Chapter 4

AN: Thanks for the reviews, everyone...I hope you are enjoying this...I don't know why, but I can so totally see these two sitting there, doing this...Seemed really "Them" to me...

"Okay. Now what do I do?"

Derek was sitting on his couch, in front of his coffee table, in his spacious living room. His laptop was open, waiting for him to type something. Penelope loved his house; he had gorgeous vaulted ceilings and a wall of windows that let in the view of his backyard. It could lead to the room being chilly, but he had a fireplace that he usually had roaring, and right now, had two glasses of red wine sitting too close to the laptop for her comfort.

"Well, what is it asking you?" she answered her perplexed friend, before moving the wine glasses. He was filling out the survey of what he was like for the computer dating site—things like his interests, his hobbies. He was frowning intensely at the screen; Derek was not big on sharing personal information, so this had to be killing him.

He sighed grumpily, and then clicked a button. He smiled then. "Oh. Eye color. That one's easy. Brown."

"Dark chocolate brown with hints of caramel around the pupils," she said.

He turned and stared at her, and then the corner of his mouth went up in a half-smile.

"What?" she replied. "I'm trying to think of a way to make your eyes sound better than just plain brown."

"Okay," he answered back with a grin, "she with the finely aged, potent whiskey brown eyes."

That earned him a grin back. "Keep reading."

"Eye color: brown. Hair: black..."—he paused to grin at her again—"...when I have it. Build: athletic..."

"That's a vast understatement." She smirked at him, wiggling her eyebrows lecherously. "Build: Adonis-like."

He rolled his eyes. "Six one, two hundred. Shoe size: twelve." He looked up at her in question. "Why in the hell do they want my shoe size?"

She shrugged, but blushed. She'd heard rumors of correlations between penis size and shoe size.

He must not have noticed her blush. He simply shrugged back, and went back to typing. "Astrological sign:Gemini. Date of birth: June sixth, seventy-three."

"Age: Old fart..." she teased, letting her voice trail off.

He sighed pathetically. "Don't I know it."

She slugged his arm teasingly. "Me, too."

He grinned. "I got you by a few years."

"Very few."

He shot her his smile. "Nonsense, Baby Girl."

She tsked her tongue dramatically. "Robbing the friendship cradle, sugar," she said, shaking her head with mock condemnation.

"Yep." He looked back at the screen and hit a button. "That's the preliminary stuff. Now, my interests and hobbies."

"Sports," she said quickly.

He laughed. "That's it?"

She nodded.

He gave her a quirky smile and then frowned a little, relaxing back into his leather couch. "What else?"

"More sports," she added bluntly. He really was a one track mind when it came to athletics. He was always watching sports, doing sports, talking sports, but she knew he liked other things, too.

"That's all you see in me?" he asked with a short laugh. "Woman, I love music, dancing, family get togethers, nature, fishing."

"I was just teasing, sugar lump." She tucked her legs under herself and then picked up the laptop. "Okay. Tell me more, and I'll type for you."

"All right," he said, looking relieved.

She snickered. Computers were not one of his interests.

"I like reading the classics," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I love good old movies from Hollywood's Golden Age."

She looked up at that. "You do? We always watch some action movie together."

"We usually pick a movie together, and we see something we wanted to see in the theater, but my favorite movie is A Streetcar Named Desire."

She gave him a thoughtful smile. "Really? A Streetcar Named Desire?"

"Yeah, Brando killed that role. It was fantastic." He cocked his head to the right. "Didn't I tell you that?"

She stared at him for a second, like she was looking at him with new eyes. She blinked for a second. Maybe she was? "Yeah, he did. I like that movie, too."

"I like most card games...as long as I'm not playing Reid."

She laughed. "That's true for anybody."

"And you can put sports in there, too," he teased, pointing at the computer.

She shook her head, still smiling. "Yep." She took a sip of her wine, before putting it back on the table. "How about hobbies?"

He shrugged again. "I don't have time for hobbies."

"Fixing houses?" she asked helpfully.

He slugged his wine down in one big gulp, and then said, "No. That's for stress relief, nothing more than that."

"Baby, that is a hobby," she explained. "So is exercise, reading—"

He arched a brow and added seriously, "Having sex?"

"You want book one caliber people?" she asked archly.

He shuddered. He'd told her about his disastrous calling and dating before this.

"I'm teasing," she said, shoving his arm playfully.

Smiling warmly, he added, "How about talking to my sweetheart sitting here?"

She made a face. "Probably not that one; they might get the wrong idea. Rather say, conversing with friends."

"Yeah," he said. "I don't want them to think I'm trying out for a harem!"

She smirked at him, thinking he kind of had one of those for a few years, and then asked a few other questions before she submitted the survey and moved to the next one.

"Oh," she said, paling a bit. "You should probably do this one alone..."

"Why?" he asked, his brows meeting together in a frown.

"It's what you want in a woman. That's personal."

"No...no." he said quickly. "I want your help. I've made shitty decisions, P. I need your help."

She'd really been hoping he wouldn't want her help with this part. It felt strange, helping Derek pick out a wife in the first place, much less knowing exactly what he wanted. She only knew two things starting this, and she wanted to keep it that way.

One: The women were going to need to be gorgeous...and limber.

Two: Someone like her was not on the list.

"Hair color preference?" she asked blandly.

"Doesn't matter. Blonde, redhead, brunette." He reached over and tweaked a curl of hers. "I'm partial to red right now."

She smiled wickedly. "Fine. I'll put in steel gray."

"Be nice," he said.

"Eye color, height, build?"

"Doesn't matter for eyes. Height...over five feet; I don't want to crouch to kiss. And build doesn't matter, either. As long as she takes care of herself and is happy. I don't have a type, rea—" He was interrupted by her scoff. "What?"

"Derek, you've only dated model thin, tall, gorgeous women," she retorted flatly. "You most certainly have a type. Don't give me that crap."

"That is bullshit," he snapped. "I've dated women shorter, rounder, taller, thinner. Recently, I asked Andrea Parker in Vehicle Identification out for a date, and I was shot down. I am not a size bigot."

Penelope blinked for a second. Andrea was a good two sizes bigger than her. Very pretty, very nice … Why on earth would she shoot him down?

Then she thought about it. Andrea probably thought like she did—that she wasn't his type and he was screwing around with her...or that others would think he wasn't serious. To tell the truth, she wouldn't have guessed he liked someone like Andrea. She thought about her own thinking in the past, and felt terrible about what the implications of that were now. She flushed, and her stomach hurt.

Derek wasn't the size biggot...She was.

"I-I'm sorry," she said quickly.

"No, I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to tear into you like that." He pulled her into his arms and tipped her chin up to look at him. "We cool?"

She smiled, straightened up, and said, "Let's keep going."

A few moments later, Penelope knew that Derek was looking for a kind, friendly, confident woman between the ages of twenty-eight and forty, who could look like anyone, had similar interests as him, who loved her family, and really loved children. She could think of a million women right now who met that criteria...and she disliked each one of those lucky bitches who could possibly get him.

Because sitting here, listening to Derek talk, getting to know him even better than before, she was reassured of what she'd already known...

Derek Morgan was the finest man she'd ever known.

"Thanks, sugar," he said as he walked her to the door. He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her cheek softly. "I owe you a million. Wish me luck."

"You're not going to need luck, Hot Stuff," she answered truthfully. "I'm going to have to beat the bad ones away with a stick."

He laughed loudly. "Yeah. That's why I've been so successful in the dating realm lately."

She shook her head and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Goodnight, Derek."

He opened the door. "'Night, Baby Girl."