Froggy Style

by J. A. Kazimer

  My stomach bubbled at the thought of eating grilled flies for the rest of my days. “You’re my fairy godmother, for frog sakes. Can’t you fix this?”

  Elly’s face fell and tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Johnny, I’m so sorry. I’m a terrible fairy godmother. You deserve so much better.” She sniffed, her wand falling to the porch as her head dropped into her hands. “God knows I did my best . . .”

  Filled with guilt, I awkwardly patted Elly’s large shoulders. After all, when I was growing up, Elly had tried to make up for my father’s indifference and my mother’s insanity, in her own drunken, dysfunctional way. “Hush. You are a wonderful fairy godmother. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you for all these years.”

  Her wet, mascara-streaked face looked up, lips trembling. “Really? Do you mean it, Johnny?”

  “Of course,” I lied. “You’re right. I was being selfish. I’ll marry Beauty.”

  She sniffed once and gave me a watery smile. “That’s a good boy.” She tapped my arm, and then poof, in a cloud of gin fumes, she vanished, leaving me standing alone on Spindle’s porch.

  I looked down at my hand, ready to knock on the door, and groaned. Elly was right. Wedding Beauty was my only chance for a real happily-ever-after, even if it was with a demented bride. I turned to leave.

  The front door of Spindle’s abode creaked open. I spun around, prepared for an attack. But the doorway stood empty. “Hello?” I called, taking a small step forward. “Is anyone home?” A dog barked in the distance. I glanced around, debating. I could stand on the front porch all day, staring at the open doorway, or I could step inside.

  A no-brainer. I pushed the door open all the way and entered. I took a few seconds to get a feel for the place. Homey. Warm wooden handcrafted furniture filled the otherwise empty living room. A coatrack stood next to the door, a worn, leather gun holster hung on a wooden peg. I guess I’d found the right place.

  I strolled casually toward the back of the house, pausing to listen for signs of life. Nothing. No dripping faucet. No half-eaten pizza boxes. Nothing to indicate anyone really lived there, other than the faint stench of Old Spice and gunpowder.

  Once inside the kitchen, I scanned the room. A wooden table with three chairs sat below a large bay window. Each seat looked brand new, as did the other appliances all neatly lined up like toy soldiers.

  I moved from the kitchen to the sunken family area. A dining room table sat in the corner of the room across from a black leather couch and a wide-screen TV. Here, the scent of fresh-baked cookies tickled my nostrils.

  A sense of wrongness filled me. Could this really be Spindle’s house? The man was an assassin for frog sakes. A man capable of killing without thought. A man meant to be feared. At the moment I couldn’t even muster up a whiff of anxiety, let alone actual terror. The most I felt was hungry.

  I gazed around the room, taking in an array of paintings in bold colors and style. They practically screamed Lollie, and yet, upon closer inspection, the signature on the bottom wasn’t hers; rather, the painting was signed with a large “S.” Lollie had learned more than how to tattoo drunken princes at Spindle’s hand. Jealousy burned in my gut.

  No matter what I said or did, Spindle’s connection to Lollie could never be broken. Unless . . . my eyes fell upon a fireplace poker, sans fireplace—we were in the desert, after all—and for the first time in my life I contemplated outright murder. One quick smack to the noggin and Lollie would be mine, as long as she never found out I’d bashed her lover’s head in and she was willing to engage in an abomination or two.

  I winced. Women tended to detest murder almost as much as they disliked living in a swamp.

  Go figure.

  Not that I cared one way or another about Lollie’s reaction. She meant nothing to me. Yeah, we’d had our fun, but all that changed the minute she’d stolen my ugly yellow car along with a stack of cash, all for her stupid boyfriend.

  Sadly, the missing money didn’t bother me. Not nearly as much as the fact that she’d up and left without even a good-bye. For a frog prince with abandonment issues, her callous betrayal angered me all the more. I wasn’t the kind of prince women walked away from. I was the kind that walked away, after an acceptable number of orgasms. I hated Lollie for leaving almost as much as I hated myself for caring.

  With a sigh, I ventured through the rest of the house, finding nothing of interest. No smoking guns. No hit lists. No suitcase full of ransom money. At best Spindle was a fanatic housekeeper, a trait that did little to endear him to my heart. On top of that, bits of Lollie were everywhere. Her brand of shampoo sat on the side of the tub next to a razor. A bottle of henna ink stood next to the sink. I picked it up, inhaling the scent. Lollie’s scent.

  Dropping the bottle, I moved to the bedroom. A suitcase sat open on the bed. Brand-new tank tops and lace panties lay folded inside, bearing price tags, all in Lollie’s size. New clothes bought with my cash, I assumed. Silk sheets marred with smudges of black lay across the queen-sized bed. A sketchbook filled with tattoo designs and other drawings lay on the nightstand.

  I sat down on the bed Lollie likely shared with Spindle and picked up the sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, I grinned at a caricature of Karl, his overly bald head filling the entire page. Two pages later, a young tattooed woman with kinky black curls lay on a mound of pillows, a wicked smile on her lips. A smile that appeared so familiar it hurt to look at. I quickly turned the page, to an image that shocked me to my soon-to-be-webbed toes.

  It was a drawing of a frog sitting on a lone lily pad, his eyes filled with longing and arrogance. A frog who’d seen it all, and yet, wanted something more. Something deep. Something real. Was this what Lollie saw when she looked at me? The thought brought wetness to my eyes. Manly wetness. I quickly blinked it away and closed the sketchbook.

  Brushing off my trousers, I stood, surveying the rest of the bedroom. I smiled at the red curtains, so much like the ones I’d promised to buy Lollie only a couple of days ago. It looked like Spindle and I shared more than the same taste in tattooed ladies.

  The sun had just started to set, spraying shadows along the bedroom walls. I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. I’d been inside Spindle’s house for over an hour, and yet, it felt as if time had stopped. But it hadn’t.

  Much too soon, I’d vow to honor and cherish a woman I hardly knew, a woman who hardly knew me, and for what? To appease a curse born before either of us? For the first time since Sleeping Beauty had kissed (nearly eaten) me, I seriously considered saying “Frog it!” and walking away from everything. What’s the worst that could happen? I turned back into a frog? Big deal. At least my life would be my own.

  The creak of the front door acted much like a cold shower, snapping me from my fantasy and back into reality. I carefully crept to the stairs. Boot heels clicked on the hardwood floor below me, a familiar click. Lollie’s click. Rage and lust filled my chest, a feeling I’d often experienced around Ms. Bliss.

  No sign of Spindle, though. Was he lying in wait somewhere downstairs? Or perhaps he was preparing to woo Lollie with roses?

  Only one way to find out.

  With a deep breath, I climbed down the stairs and into the assassin’s den, literally, since the staircase led straight into Spindle’s den, not to mention a pissed-off chick with a gun.

  Chapter 49

  “Jesus, Kermit!” Lollie dropped the tattoo gun she was cleaning as her hand flew to her chest. “You scared me to death. What are you doing creeping around here?”

  My eyes slowly scanned her body from head to toe, noting the slight bloom of color on her cheeks. Was it a flash of guilt? Or something a little more interesting? Desire, perhaps?

  “Where’s Spindle?” I asked, taking a step closer to her. Her scent filled the air between us, ink and Lollie. I swallowed back a wave of longing. Longing for what I couldn’t say, but it was there, in the pit of my stomach. So when I repeated the question, my tone dripped with ice. “Where’s yo
ur boyfriend, Lollipop? He and I need to have a little talk.” I cracked my knuckles in anticipation. Spindle would feel my wrath. That was a promise.

  She wet her lips, the tip of her pink tongue jutting out enough to twist my rage into lust and then back again. I wouldn’t be played again. “Why are you here, Kermit?” she asked with a sneer. “Shouldn’t you be with your fianc ée, to stay at her side day and night until you say ‘I do’? That’s what a good frog prince would do.”

  “Where I should be and where I am are very different things.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I came to get what’s mine.”

  Her eyes flashed. “And what’s that?” I stepped even closer, like a fairy to a flame. Our bodies stood mere inches apart. Her minty breath tickled the stubble on my chin. “What do you want from me, Kermit?” Her hand brushed my chest, lightly, slowly. Pink lips parted, welcoming.

  The blood in my head drained in a rush, filling other, more vital organs. My fingers gripped her chin, pulling her mouth toward mine. “I want . . .”

  “Yes?” She exhaled.

  “I want,” I said, our lips a centimeter apart. “I want my money back.” I shoved her away. She stumbled, her knees hit the table, and she fell back. I grabbed her before she landed on the hardwood. Her fingers locked on mine for a second, and then she let go and dropped to the floor. She lay there, glaring up at me. Had she not used and then robbed me, I might’ve felt a wee bit guilty.

  She slowly rose to her feet, shaking off my outstretched hand. Brushing at her leather pants, she shot me a bitter smile. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But I don’t have your ransom money. So I guess that means that you’ll be on your way, unless you came here for something else?” She looked up at me, her dark eyes glowing almost blue-black with violence.

  When I didn’t comment, she nodded once. “That’s it, then.” She pulled the door open and motioned for me to leave. “Good-bye, Kermit.”

  “Not so fast.” I help up a hand. “What do you mean you don’t have the ransom money? Last I remember you snatched it from me and vowed to protect it with your life. So tell me, Lollipop, just what happened after you and your boyfriend tried to kill me?”

  Her screech of outrage nearly knocked me back a step. At the very least my ears would ring for the next week. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Uh-huh.” I scratched my chin like I’d seen many a TV prosecutor do. “So who did? Because I wasn’t shooting at myself.”

  “Not that you’ll believe me.” She paused, her eyes shifting around the room. Was she waiting for Spindle? Was this yet another setup designed by the one woman I couldn’t stop thinking about? “When I heard the first shots, I stuffed the money under the seat and ran to help.”

  “How sweet of you.”

  Her hands flexed into fists. “Why do I bother? You obviously can’t see the truth. So, fine, I did it, Kermit. I’m a terrible person. I deserve your scorn, your hate. It’s easier that way, isn’t it? Leave before you get hurt.” Her voice cracked. “Simply walk away and never look back. It’s what you’re good at.”

  What did she know? I wasn’t some wimp who cried over his spilled milk. No, I got a mop and cleaned up my own mess, which was exactly what I was doing now. Lollie Bliss was a tattooed mess in need of wiping away. That was all.

  Frustration, unfairness, and anger of the last year clogged the back of my throat. I took a couple of steps through the door, pausing on the welcome mat outside. “Have a nice life,” I sneered. “I’m sure you and your lover will be miserable together for years to come.”

  Lollie chuckled and started to close the door. “Probably. But I promise you that it won’t be nearly as bad as you and your precious bride.” Yet before the door closed completely, her words floated from the crack. “I’ll see to it.”

  I made it as far as the sidewalk before her words churning in my ears sent me back to the front door. Was she threatening Beauty? My vision grew red. I pounded on the wood until it nearly rattled off its hinges. “Open the door, Lollie. Now!”

  I pounded harder. No one bullied me, especially not some slip of a woman covered in ink. Her boyfriend wasn’t around to protect her now. The chain lock rattled as she pulled the door open a crack. “Forget something?” she asked with a smirk.

  At the sight of her heart-shaped face, my rage vanished, replaced once again with longing and desire. I could deny it till Bo Peep’s wayward sheep came home, but the truth was, I wanted Lollie. Needed her. If only for one more night. Then I could walk away, marry Sleeping Beauty, and live out the rest of my days unconcerned over unwanted green and moldy bits.

  At least that’s what I told myself, over and over again until that cold place in my heart started to believe it. I leaned against the door frame, my face an inch from hers. “Are you going to let me in?”

  She tilted her head to one side, showing off the slope of her neck and a small rose tattooed at the base of it. Either she’d got a new tattoo or I’d missed it during last night’s intimate inspection. In my defense, her neck wasn’t my primary focus during that excursion. Hell, anything above chest height, with the exception of her hot mouth, was neglected in my tender assault.

  “If I let you . . . in . . . for a nice chat,” she said with a smile, “just this once, you’ll have to be on your best behavior.”

  “Oh, I promise.” I held up a hand. “Frog prince honor.”

  Like I had any when it came to Ms. Bliss.

  The door floated open, leaving Lollie and me standing inches from each other. The heat from our desire fogged the front windows. She opened her arms, and I fell into her, my mouth hot and hard against hers.

  Tomorrow vanished under the feel of her fingers kneading the muscles of my arms. I had regrets, those that often kept me awake at night, but being with Lollie would never be one of them. In her arms, the rest of the world fell away, leaving just the two of us. Together. Until tomorrow night, that was, when I’d either marry Beauty or return to a strict fly diet.

  Chapter 50

  Later that night, I grinned as Lollie let out a soft snore and then snuggled closer to me, her perfectly formed backside molding to me. Twisting a long black lock of hair around my finger, I stroked the side of her cheek. My finger dipped lower, brushing the soft inky outlines of exotic characters that ran down her spine.

  “Hi,” Lollie whispered when my fingers reached a particularly interesting part of her anatomy. Her hand reached for mine, stilling my roving appendage. “We need to talk, Kermit. I need to tell—”

  “Later,” I said against the softness of her stomach. Much later, I thought, unable to articulate anything, let alone the lies Lollie needed to hear.

  I awoke an hour later, alone. A sketchpad lay open on the pillow next to me. The harsh planes of my face stared back at me from the open page of the paper canvas. I stared into my own eyes, not liking what stared back. Lollie seemed to see right through me. Self-reflection was not the way I planned on spending my last day as a single man. Yet my plans did include plenty of self-satisfaction, and maybe even a little satisfaction for Ms. Bliss.

  I pushed the sketchpad away and slowly rose, listening for any sign of Lollie. The shower down the hallway turned off with a squeak. I pictured a sudsy Lollie, tattoos glistening with water. My mouth went dry at the image. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Lust swelled inside me. I wanted her, even after hours spent in her arms, exploring every curve and inky line of her body. The longer I touched her tattoos, the blurrier the inky lines became until I lost all control. The bedroom door started to open as I pulled back the silk sheet to show Lollie just how glad I was to see her.

  “Ah!” Handsome screeched. His formerly handsome face crinkled with disgust as his hand hovered dangerously over the gun strapped to his hip. “What are you doing in my house? In my bed?”

  Yanking the sheet back in place, I struggled to find my voice. His house? What the frog? A sudden and horrifying thought occurred to me. “You’re Spindle!” I jabbed my finger at him. “You basta
rd.” Launching myself from the bed, bare-assed naked, I charged Handsome, grabbing the gun on his belt and tossing it to the floor. “Hey,” he began, but I cut him off with a shove, sickened by the thought of Lollie and Handsome together. I wanted to kill him. And then kill him again. Perhaps kill him a third time for good measure. What had Lollie seen in Handsome? He was an arrogant, self-absorbed prince. Sure, one could argue I shared the same traits, but I wasn’t also obsessed with my stepsister. So there.

  Spindle aka Soon-to-be-not-so-Handsome jumped back, raising his arms to protect his pretty face from my fist. “What are you doing? I don’t even know this Spindle person.”

  My hand grabbed his lapel and twisted, effectively choking him with his Armani silk uniform shirt. I shook him, hard. Like a puppet on a string, his legs dangled back and forth. The terror in his eyes cooled my rage, but only a little. I pictured Lollie trapped inside the burning cinders of her tattoo shop and twisted harder. “Don’t lie to me. Karl tracked Spindle here. To this house.” My voice grew colder. “Your house.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Handsome’s arms flapped like a hummingbird. “No one has a key but me.” He paused, his eyes widening as I squeezed a wee bit harder. “And Beauty. Beauty has a key,” he squeaked.

  Beauty? What the frog? What connection did Lollie have to Handsome or Beauty? And just where was Spindle in all this? Frustration and confusion boiled inside me, so much so that I tossed Handsome across the room. He bounced once on the bed and then over the bed, landing in a heap of less-than-handsome prince parts. Lollie’s sketchbook, which was sitting on the bed, crashed to the floor as well. Handsome moaned. I came around the bed, still naked as the day Beauty had tried to eat me.

  “Ow, my head,” Handsome whined, but I wasn’t paying any attention to him. My focus was on the open sketchbook and the sketch half-finished on the page, a picture of a frog in the hands of a kinky-haired girl with violet eyes.