Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction

by Alexander, Dominic K.

  “He’s still here. I see him almost daily at the gym. Sweetheart, he may be bald, but it’s by choice and a razor, not because he’s lost his hair. He’s far from overweight, unless you want to talk about muscle weighing more than fat. That man is ripped. He works for Titan on one of the oil rigs.”

  She’s gushing so much I can’t stop the laugh I let escape. “How do you know all this?” I ask.

  “He’s at the gym every day almost. And I may have taken a peek at his client file.” Her smile is filled with devious intent.

  “You’re telling me all of this . . . why, exactly?”

  “Just conversation,” she replies slyly.

  “Conversation, my ass. He was a high school crush that never knew I existed, moving on.”

  Maverick

  Another long damn day and more shit to do when I get home. Since Mom passed away two years ago, I’ve had to help my dad more and more. He’s not been feeling good today and needs me to pick up a few things at the grocery store for him after work.

  Mom had ovarian cancer. It wasn’t detected early enough. Even with treatment, she had a rapid decline and lost the battle within eight months of her diagnosis. Pops has been lost ever since. Thirty years with the same woman and suddenly she’s gone. He’s bitter, sad, and lately he’s quite demanding without her. He’s certainly not the man I grew up with, but heartbreak will do that to you, so they say.

  Going over his list in my head, I park my lifted Chevy Silverado in the back of the lot where I can easily occupy two spaces. Grabbing a towel from behind my seat, I wipe my hands one more time. Even though I scrub them before leaving work after the hours spent on a rig, I swear I have oil coming out of my pores.

  Making my way through the rows of cars, I stop when I hear someone call my name. Turning, I look to see Tonya at a cart return. She’s in jeans so tight they looked painted on. Add high heels, a shirt that is just as tight as her pants and so low cut, I’m amazed her boobs don’t fall out. Her wavy brown hair is down and her makeup slightly overdone. She’s got a nice body, and she talks a good game. In the end, though, she’s rather boring in bed. She’s not a terrible lay, but she’s far from adventurous. Yeah, I tapped that. Well, to be honest, I’ve tapped her and just about every other pussy in this town.

  Trying to keep on my path inside, I give a quick wave to Tonya, hoping that mild acknowledgement will appease her. Wrong! She’s doing some crazy half-running thing over to me. Shit! Her boobs are bouncing as I watch, waiting for her to fall and bust her ass in those shoes.

  “Mav, wait,” she squeaks as she hurries over to me.

  “Hey, Tonya,” I say when she’s in front of me.

  “Just getting’ off work, I see.” She smiles hungrily at me.

  Well, Captain Obvious, I’m filthy, and it’s dinnertime. It’s a weekday, I work on an oil rig, so common sense says I’m here straight from work. Rather than be a total ass about it, I merely nod in agreement.

  “I bet you’re hungry after a hard day’s work. How ’bout you come over to my house and I’ll cook for you?” she asks, her invite laced in undertones of more than dinner.

  “Not tonight. I really gotta get goin’, but thanks.”

  Rather than wait for more from her, I walk on past her and into the store. After getting a cart, I make my way over to the produce section. Lost in thought, trying to remember my dad’s damn list, I’m not paying attention to everything around me. Stopping at the bags of salad, I don’t look up as I push my cart in front of me so I can lean down to grab the right bag. I feel the cart bump something and hear a slight whimper.

  Looking up, I smile at the woman in front of me as she turns around to face me. Whoa, I didn’t expect the anger she’s got going on over an accidental bump.

  “Slick, watch out, why don’t ya? I’m sure this little ploy of yours works on every other chick, but not me, okay? So think about that next time.”

  “Slick, huh? Well, my friends call me Tapper, but whatever. I’m sorry, it really was an accident, not some ploy,” I say, lifting up the bag of mixed greens so she can see I was getting something.

  “Apology accepted, moving on. Have a good day, Mr. Tapper.” She smiles and it hits me who she is. She pushes at her cart and I hear her mutter, “Appropriate name, Tapper, humph.”

  “Kenzy,” I call out to her back as she’s strolling away from me. Her gorgeous dark hair swings around her as she turns back to face me. Confusion etches her features as she doesn’t recognize me. “Maverick,” I say, introducing myself.

  “Oh my, you’re…um…dirty,” she says, covering her mouth in embarrassment of her unfiltered response.

  “Baby, you have no idea,” I reply with a smile and a wink. “You look good, Kenzy. It’s been a long damn time.”

  “Y-yeah,” she stutters, watching me. Composing herself, she smiles finally. “I just moved back.”

  “Good, I’ll see ya around then.”

  “Sure thing.” She turns back to her cart and heads off to finish her shopping, her ass swaying with each step.

  I can’t help but want to take my hand to that ass and make it a nice shade of pink. Kenzy has certainly grown into a beautiful woman from her awkward teenage years. She had an innocent, but definitely rough beauty in her youth. One that you had to see past the outer appearance to the heart of the girl. Now she’s carrying herself in a refined but shy way. I don’t think she realizes how gorgeous she is.

  A loud throat clearing and a cart running into my ass tells me I’m still shamelessly staring. I turn around and get a raised eyebrow from a little old lady.

  I give her a wink and move out of her way, realizing I’m looking forward to bumping into Kenzy again.

  Chapter Two

  MaKenzy

  Being back home hasn’t been as hard of an adjustment as I anticipated. It’s been three months and I am finally remembering which cabinet is which for my plates, pots, and pans, and in general I’m getting comfortable.

  My job is a thirty-minute drive in traffic, and so far I’ve fallen into place easily with my station. The rotation of days, nights, and weekends makes having a social life somewhat difficult. Given I’m not in a place to want any of that right now fits in fine for me. Plus, night and weekend differential pay is an awesome bonus to my savings account.

  I’ve been working seven-to-seven days this week. Jessika works early mornings, opening the gym with her first class at six. She’s been pestering me to go out one night. Despite my twelve-hour shift today, tonight’s the night she wins and we’re going out.

  Dolling myself up, I’m in wide-legged black dress pants, a blue wrap shirt that creates a V-neck, allowing for serious cleavage with my best Victoria’s Secret push-up bra padding out my top, and serious stilettos to give me a taller and slimmer look. At five foot three, a few extra inches won’t hurt. I’ve straightened my hair and pinned the right half back with a white flower clip. My makeup is done to give my eyes a smoky-gray look, making my brown eyes look even darker.

  Jessika walks in just as I’m grabbing my clutch for the evening. She’s in a little black dress that hugs her firm body, and shoes I’m sure can be worn in her pole-dancing class. Her hair is up in a messy style with tendrils curling down, framing her face.

  “Let’s go, Twix.”

  I laugh at her pet name for me. I once went to the salon and asked for my hair to be colored to have the caramel shades of a Twix bar blended into it. Well, let’s just say that even professionally done, my hair didn’t take to the blonde well. My want for a caramel blend didn’t turn out so well. I’ve since learned to take the cookie part out of my description since it’s ivory in color and doesn’t blend to my natural dark hue.

  “Shut up and come on.” I smile at her.

  Zanne’s is pretty full tonight, although I’m sure Fridays are always busy. We make our way in and find a table off to the side. After ordering two margaritas, we sit down and take in the place. Zanne’s is an old skating rink that’s been converted to a bar.
Plenty of space, but full. What once was the concessions area is now the bar. The booths and tables still surround what was the rink area for seating. The walls to the rink were taken down and the space separated into a stage area for local bands to play on Wednesday nights, and a dance floor. There are pool tables off the back side and an area for darts.

  “We came to let loose. Come on, Cookie,” I say, grabbing her hand and taking her to the dance floor.

  Jessika laughs at my pet name for her as we both hit the dance floor and forget everything around us. We’re dancing against each other when I catch the conversation of the guys behind me.

  “Tapper, you need to add that duo to your collection, man.”

  Tapper, hmm, why does that sound familiar? Feeling the need for another drink, I pull Jessika away as I hear another guy chime in.

  “Yeah, tap the keg, tap the rig, and tap any ass walking by. Get it, son.”

  Ignoring them, we make our way off the dance floor and over to the bar. Ordering liquid cocaine shots, we down them and hit the dance floor again.

  Tonight I’m determined to let go of my past, my responsibilities, and have a good time.

  Maverick

  The girl’s back was to me when my friends were pointing out who they felt my next conquest should be. Watching her dance with Jessika, I can’t keep my mind from drifting to the moves she could possibly do in the bedroom. As they walk to the bar, I realize exactly whose ass I’ve been gawking at. Shit!

  “Tapper, you gonna go after that tonight or what?” Heath asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

  Taking a pull off my beer, I continue to lean against the table we’re at. We come here every Friday night. We sit in the same section off the edge of the dance floor so we can watch the ladies move, and have easy access to join them should we find our score for the night.

  “That pair moves like it’s a two-for-one special if you can snag it. If you aren’t gonna tap that, I’m sure as shit goin’ after them,” Lance adds.

  Kenzy and Jessika move through the crowd and back to the dance floor. The way Kenzy moves is pure seduction. Mesmerized and captivated, I push off the table without answering my friends and make my way to her. She has her back to me as I make my approach. Jessika smiles at me when I get close. Before Kenzy can turn around, I’m wrapping my arms around her waist and moving behind her with the music.

  Pulling her against me, I lean down and whisper against her ear, “Lookin’ good, Kenzy.”

  She gasps as she tilts her head to look at me. I’m a little over six feet tall, so even though she’s in heels, I tower over her easily. My arm firmly around her waist, I have her tucked against me in a way she can feel all of me and has to keep rhythm with me.

  “Maverick,” she breathes out before relaxing into me.

  The first song she moves with me, letting me take the lead. The alcohol must be catching up to her as she reaches up, wraps her arms around my neck, and begins to grind her ass against me. Rather than leaving my arm around her waist, I start running my hands up and down her sides. The more she moves against me, the more firmly I caress her body through the fabric of her clothing. She rocks against me and twists her ass almost in a circle over my dick. I pull her tightly to me once again so she can feel every hard part of my body. She has to know what she’s doing to me. I want her so bad, I’m about to come undone. No one has ever gotten me this worked up without the promise of more to come.

  Moving her hair to one side, I expose the left side of her neck as another song comes on. Leaning in, I lick lightly on the bend of her neck and shoulder. She shivers at the contact. When she scrapes her nails over the back of my neck, I suck gently before nipping at her neck. Feeling her go weak under me, I know she wants more, just as much as I do. Smiling against her neck, I run my lips up to her earlobe before pulling on it with my teeth.

  The next song is a slow number. When I turn her in my arms, she settles her head on my chest. With her arms around me and nails gently grazing my bald head, I lean down and breathe against her neck. Without a second thought, I suck on the sweet spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

  A slap on my back causes me to pull off her neck. When I turn my head, Heath is standing there with a cocky smirk and a blonde on his arm.

  “Hey, Tapper, I’m out. I see this minx is gonna be taking you home tonight, so see ya Monday.”

  Kenzy lifts her head to make eye contact with me as she pushes away.

  “Presumptuous much?” she asks with fierce anger in her body language. “I’m not taking you home. And I’m certainly not going home with you. So, Tapper,” she draws out my nickname for emphasis, “you can move on because you won’t be tappin’ this.”

  Before I can react, she shoves off me and moves through the crowd to go find Jessika. Damn it!

  Chapter Three

  MaKenzy

  Coming off my two days off for the switch, I’m on night shift. After getting assignments from our charge nurse and doing the shift-change conferences, I’m doing rounds to see to my patients.

  First up, Richard Collins. He’s a Type 2 diabetic who is in intensive care after having his leg amputated to the hip. The patient suffers from congestive heart failure, neuropathy, as well as hypertension. Peripheral arterial disease is the official reason for the amputation. Basically, all of these combine against something as simple as a foot callus that turns into an ulcer that then went untreated for too long and the infection spread, killing all the soft tissues. The foot went gangrene, which spread up the leg. Now Mr. Collins is here still fighting an infection in his bloodstream as his body adjusts to the shock of no longer having one of its limbs.

  Diabetes is among the growing list of invisible illnesses. On the outside and to the average person, this patient probably looks fine. If Mr. Collins hadn’t been under the care of a regular physician and maintaining healthy blood sugar levels through diet, exercise, and insulin as needed, then he may not have realized the severity of his illness. It’s a silent killer. With every rise and fall of his glucose levels, Mr. Collins’s body was slowly killing the healthy tissues from the inside out.

  Suiting up before crossing into his room, I make sure I’m scrubbed up and covered for his protection more than mine. With his particular ailment, the risk for infection is so high, everyone needs to scrub up and cover in disposable paper suits to keep down extra germs as much as possible. As I’m checking his machines and wounds, my heart breaks as he twitches, slowly coming to. Even with the pain medications pumping through his IV right now, his body and his brain still think he has his right leg. His brain is sending signals to the nerve endings that are no longer there. Looking at his body build with his strong arms, broad chest, and overall physique, it’s obvious he’s a working man. He’s not morbidly obese like most people would assume. No, Richard Collins looks like any other sixty-two-year-old man, only now he’s missing a leg. As high up as they had to go to find healthy tissue, I’m not sure if he will be a candidate for a prosthesis.

  Working intensive care, we see a lot of different circumstances. We face families who lose loved ones. We comfort them or the patient during the crossover to whatever afterlife they may believe in. We work in an unpredictable job. Patients sometimes get stronger and move on to a step-down care unit. Depending on the condition, we’re sometimes given a patient just for monitoring after a surgery to make sure they are truly stable. We face situations like Mr. Collins where although he’s out of his surgery, his risk factors still leave him in a capricious and delicate balance between life and death that at any given moment, the weight of the balance could tip one way or the other.

  As I update the medical chart for Mr. Collins, I take a look at the clock, noticing it’s now visiting hours. Typically, we are full of family members during the fifteen minutes we allow patients to be seen every four hours. I know it’s not a lot of time, especially when there’s no guarantee there will be a next visit. Most of our patients physically can’t take having visitors for long time peri
ods, though. They need to rest and let their bodies rebuild, or in this case, adjust. Also, the intensive care unit staff needs to be able to give our entire focus to our patients and not be tied up with too many questions about patients. We’re happy to answer questions and give updates, don’t get me wrong, but our focus first and foremost is our patients’ care. We aren’t assigned an overabundance of patients, usually no more than two to four per nurse, depending on the cases and what the charge nurse feels is adequate. However, we’re given the smaller patient assignments to give them our attention.

  Getting ready to leave, I glance out of the glass door of the room and see none other than Maverick making his way over. I haven’t seen him in three or four weeks, not since the night at the bar where the asshole gave me a damn hickey. Yeah, “Tapper” isn’t tappin’ this just to brag to his buddies, mark me up, and move on to the next piece of ass. I never should’ve kept dancing with him that night, but being in his arms felt so damn good. Frustration and anger build in me at his presence.

  As I watch Maverick suiting up like a pro who has been visiting every chance he can, my resolve to stay mad slips away. In order to be back here, he must be visiting a family member. His eyes look puffy and fatigued.

  I’ve been off the last two days. Taking a second glance at the chart in my hands, I confirm that Mr. Collins had his surgery two days ago. A surgery that carries great risks and one they weren’t sure he would make it through.

  Jessika told me about Maverick’s mom’s battle and loss to cancer. He’s an only child, so I’m sure this is hard on him. I’m assuming this is his dad or his uncle, but most likely his dad.

  The door slides open and he walks in, keeping his eyes on the man in the bed. I finish up and get ready to exit in order to give Maverick some privacy for the time he has. My back is to him when he sits in the chair beside the bed.

  “Pops, I’m here. Last visit for the night.”

  I hear the weariness in his voice. As I make my way to the door, I’m stopped by his calling my name.

  “Kenzy.”

  “Maverick,” I reply, turning to face him.