody in a bar or something.”

“I could never do that. I’d have to know his health history.” Her voice dropped. “Besides, I wouldn’t know how to pick someone up.”

Jodie couldn’t imagine anything easier, but she guessed she had a lot more going for her than Dr. J. “What about one of those, you know, sperm banks?”

“Absolutely not. Too many sperm donors are medical students.”

“So?”

“I don’t want anyone who’s intelligent fathering my child.”

Jodie was so surprised, she neglected to turn up the volume on the pregame show, even though the beer commercial had ended and they’d begun to interview the Stars’ head coach, Chester “Duke” Raskin.

“You want somebody stupid to be the father of your kid?”

Dr. J. smiled. “I know that seems strange, but it’s very difficult for a child to grow up being smarter than everyone else. It makes it impossible to fit in, which is why I could never have had a child with someone as brilliant as Craig or even chance a sperm bank. I have to take into account my own genetic makeup and find a man who’ll compensate for it. But the men I meet are all brilliant.”

Dr. J. was one weird chick, Jodie decided. “You think because you’re so smart and everything that you’ve got to find somebody stupid?”

“I know I do. I can’t bear the idea that my child would have to go through what I did when I was growing up. Even now… Well, that’s neither here nor there. The point is, as much as I want a child, I can’t just think about myself.”

A new face on the screen caught Jodie’s attention. “Oh, jeez, wait a minute; I got to hear this.” She snatched the remote and hit the volume button.

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Paul Fenneman, a network sportscaster, was doing a taped interview with Cal Bonner. Jodie knew for a fact that the Bomber hated Fenneman’s guts. The sportscaster had a reputation for asking stupid questions, and the Bomber didn’t have any patience with fools.

The interview had been pretaped in the parking lot of the Stars Compound, which was located on the outskirts of Naperville, the largest town in DuPage County. Fenneman spoke into the camera, looking real serious, like he was getting ready to cover a major war or something. “I’m speaking with Cal Bonner, the Stars’ All-Pro quarterback.”

The camera focused on Cal, and Jodie’s skin went clammy from a combination of lust and resentment. Damn, he was hot, even if he was getting old.

He stood in front of this big Harley hog wearing jeans and a tight black T-shirt that outlined one of the best sets of pecs on the team. Some of the guys were so pumped up they looked like they were getting ready to explode, but Cal was perfect. He had a great neck, too, muscular, but not one of those tree trunks like a lot of the players had. His brown hair had a little curl to it, and he wore it short so he didn’t have to bother with it. The Bomber was like that. He didn’t have any patience with stuff he thought was unimportant.

At a little over six feet, he was taller than some of the other quarterbacks. He was also quick, smart, and he had a telepathic ability to read defenses that only the finest players share. His legend had grown nearly as big as the great Joe Montana’s, and the fact that it didn’t look like Jodie would ever have number eighteen hanging in her closet was something she could never forgive.

“Cal, your team had four turnovers against the Patriots last week. What are you going to do against the Bills so that doesn’t happen again?”

Even for Paul Fenneman, that was a stupid question, and Jodie waited to see how the Bomber would handle it.

He scratched the side of his head as if the question was so complicated he had to think it over. The Bomber didn’t have any patience with people he didn’t respect, and he had a habit of emphasizing his hillbilly roots in situations like this.

He propped one boot up on the footpeg of the Harley and looked thoughtful. “Well, Paul, what we’re gonna have to do is hang on to the ball. Now, not having played the game yourself, you might not know this, but every time we let the other team take the ball away from us, it means we don’t have it ourselves. And that ain’t no way to put points on the board.”

Jodie chuckled. She had to hand it to the Bomber. He’d gotten old Paul right in the numbers with that one.

Paul didn’t appreciate being made to look like a fool. “I hear Coach Raskin’s been real happy with the way Kevin Tucker’s been looking in practice. You’re going to be thirty-six soon, which makes you an old man in a young man’s game. Any worries Kevin’ll be taking over as starter?”

For a fraction of a second, the Bomber’s face stiffened up like a big old poker, then he shrugged. “Shoot, Paul, this ol’ boy ain’t ready for the grave yet.”

“If only I could find somebody like him,” Dr. Jane whispered. “He’d be perfect.”

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Jodie glanced over and saw her studying the television. “What are you talking about?”

Dr. J. gestured toward the screen. “That man. That football player. He’s healthy, physically attractive, and not very bright. Exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Are you talking about theBomber?”

“Is that his name? I don’t know anything about football.”

“That’s Cal Bonner. He’s the starting quarterback for the Chicago Stars.”

“That’s right. I’ve seen his picture in the paper. Why can’t I meet a man like that? Someone who’s a bit of a dim bulb.”

“Dim bulb?”

“Not very intelligent. Slow.”

“Slow? The Bomber?” Jodie opened her mouth to tell Dr. Jane that the Bomber was the smartest, trickiest, most talented—not to mention meanest—sonovabitchen quarterback in the whole freakin’ NFL when this big dizzy rush hit her smack in the middle of her head, an idea so wild she couldn’t believe it had even come into her brain.

She sank back into the couch cushions.Holy shit. She fumbled for the remote and pushed the mute button. “Are you serious? You’d choose somebody like Cal Bonner to be the father of your baby?”

“Of course I would—assuming I could see his medical records. A simple man like that would be perfect: strength, endurance, and a low IQ. His good looks are an added bonus.”

Jodie’s mind ran in three different directions all at once. “What if…” She swallowed and tried not to get distracted by an image of Kevin Tucker standing naked right in front of her. “What if I could arrange it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I could set it up so you could get Cal Bonner in bed?”

“Are you joking?”

Jodie swallowed again and shook her head.

“But I don’t know him.”

“You wouldn’t have to.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Slowly, Jodie told her story, leaving out a part here and there—like what a badass the Bomber was—but pretty much being honest about the rest. She explained about the birthday present and the kind of woman the guys wanted. Then she said that with a little cosmetic enhancement, she thought Dr. J. herself could fit the bill.

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Dr. J. got so pale she started looking like the little girl in that old Brad Pitt vampire flick. “Are you— Are you saying you think I should pretend to be a prostitute?”

“A real high-class one because the Bomber doesn’t go for hookers.”

She rose from her chair and began pacing around the room. Jodie could almost see her nerd brain working away like a calculator, adding up this and that, pushing plus buttons and minus buttons, getting a look of hope around her eyes and then sagging back against the fireplace mantel.

“The health records…” She gave a deep, unhappy sigh. “Just for a moment I thought it might actually be possible, but I’d have to know his health history. Football players use steroids, don’t they? And what about STDs and AIDS?”

“The Bomber doesn’t touch drugs, and he’s never been too much for sleepin’ around, which is why the guys are setting this up. He broke up with his old girlfriend last winter and doesn’t seem to have been with anybody since.”

“I’d still have to know his medical history.”

Jodie figured between Junior and Willie, one of them could sweet-talk a secretary into giving her what she needed. “I’ll have a copy of his medical records by Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“His birthday is in ten days,” Jodie pointed out. “I guess what it all comes down to is whether or not you’ve got the guts to go for it.”