Damsel in Distress
Page 2
“Tell me what can happen to you if we fail.”
“I— I’ll—”
“I didn’t think you could tell me.” He wiggled a finger in her face and spread a wide grin across his face. “Your punishment for lying, me dear, is to have dinner with me.” Before she could turn him down, he rushed to say, “Your choice. Anywhere you want to go.”
Her smile made him grin inside. She was going to say yes. Immediately his mind propelled ahead to them seated across from each other, whispering over glasses of wine, sharing bites of dessert from the same fork.
“I have this rule to never go out with anyone more than once.”
“Carmen,” he said, “you haven’t gone out with me once yet, so your argument is moot.”
“I’m sorry.” And then she was gone.
Shawn cursed so loud two customers scowled at him. He made a quick apology and rushed off to nurse his mental wounds in the bathroom. Actually, nursing wounds wasn’t the top priority. Relieving pressure was.
He locked himself in a stall and dropped the scrubs to his thighs and leaned back against the divider. Shawn released his pulsating dick from the jockeys and fisted the taut, aching flesh. A million times in the last twelve hours, he’d imagined Carmen’s final suck to his limp penis. It was one of the most erotic things he’d ever felt.
Shawn closed his eyes and imagined her stripping off the used condom, wrapping her mouth around his dick and giving one bone-stiffening suck. He came in six pumps of his cock. Hot sperm splatted into the toilet, making little round rings in the water—like fish jumping.
Of course, the thought of fish got him thinking about Carmen and her magnificent mouth.
Chapter Five
Carmen set the bag of plants on the passenger seat, making sure it wouldn’t tip over. She slammed the car door and laid her head on the steering wheel. Huge tears peppered round wet circles on her new jeans. Seemed like all she did these days was cry.
Okay, she ordered herself to grow up. Forget him.
She blinked through the blurriness and drove home to plant the new greenery in the aquarium. Then she stuck some four-day-old pizza in the microwave and ate in front of the tank.
Shawn had laughed at her obsession with the fish. So what? People acted the same—and sometimes worse—toward their dogs and nobody laughed at them. Why was it funny to love your fish?
Carmen carried the pizza box outside to the dumpster. The evening air was cool and fresh. Smog levels were low. After dumping the cardboard box over the edge and dropping the lid with a loud thud, she stood and inhaled deeply, enjoying this rare Los Angeles occurrence and loving the feel of the cooling pavement under her bare feet.
As she trekked the path up toward the building, something rustled in the bushes. “Sophie,” she called. Mrs. Bertram’s cat was always getting out. The cat didn’t come when she called. “Sophie. Come out.” Still nothing. She increased the pitch of her voice. “C’mere kitty kitty.”
It dawned on her that it might be a skunk, or even something dangerous, with big teeth, so Carmen picked up her speed. She’d go sit in her second-floor bedroom window to appreciate the weather.
The bushes rustled again. A large human body stepped out. A deep voice rumbled, “Stick up your hands. I have a gun.”
Carmen nearly wet her pants. “I don’t have any money on me. I was only taking out the trash.”
A hand gripped her arm and forced her around. Her feet tangled with each other and she toppled against the man. He smelled like body odor and onions. Bile jumped into her throat. Fingers dug her flesh, pushed her upright.
“I said, gimme your purse.”
“I told you, I don’t have one. I was just taking out the trash. People don’t normally carry handbags to the dumpster.” She held out her hands. “Here. Smell the pizza.”
He took an instinctual step backward. Carmen thrust both hands into his ribs and pushed him off balance. As he tried to right himself, she launched her body into his, and he crumpled to the ground. Carmen took off, pebbles and sharp things stabbing her feet. She ran, listening for the gunshot, waiting for bullets to hit her in the back.
Chapter Six
Shawn had arrived home from work at seven p.m. He ate some microwaved crap and then sat to watch television. His favorite forensics show was half over. He’d seen it before and knew the storyline by heart, but every time he looked at the big widescreen on the wall, he saw Carmen’s face smiling a happy Chiclet grin at her new aquarium. Or Carmen’s shapely figure beating a path in front of the row of aquariums. Or Carmen dabbing a tissue to her nose while he vacuumed her carpet.
Enough!
He couldn’t take it anymore. He had two choices—either finish off the twelve-pack of beer and spend the night with his head in the toilet, or get the hell out of here for a while. He tied on his running shoes and stepped out the door, turning left along his usual route. Most times Shawn ran in the mornings, but tonight he’d never sleep if he didn’t wring out some of this excess energy. He dug in his toes and sprinted away.
He ran for forty-five minutes and covered a distance of just under eight miles. Sweat ran off him like his pores were faucets. His hair flopped in his face. He’d left so fast he forgot the damned sweatband.
Shawn felt alive, exhilarated. He jogged in place, waiting for a pair of cars to pass.
“Hand over your wallet,” came a low, menacing voice. Something poked him in the left kidney.
Shawn didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t wait for one of the drivers to come to his rescue and he didn’t hand over his wallet. Instead he dove into the nearest bushes, melding himself with the gnarled branches. No way the thief would waste time looking for him. It might draw unwanted attention.
Shawn squinted between thorny branches. He couldn’t see details, but the thief was definitely there, facing Shawn’s direction. The thief bent at the waist and peered into the shrubbery. Two cars stopped for the light.
The thief, apparently feeling the pressure of potential witnesses, stood upright, turned and moved away. Shawn released the breath he’d been holding. He worked himself loose from the prickly branches, and made his way back to the sidewalk.
And was hit by what felt like a truck.
He crashed to the sidewalk with the truck on top of him. The truck moved. Something pointed jabbed his chest. The thief must have come back to finish him off.
A third person arrived and dragged the thief off him. Shawn stood up. Dusted himself off and checked his chest for protrusions. He answered questions about his wellbeing. A female voice replied she was all right also.
What! The thief was a female? If so, she’d done a damned good job of disguising her voice when she demanded his wallet.
Shawn peeked around the rescuer. A wide Chiclet smile greeted him. Its owner dove into his arms and wrapped her legs around his hips.
“I guess you two aren’t hurt,” said the rescuer.
“Yes. No. We aren’t. Thanks,” Shawn said. “I can take care of this damsel in distress. She’s going to be my wife.”
Chapter Seven
Shawn leaned back in his recliner. He turned off the ballgame and turned on the DVD player. Sipping beer, he watched his family over his shoulder.
Carmen and Jason lay on the floor in front of the new fifty-five gallon aquarium, Jason on his stomach, Carmen on her side to accommodate her burgeoning belly. “See Jason, this one is a neon damsel,” she said, stretching up to touch a finger to the glass. “And this is a yellow tail.”
“What’s this one?” asked the small voice.
“See if you remember.”
There was a moment’s silence where the boy stood up. He squinted hard and leaned in close to the tank. “Golden?”
“Right. Very good.”
“Come on, you two,” Shawn called. “I thought we were going to watch this movie.”
“We’re coming, Daddy.”
“The credits are running.” When neither son nor Carmen moved from their places, h
e shouted, “Look! I rented Finding Nemo. How much better could it get?”
Two-and-a-half-year-old Jason turned from his spot in front of the aquarium and said in a resigned voice, “Let’s go, Mommy. Daddy wants to watch that movie.”
LIZ
Thank you for reading. To read other books in the Tender Hearts Veterinary Clinic series, check out:
The Great Dane (Jannick and Rianna)
An American Bulldog (Taryn and Dolf)
The Long Haired Persian (Tonya and Gaspar)
The Bearded Dragon (Wanda and Carlton)
The Masked Lovebird (Devon and Fiona)
Liz Stafford
Liz Stafford is new to the world of short stories—and loving it. Being a pet lover and ex-dachshund breeder, introducing a clinic full of pets seemed only right, and natural. Adding men made it even more so…
Email Liz at: hotdog@nhvt.net