Froggy Style

by J. A. Kazimer

  “Perhaps,” I acknowledged with a nod, “but they all live a couple thousand miles away. Which leaves only you, Ms. Bliss.”

  She laughed. “What about your sweet fiancée?”

  “Funny,” I said without humor. But my mind flashed to my fiancée as well as her overly protective stepbrother. Had Handsome smashed in my head? I shook said wounded noggin and focused on the tattooed lady. “Beauty wouldn’t hurt a fly.” It might take too much energy. On the other hand, she could complain so much that the fly flew into the bright blue light of a bug zapper to make it stop.

  Lollie raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “Let’s just ignore my upcoming wedded bliss, Ms. Bliss, and focus on the important stuff, namely . . .” I motioned to my jeans.

  “Can’t you think of anything but your crotch for even a second?” She picked up the tattoo gun, shoved it her bag, and then straddled the motorcycle, her long legs squeezing the chassis like a vise. She stared at me for a moment, as if debating, and then held out a black motorcycle helmet. “Coming?”

  I pondered her and then her offer. On one hand, the idea of going anywhere with Ms. Bliss seemed demented.

  Perhaps a bit suicidal.

  Masochistic at the very least.

  Now I knew how the fly felt.

  “No head smashing?” I pointed at her. “Poison? Or tattoo guns?”

  She crossed her fingers over her heart. “Cross my heart and hope you die.”

  “What?”

  She smiled, innocently. “I said, cross my heart, hope to die. Now get on the bike.”

  My eyes narrowed on her sculpted face. Her head tilted to one side, revealing the subtle slope of her neck. I wanted to run my fingers down her throat, to feel the inky designs underneath the pads of my fingertips. “Come on, Kermit. You’re in Cin City, take a gamble,” she ordered with a grin.

  I glanced from the motorcycle to Karl and my limo, and then to Lollie’s face. Her dark eyes dared me to defy my survival instincts and ride away into the sunset with a wicked tattooed woman.

  “Sir?” Karl called from the window of the limo.

  Against my better judgment, I threw my leg over the back of Lollie’s bike and wrapped my arms around her waist. Her breath quickened under the palms of my hands. Her skin felt so warm, and she smelled like the desert and strawberries, hot, deadly, and deliciously juicy. I wondered if she tasted as dangerous as she smelled. A thought a soon-to-be-married frog prince was better off not thinking. Not when his bride’s life was on the line.

  Lollie revved the engine.

  Karl opened the limo door. “Sir! Wait!”

  I gave Karl a small wave. Lollie gunned the large motor. The bike buzzed to life. The back tire spun. Gravel flew up. And then we were gone, flying down the canyon, the wind ripping across our bodies. The only sound was of the chrome and steel engine between our thighs.

  Well, that and the occasional manly scream of “Fuck, I think I swallowed a fly.”

  Lollie parked the bike in a narrow alleyway. A sign above the door of the brick building in front of us read, “The Biggest, Baddest BBQ in Town.” I assumed it meant the food, not the door. Yet as hungry as I was, given enough BBQ sauce, the door didn’t sound half-bad either.

  Pulling off her helmet, Lollie’s black hair spilled down her back like an oil slick. “Hope you like BBQ.” She leapt off the bike and motioned to the run-down building. “This place is a Cin City icon. It makes the New Never News three or four times a year.”

  From the looks of the cracked windows and crumbling brick, I suspected those news articles often started with “three dead,” but decided not to voice my concern.

  I held the BBQ-stained front door open and waved Lollie in. She shot me a smile and sashayed inside. My eyes locked on her nicely shaped bottom as I followed her through the door, wondering about her sudden invitation to dinner. Was she yet another victim of my frog prince charm? Or was there something far more sinister to her invitation? From the look of the place, death by salmonella seemed like a possibility. Perhaps Spindle had run out of bullets? I grabbed her arm and spun her to face me. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Why do you think?” She sighed. “I was hungry.”

  “And?”

  “And when I’m hungry I eat. It’s not rocket science, Kermit.”

  I stared into her eyes, debating if she was telling the truth. Her nostrils flared under my assessment, a sure sign that Ms. Bliss was being less than truthful. “You’re lying. You want something from me.” People, women especially, usually did. Money, houses, cars, paternity tests. Everyone wanted a piece of the prince. “What is it?”

  “Fine.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I’m flat broke since I had to buy a whole new set of knuckle busters and clip cords after you destroyed my equipment last night. The least you can do is be a good Kermit and buy a girl dinner.” She paused to lick her lips. “I promise I’ll make it worth every cent.”

  I nodded my agreement and released her arm, once again enjoying the view of her backside as I followed her inside the restaurant. Unlike Lollie’s butt, the interior of the joint was sadly lacking in beauty, let alone anything remotely nice. Straw covered the floor where two sets of empty picnic tables sat. A bar ran along the far wall filled with a flock of bikers dressed in leather. They turned to stare as we entered. Their eyes looked Lollie up and down like a lollipop. A low growl, almost like the engine of a motorcycle, reverberated around the small room.

  I stepped in front of Lollie.

  She giggled, pushing me aside, and grabbed the table closest to the doorway. “Sit down, Kermit. You’re making Bo Peep nervous,” she said, gesturing to a very large, very hairy biker dressed in a bonnet and carrying a sheep-herding staff.

  The biker growled again.

  I quickly sat down. A little piggy wearing a blemished apron approached our table. “Can I take your order?”

  Without glancing down at the BBQ-stained menu stuck to the wooden table, Lollie said, “We’ll have two of the BBQ chicken platters. Extra sauce. And two beers.” She added loud enough only for me to hear, “And a nice poisoned apple strudel for dessert.”

  “Funny,” I said, my eyes locked on hers. “But I’ll have the ribs. Full rack.”

  The pig swallowed hard. “Would you like beef or . . . p-p-ork ribs?”

  “Which do you recommend?”

  “Beef!”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Doc says I should watch my intake of red meat, though . . .”

  The little piggy whimpered.

  “What the hell, you only live once, right?” I hesitated.

  “Beef it is. Well done.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He grinned from ear to curly piggy ear.

  “No . . . Not that you’re not doing a bang-up job . . . but I meant, that’s how I’d like my ribs cooked. Well done.”

  “Oh,” he said, his face crumpling. “Can I get you anything else?” Lollie smiled and shook her head. The waiter turned to leave, but I stopped him. “Do you guys have any pork rinds?”

  The piggy squealed wee, wee, wee all the way back to the kitchen. Good help was so hard to find. Leaning back in the metal chair I contemplated the enigmatic and alluring Lollie Bliss and wondered just what kind of help she’d be to me.

  She lifted up one dark eyebrow, followed by the other.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  I scowled. I hated when women did that. “Nothing” was girl code for “the guy next to me is an idiot,” which nine out of ten times proved to be completely true.

  Silence grew between us, thick and heavy, much like the smoke curling through the restaurant. I cleared my throat. “Care to explain how you got my pants?”

  “I found them on the doorstep when I opened the shop this morning. I remembered you wearing them last night, so I figured I’d bring them with me and drop them off at your hotel this evening,” Lollie said with a smile. “My good deed of the day.”

&nb
sp; Her words seemed plausible enough, but I still had my doubts. Lollie was a liar, a pretty damn good one at that. But she was no match for a frog prince. Besides, someone had shot at my princess. “How kind of you.”

  “I do try,” she said, an innocent smile on her plump lips.

  Before I could devise an appropriate response, our waiter appeared at the table. “For my lady,” he said, placing a plate piled high with food in front of Lollie. The chicken was perfectly cooked and slathered in BBQ sauce. My mouth watered just looking at her looking at the food on her plate.

  My own platter came next. Smoke curled around the burnt remains of what looked like a mouse that ran up a clock, was electrocuted and then drowned in sauce to finish the poor bastard off, served with a side of wilted coleslaw.

  “Bon appétit,” the piggy said.

  “Um . . . wait a second,” I said. “My ribs are a tad bit overcooked.” I forked the tiny, charred entrée, which crumbled into a pile of ash.

  The pig’s eyes widened as if shocked by my statement.

  Lollie made a slashing motion across her throat.

  “Overcooked, you say?” the pig whispered, his piggy eyes darting from me to the kitchen door and back again.

  The restaurant went quiet. Deadly silent, in fact.

  I glanced at Lollie. But before she could say a word the room shook with a gale-force wind strong enough to topple Biker Bo Peep and all her equally hairy leather-clad flock. Mugs full of mead flew in all direction. Glass shattered as the ferocious wind battered the restaurant.

  Lollie wavered on her chair and then crashed into my arms. I caught her, folding her against my body, and waited for the sudden windstorm to end. A loud howl sounded from the kitchen, followed by a crack of wood, and a shower of thousands of toothpicks rained down on us.

  As suddenly as the windstorm came, it stopped, leaving a path of debris in its wake. BBQ sauce coated everything, from the straw on the floor to the fan slowly twirling overhead. The smell of charred pig flesh hung in the heated air. Yet there wasn’t any serious damage to the restaurant or its assortment of oddball patrons.

  Lollie was still pressed against me, her mouth buried in the crook of my neck. Warm, sweet breath teased my skin, sending the blood in my brain far south. My body tensed, and all I could think about was kissing Ms. Lying Lollie Bliss’s plump pink lips. Her lips parted, drawing me in like a fairy to applause.

  I bent down, stealing a kiss before Lollie had time to regain her senses. My lips settled on hers. Rather than fight me as I’d expected, she wrapped her hands around my neck and pulled me closer. The brief stolen kiss twisted into something much darker, dangerous, and infinitely more appealing.

  All thoughts of my future bride, Lollie’s assassin lover, and my possible return to frogitude vanished under the heat of Lollie’s body. This was the One, my penis stated in no uncertain terms.

  And in that perfect moment, she was—until reality, or rather, a hairy paw, smashed me in the back of the head.

  Chapter 20

  “Get your hands off her and face me like a man, you . . . toad!” a voice growled above me.

  I leapt up, knocking Lollie off the bench and onto the floor. Neither I nor the guy I assumed was her assassin boyfriend, Spindle, spared her a glance, each of us bent on sizing the other up.

  The guy wasn’t anything like I’d thought Spindle would be. Not even a little bit. The guy was furry, for frog sakes. Everywhere. From his claws to the tip of his elongated nose. What could Lollie possibly see in him? I glared down at Lollie, who was trying to get up off the straw coated floor without much luck.

  “So you’re the guy,” I said, stabbing my finger in Spindle’s direction. Anger vibrated through my body. Not only had he attempted to kill my bride, but he’d ruined my very first indiscretion as a soon-to-be-married frog prince.

  Spindle grabbed my offending appendage and shoved me away from him. “Don’t you dare point your finger at me.”

  Our waiter squealed again, ducking under the table next to the bar. The rest of the patrons looked on with something akin to excited horror, like the look on Miss Muffet’s face when along came a spider that sat down beside her and said, “Hey, baby, whatcha got in the bowl?”

  Taking a steady breath, I considered my options. As much as I wanted to pound Spindle into a puddle of mush, I needed his cooperation in not murdering my fiancée more. On the other hand, beating him into a pulpy mush appealed to my sense of fair play, if not my designs on his girlfriend’s body.

  Sometimes it was so hard being a noble prince like me.

  Before I decided whether or not to act, the matter was settled for me. Lollie jumped between us, jamming her hand into her lover’s sternum. “Damn it, Oliver,” she said. “We’ve been through this time and again.”

  Oliver? Who the hell was Oliver? With as many lovers as Ms. Bliss had, she was bound to live up to her name. “Wait a minute. He’s not Spindle?” I yelled once my fantasies involving Lollie settled. “You’re not Spindle?” I faced the wolf-man Lollie called Oliver. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Lollie answered, her glare fixed on the hairy guy in front of me. “Oliver is the proud owner of this restaurant,” she began, only to be cut off by the wolf.

  “Five-star restaurant,” he corrected.

  She nodded. “And sometimes he takes offense to certain criticisms offered by clients at this fine dining establishment.”

  “Pedestrian criticisms by unrefined palates like yours,” Oliver said, motioning my way. His tone suggested that I ate flies or something, which I had, but not for many years, if one didn’t count the motorcycle ride over.

  I laughed without humor. “Are you kidding me? All this,” I gestured around the wind damaged room, “was because of a few burnt ribs?”

  “Burnt?” He took a threatening step forward, his claws scratching against the stained floor. “Why you . . . I trained with Gram-mam-me, one of the finest pastry chefs in the world—”

  Lollie gave Oliver a shove, sending him falling back a step. “In all fairness, Kermit, you did order them well done.”

  The little piggy stuck his head out from beneath the table. “He certainly did.”

  “There goes your tip.”

  The piggy flipped me off.

  “Listen,” I said to the wolf growing bigger and madder before my eyes, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure you’re a hell of a cook—”

  “Chef!”

  “Fine. Chef.” I grinned, sneaking a quick glance at Lollie. She winced as if she knew what I planned to say next. “But come on, how hard is it to BBQ a rack of ribs?” I asked. “It’s not like it’s architecture or something.”

  Lollie groaned. But the sound was lost to the crazed growl emanating from Oliver. He started with a huff, which quickly turned into a puff, and then the restaurant exploded around us.

  Chapter 21

  Picking straw and barbecued little piggy out of my hair, I staggered from the elevator to my hotel suite, images of Ms. Bliss, who’d just dropped me off at the hotel, flickering through my mind. She was a distraction I didn’t need. I wanted her. A lot. But I wasn’t quite ready to jump into full-on frogitude for thirty seconds of Ms. Bliss.

  Besides, I’d made a commitment to Sleeping Beauty. Yeah, I’d also hired someone to kill her, but princes made mistakes. After all, she was my One. Nothing could or would stand in the way of our union, barring her death at Spindle’s hands, of course.

  I unlocked the door to my suite and shoved it wide. Exhaustion hung on me like the emperor’s hand-me-downs. And what did I have to show for it? Nothing. I hadn’t found Spindle, and I had a pounding headache the size of London’s bridge, and to make matters worse I think Lollie’s friend Oliver gave me fleas.

  What else could go wrong?

  A cloud of smoke materialized in front of me, followed by the telltale form of my irritating fairy godmother. “Yoo-hoo, Johnny,” Elly called, stumbling forward. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.”
She punctuated her statement with a loud belch.

  I bowed low. “As you can see, madam, I am here. At your service.”

  Her wand lashed out catching me on the back of the head. “Don’t be smart with me, Johnny.” She hiccupped. “We’ve got trouble.”

  Rubbing at my head, I glared at the woman entrusted with my happily-ever-after, if not my life. Her dress was stained with gin, her silver hair a mess, and her stockings hung around her bulging ankles. You get what you pay for, I thought, cursing my father and his penny-pinching ways.

  Elly conked me with her wand again. “Are you paying attention?”

  I yanked the wand from her hand and jabbed it in her direction. “If you hit me with this one more time . . .”

  Her icy eyes narrowed. “You’ll what?”

  Taking my time, I sauntered to the balcony, pushed open the window, and causally tossed the wand out of the window. For a second it hung in the air before spiraling downward and smashing on the Cin City strip below.

  Elly gasped. Her hand clutched at her heart. Her pudgy face grew as pale as Snow White after the pregnancy test turned pink. She staggered a few feet and then fell to her knees, wheezing for breath.

  I rushed over. “Oh God, Elly,” I said catching her in my arms. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  Whap! Her fist smashed into my nose followed by the edge of a shorter, stubbier wand with a glittery tassel on the end. “You think that’s my only wand?” She patted her silvery hair. “You’re so naïve.”

  I staggered to my feet, poking at the wound on my noggin. A small bump formed underneath my silken locks. I sat down heavily on the bed. “Listen, Elly, I have enough problems as it is without having you buzzing around. So what is it that you want? Cash?” I pulled out my wallet, only to realize Karl hadn’t returned my freshly laundered funds yet. “I’m tapped out at the moment, but I can call the concierge for a loan.”

  Elly cleared her throat loud enough to rattle the windows. “I don’t want your money, Johnny.” Her eyes locked on my wallet with blatant greed in direct contrast to her words. “How is the wedding planning going? I can’t wait to walk you down the aisle. I bought the perfect dress this afternoon. Cost you ten grand, but it’s well worth it, you’ll see. It’s made of the finest troll hair—”