by Vicki Batman
“Uh.” His pause was lengthy and he swiped his hand over his head. “When it’s her time of the month.”
Dum-dah-dum dum. Not the best response to say to a highly agitated woman. I stared at A. Wellborn. He was still unbelievable and still a geek! Despite him looking sexy in his turquoise polo shirt. The fury within me spewed forth. I gave the door a hard shove. It slammed so loudly, Jenny popped from her room for a second time. I slid the chain home.
Banging sounded on the closed door. “Dammit, Hattie, open up. I’m sorry I said the wrong thing. A-gain. Open the door and let me explain.”
“On behalf of women world-wide, let me think about it—N period, O period.”
“Hattie, please. A simple misunderstanding. Open the door.”
My glance shifted to Jenny who lifted a questioning eyebrow. I knew her look too well. She wanted to know if I needed her help and would I ever invite A. Wellborn in. I shook a negative and thumbed my chest. Her damage control wasn’t required. A big girl like me could handle him perfectly fine on my own. Thank you very much.
Jenny went back to her bedroom doorway, just in case I yelled for help.
Hell, she was watching and waiting because this scene was better scripted than the television program blasting from her room. By letting A. Wellborn stand on my doorstep and apologize for an hour, he’d learn a hard lesson in dealing with women, especially enraged ones. And remembering his sister, hormonal ones, too. “No way.”
Leaning my back against the door, I curled my fingers inward. I examined the nails on my right hand. Oh my. That fingernail could use a touchup.
“Please.”
I bet he thought I didn’t recognize this kind of tactic. I checked the nails on the left hand and flicked a hangnail on the little finger. I’d treat myself to a full-blown manicure just as soon as he left.
I glanced down the hallway to Jenny. Her dark eyes narrowed to slits. I gave my shoulders an inquiring up-shrug, and she nodded.
Oh, all right. She’d better not be feeling empathetic toward him. I blew out a whew, as I opened the door a bit, looking sideways through the little slit. My hand flapped a shoo-shoo motion. “Allan, I’ve had enough for one day. Go away.”
His face relaxed in relief. “Hattie, let me make it up to you. I want to take you to dinner.”
Darn him, he’d done it again, causing Funsisters’ Rules One and Two about dinner offers to roll into operation since I was still sorta unemployed. And hungry.
“Well...” I said, which, hopefully, would cause him to sweat more while considering his suggestion.
“This sounds promising. Come on. Say yes. It’ll be fun.”
Fun—huh. I tapped a finger against my jaw. This girl power stuff was great stuff. Little did A. Wellborn know, I could easily have him stringing along for another ten minutes. “I’m thinkin’.”
Oh, what the hell. I could file my nails later. I unfastened the chain and opened the door slit wider. “No cops?”
“No cops.”
“No weird stuff?”
“No weird stuff.”
“Scout’s honor?”
His right three fingers formed the Boy Scout salute. “Scout’s honor.”
I giggled, feeling audacious. “I get to pick the restaurant?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” A. Wellborn’s impatience tinged his words. “Your choice.”
“Okay. I’m picking and you’re buying.” I opened the front door all the way. And the lesson I learned was by becoming angry more frequently, I’d get my way more often.
Grabbing my tote, I winked at Jenny and closed the door, rattling the pictures on the wall. Pretend rage could cause a girl to do interesting things.
A subdued A. Wellborn trailed me down the sidewalk, mumbling mostly to himself, “But don’t think you can manipulate me like this again.”
I loved when men groveled.
Chapter Eight
Dinner went better than I’d expected.
Since I’d demanded to select the restaurant, I chose one in an old part of town, which with Somerville’s tax dollars at work had revived. However, the real reason I picked this restaurant was because of my two favorite items on the menu—a grilled chicken sandwich and queso with chips.
Familiar rock and roll songs from the primetime of the sixties and seventies played in the background. After we settled in the pew-like benches at the tile-covered table, A. Wellborn passed me a laminated menu and a beer coaster. The server brought our requested drinks.
Due to a lack of chocolate, I main-lined my soda in one gulp. The server went to fetch a refill while A. Wellborn decided if he could converse and still retain body parts. With amusement, I observed him do a mental checkup. Arms, legs, hands, and chest all survived the—I would now admit to myself, but not him—highly illogical woman whom he’d encountered earlier.
Hey, it was justifiable.
I gave him a cautious smile. “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s my favorite.”
“Like you gave me a choice.” He sounded sarcastic, but his smile softened the tone.
The server placed a plastic basket in front of me and gave A. Wellborn his double burger.
This restaurant made the best chicken sandwich. Before taking the first bite, I inhaled the sweet combo of soy and pineapple. The tang of onion. The charcoal from the grill. I bit into it and chewed deliberately. Lordy. “Mmm.” As I experienced another orgasmic moment, I closed my eyes. Good thing Mom wasn’t here to deliver the “No Talking While Eating” little talk, another something perfect ladies didn’t do.
“Any news on your stolen car parts?” A. Wellborn asked.
This must be his lame attempt at tentatively testing the conversation waters. I shook my head and took another bite.
“Did you get your insurance check?”
“No.” I patted my mouth with the paper napkin and shook my head, sending my hair to brush my shoulders. “No car parts and no check. Have you heard anything?”
“Sorry, nothing from the friend-of-the-friend. I’m thinking the bumper is officially gone this time.”
“Me, too.” Since A. Wellborn was buying dinner, I should be nice. Soda could be considered a wonder drug for hysterical rage, right up there with peanut M&Ms. I snagged one of his cheese fries coated with bits of crispy bacon.
His hand clamped on my wrist. He fastened on me a quizzical, raised eyebrow look. “We can order you some.”
I shook him off. “You have plenty to share.” My mouth curled into a devilish grin, traced with a challenge me expression. His retreating hand showed he’d caved. I asked, “Are you still writing citations?”
“No, I did the favor for the one day. I’m working cases again.”
“Oh?” I took a drink. “What kind?”
“A while back, the chief of detectives handed me a high-profile one.”
Interesting. “Can you talk about it?”
“A little. It involves the murder of an older woman.”
“Oh my. What is this town coming to? Who would have thought we’d have murder in Sommerville?”
“I know. It’s usually pretty quiet here. Only taillight out problems.”
“Very funny.”
A. Wellborn dragged his cheese fry through the ranch dip. “A single woman who worked at an insurance agency was found murdered in her apartment about three months ago.”
While he talked, I mentally reviewed the case’s details. Something jangled in my head. “How...weird. I’ve been temping at an insurance agency. An older, single, female employee died three months ago.”
He stopped mid-bite and fixed on me a hard, intent look, one almost intimidating. He swiped his mouth with his napkin before asking, “That is weird. Are you, by chance, working at Buy Rite Automobile Insurance?”
I set down my sandwich and stared. “I’m temporarily doing automobile claims data entry. I replaced June Short, the member of staff who passed away.” I screwed my face into a puzzled, eyes-narrowed look as I asked, “How did you know?”
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“I didn’t.” His lips flattened into a tense, grim line. “How long have you been employed with them?”
“I’ve been at Buy Rite”—I stared at the old timey photo mounted on the wall behind his head—“for a few weeks.” I refocused on his face. “What’s up with the twenty questions?”
“First, tell me about your job.”
I explained I worked with automobile insurance claims which had been caused by wrecks, and auto or parts thefts. How my boss was Lester and his assistant was Opal, and how Opal’s hose swished-swished when she walked.
Confused, tiny wrinkles framed the corners of his eyes. “Swish-swish?”
“It’s a special sound.” I brushed my palms briskly against each other. “You know, when large thighs rub together.”
“Oh. Learn something new every day. How much longer will you work at B.R.A.?”
“B.R.A.—that’s hilarious. I work at B.R.A.” I returned my sandwich to its basket. “I don’t know. If I work, I can pay bills. If I work, it’s harder to find time to search for the job I really want—a bonafide Catch-22. I just don’t know.” Halfheartedly, I admitted, “Lester offered me a permanent position.”
Hand poised at his mouth, ready for the last bite of burger, A. Wellborn paused. “So soon? Are you taking it?”
“No... Yes… Maybe.” I flung my hands skyward. “I don’t know.”
“You sound as if it’s not-so great.”
“It isn’t, which is why I don’t want to stay. Although the salary is all right and would solve my financial worries, claims data entry isn’t my job career of choice. And I wouldn’t want to work with Lester and Opal for years on end.”
“That terrible?”
“That terrible. The minute I walk in the office, I’m positive my IQ has been lowered by fifty points. And I can only take so much of Opal’s swishing and his cigarette addiction.” I chuckled, then sobered. “I’m not desperate, not yet anyway.”
“What do you really want to do?”
“You won’t tell?”
His face took on a serious expression as his finger swiped across his chest in a familiar manner. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“And…”
“Stick a needle in my eye.”
“I’ve never told anyone this”—I leaned closer—“I’d love to open my own shop. But need to save a bit before I could try. Show the bank I have some dough to put down. That I’m a reliable risk...”
“I’d help you. You would be good.”
Wow. I lengthened my back and looked at him in a new light. I had no idea he thought that highly of me. “You think so?”
He nodded.
“Thanks. Means a lot to me.” I scooped the last bit of queso on a chip. Covertly, I watched him for a moment while he chomped down a cheese-loaded fry. Nice and polite.
He finished off the soda. “You’re a hard worker. You have fantastic taste. I’d back you in a minute.”
A surprising glow spread through me. Oh dear. At that moment, I understood the warm and fuzzy feelings I’d experienced. I like him. I contemplated while my hands shredded the paper napkin in my lap into strips and my surging emotions. I really like him. Where are these thoughts coming from? Suddenly, I felt transparent, as if he could read my innermost soul-searching contemplations.
“Hattie?”
I jumped. As I collected my wits, I rubbed my finger on my temple. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking. Let’s see… Where was I? Oh, yeah, today I had a chat with Lester and Opal about a possible auto theft ring.”
A. Wellborn perked up. “Tell me about it.” He wiped a ketchup plop from his chin.
I possessed a moment of tempting pleasure at the thought of touching my finger to his lips. I shook it off and continued, “While entering claims data in the program, I noticed many Jeeps have missing parts or are stolen. I asked Opal and Lester if something should be investigated.”
“And they said...”
“They said it was possible. Lester said he would call B.R.A.’s fraud division. Maybe they’ll do an investigation.”
“Normal procedure.” He stared at the straw he twirled through the slushy ice. “About how many claims did you say?”
“Since I began, I’d say along the lines of forty to fifty.” My brow wrinkled in question. “Why?”
“Nothing. I’m just thinking.”
“Casually,” I shrugged one shoulder, “I mentioned knowing someone who could help Buy Rite. But Lester said he would prefer to wait until he heard from corporate headquarters.”
“And your “someone” would be me?”
This boy was on the ball. He’d showed off those brilliant detective traits again. “Well,” then mortified me who couldn’t meet his eyes said, “yeah.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You’re the only cop I know.”
“Let’s go.” He rose and picked up the check.
I waddled to the exit and snagged a peppermint from the hostess stand. I had to contain the onion breath just in case he kissed me.
Kissed?
After the short drive back to my apartment, A. Wellborn walked me to my door.
My key rotated in the lock. I turned to face him Now, knowing I had a small tendre for him, would our relationship change? Would he kiss me goodnight? Did I want him to kiss me goodnight? I swallowed before saying, “Thanks for dinner. Sorry I yelled at you earlier. I was a little...upset.”
His smile revealed straight teeth and desirable lips. “A little?”
Desirable lips? I blinked. I swear to God my brain traveled the one-way track to sex.
“Sorry I embarrassed you.”
I swallowed deeply. “Thanks. I think I’m probably over it. The perfect soda has curative powers.”
He laughed. “So I’ve heard.” Taking a step toward me, he leaned in like the love interest did in a romantic comedy movie. Our gazes locked.
His right hand skimmed across my left cheek and into my hair, bunching at my neck. My gaze centered solely on his eyes. Closer. Closer. Please kiss me. Please. Without any instructions from my brain, my lips parted. All I could think about was how his head lowered to mine. How much I wanted to kiss him. How much I wanted to feel our bodies meld.
We were barely a liplock apart. “Allan,” I asked with unsteadiness in my voice, “what are you doing?”
“This.” He pulled me tight and showed me.
Since I was a wholly sworn member of Nundom, I hadn’t been kissed senseless in a while. I swore his was “The Kiss to End All Kisses.” His mouth felt soft, tender, and moved with...intensity?
My lips responded instinctively, pressing and pulling across his. Feeling the tenderness. Taking in the wetness. Swiping lightly with his tongue. All time and space suspended. My eyelids fluttered when we parted. Unsteady, I teetered a bit. “Wow.”
For a second, he grinned at my groan, then pulled me back into his arms, and started again.
My arms circled his neck. Instinctively, our bodies moved even closer, touching at the hips and chest. A slight scrape of his beard roughed my jaw. His lips moved to the left side of my neck below my ear. My head tilted for better reception. I moaned again, releasing a breathy, “OhmyGod.”
Pausing, his head tilted aside. “Is that…bells?”
Bells? He’s got me in his arms, and he hears bells? A soft chime caught my ear. I turned my head. Why bells? Where?
Thankfully, he didn’t pause for long, and his mouth captured mine, squashing all thoughts to the far blue yonder.
“Wow.” The only word I knew in the English language. Call me Gumby cause my bones became pliable and it wouldn’t take much to manipulate me like a little rubber toy. Fortunately, Nundom didn’t appear to be a permanent condition.
He continued to control my mouth and mind, pressing my body into the door frame. His hand ran down the side of my left breast to my waist.
More, my body asked for as my chest lifted. Somewhere, out there, in the far-off distance, I heard a “Guys?”<
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“Hey, guys.”
“Guys! You have to stop!”
Strong words penetrated our senses. We stopped, his forehead resting against mine. Our bodies heaved, pushing our chests against each other, and sending incomprehensible swirls to race through me as we released small gasps through parted mouths. Who knew there was such a thing as aerobic kissing?
Slowly, our heads moved bit-by-bit toward to find Jenny, all messy in her nightie and looking a little rattled, standing behind us, waving for attention.
She pointed to the door frame. “You-are-ringing-the-doorbell.”
A. Wellborn barely mumbled. “What bell?”
Like she instructed kindergarten kids, Jenny stabbed her finger on the button, the same one he’d rammed into my back when he pushed me against the doorframe. “The-door-bell. It-is-ringing. Hattie-is-leaning-on-it.”
He shifted me to the left. “Oh. Sorry.”
Releasing a yawn, she flapped her hand. “Continue.”
My eyes were mesmerized by his dark chocolate ones as he pulled me closer. His magic manhands wrapped around my upper arms, wanting to pick up where we’d left off.
The moment broke at the whump of the closing door. My body froze as if a pan of ice-cold dishwater had been dumped over me. Awkward sensations took control. I pushed at A. Wellborn’s chest—oooh, it felt really firm. “Wait a minute.”
His grip tightened.
“Stop.” Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t want to be let go. I adored hold yous. This wasn’t normal. I shoved hard. “I’m thinking you need to go right now.”
“What? Go? Right now? Why?”
“You have to go right now.”
A. Wellborn squeezed my upper arms for emphasis and kissed my hair along my temple. “But I don’t want to go. I like what we’re doing.”
A tough call because, I, too, liked what we were doing. However, the myriads of thoughts surging through my head at this spot of time and place had made me self-conscious. Pushing back his arms, I broke free. “Because this isn’t right. This isn’t what normal people do in normal relationships. Today, I’ve been embarrassed by you, your buddies, and now, I’ve been caught in an awkward moment by my roommate. I just have to go.” I groped behind me for the door knob, twisted it, and backed inside.