On Stephanie Plum
A Little Less Conversation
A Babe’s View
(Or Why I’m a Whumpa Whumpa Girl ... and Stephanie Is, Too)
“Babe,” he says.
Until Twelve Sharp, that pretty much summed up Ranger’s entire vocabulary. That one word, uttered as only Ranger can utter it, and Stephanie immediately wants to get naked. In fact, he can have that effect with no language at all. Just a look will do. Hell, just standing there, breathing, really.
The thing is, I don’t even know the guy, and I want to get naked. Not while Stephanie is naked with him, of course. I mean, I admire the hell out of her spunk, her determination, and her bravery, not to mention her willingness to risk the ultimate act of sacrifice every time she gets behind the wheel of a car, any car. But I don’t want to get naked with her. I’m assuming the feeling would be mutual. After all, if Stephanie gets cold at night, she has Joe Morelli. And Bob the dog, for that matter. If I were her, I’d choose the dog over me. And not just because that leaves more naked Ranger for me. Okay, mostly because that’s exactly what that means. But I’d go to greater lengths than pawning off a smelly dog to secure my naked future with that man.
Ah, that man. That elusive, shrouded-in-mystery-and-black-cammies Ranger. Just Ranger. One name. Okay, so we know his whole name now: Ricardo Carlos Ma±oso. But no one is going call this guy Little Ricky anytime soon. He’ll always be just Ranger to us. That’s all we need. And when I say we, I mean …