within me and then I took off, moving at the speed of light—so fast no one would hear or see me until I wanted them to.
I rushed toward the table where a figure dressed completely in black from head to toe was standing, peering at the screen of my laptop. On my way past, I snapped the lid closed and the force of my speed blew several papers up and away, sending them fluttering to the floor.
The woman gasped—turning around, her back going up against the edge of the table. Her eyes searched the room for me, but I wasn’t done bouncing around. I went from one end of the room to the other, flipping on and off the lamps, turning on the flat screen hanging above the fireplace, and then hitting a button causing the logs in the hearth to burst into flames.
The woman pushed away from the table, rushing toward the set of French doors that led outside, but I caught her around the waist before she took three steps and yanked her back so she was firmly against me, pinned between my arms.
She didn’t miss a beat and stomped down on my bare foot with her stiletto heal, causing me to howl in pain and release her. She ran forward as I recovered, reaching out and grabbing at her, only coming away with the black knit cap she’d stuffed over her head.
A flash of blond filled my vision before I caught her arm and yanked her back against me once more. Her chest was heaving and her nails dug into my arms, but I ignored it all.
“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?” I growled into her ear.
“How did you move that fast?” She gasped.
Her voice. I knew that voice. It grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. So much for it not being the infuriating girl with a man’s name.
“You better have a damn good explanation for why I found you in my house, going through my things, George.”
She stiffened and I felt her retort rise up inside her.
“Ah—ah—ah,” I sang in her ear. “Now is not the time to piss me off any more than you already have,” I warned.
Wisely, her mouth snapped shut as I spun her around to face me.
Chapter Four
“Cat suit - a close-fitting one-piece garment that covers the torso and the legs and frequently the arms.”
Frankie
Once my shift from hell at work was over I drove straight to the closest gas station and filled my arms with enough sugary goodness to get me through the next week, or maybe just tonight, and dumped it all on the counter in front of the cashier who took in my haul with his usual disdain. I ignored him and went to grab some Dr. Pepper, Cherry Coke, and Yoo-hoo and added that to my pile.
At the last minute, I added a pack of pink bubblegum and winked when I got a glare in return.
Once inside my Jeep Wrangler, I cranked up the heat and tore into a bag of Sour Patch Kids, popping about five into my mouth at once. I enjoyed the way the sour coating on the outside burned my tongue. I backed out of the lot and drove the short drive to my apartment, with the radio too loud and too much candy in my mouth.
I let myself into my apartment, flipping on the light as I shut the door, and then leaned back against the painted-wood finish and sighed. Peace at last. I wasn’t a loner, I wasn’t a quiet person who enjoyed staying in rather than going out, but after the day I had… it was nice to be alone.
I took in the Tiffany-blue walls (hey, every girl need’s a little Tiffany’s in her life, even if it is only paint), the cream-colored sofa, mirrored coffee table, and the scattered magazines around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. I dropped my bag of goodies on the floor beside the couch and shrugged out of my coat as I walked to the wall of posters all hung in vintage frames.
All the posters were of the same person. The woman I respected, was intrigued by, and yeah, maybe slightly obsessed with: Marilyn Monroe. She died before I was born,
I rushed toward the table where a figure dressed completely in black from head to toe was standing, peering at the screen of my laptop. On my way past, I snapped the lid closed and the force of my speed blew several papers up and away, sending them fluttering to the floor.
The woman gasped—turning around, her back going up against the edge of the table. Her eyes searched the room for me, but I wasn’t done bouncing around. I went from one end of the room to the other, flipping on and off the lamps, turning on the flat screen hanging above the fireplace, and then hitting a button causing the logs in the hearth to burst into flames.
The woman pushed away from the table, rushing toward the set of French doors that led outside, but I caught her around the waist before she took three steps and yanked her back so she was firmly against me, pinned between my arms.
She didn’t miss a beat and stomped down on my bare foot with her stiletto heal, causing me to howl in pain and release her. She ran forward as I recovered, reaching out and grabbing at her, only coming away with the black knit cap she’d stuffed over her head.
A flash of blond filled my vision before I caught her arm and yanked her back against me once more. Her chest was heaving and her nails dug into my arms, but I ignored it all.
“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?” I growled into her ear.
“How did you move that fast?” She gasped.
Her voice. I knew that voice. It grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. So much for it not being the infuriating girl with a man’s name.
“You better have a damn good explanation for why I found you in my house, going through my things, George.”
She stiffened and I felt her retort rise up inside her.
“Ah—ah—ah,” I sang in her ear. “Now is not the time to piss me off any more than you already have,” I warned.
Wisely, her mouth snapped shut as I spun her around to face me.
Chapter Four
“Cat suit - a close-fitting one-piece garment that covers the torso and the legs and frequently the arms.”
Frankie
Once my shift from hell at work was over I drove straight to the closest gas station and filled my arms with enough sugary goodness to get me through the next week, or maybe just tonight, and dumped it all on the counter in front of the cashier who took in my haul with his usual disdain. I ignored him and went to grab some Dr. Pepper, Cherry Coke, and Yoo-hoo and added that to my pile.
At the last minute, I added a pack of pink bubblegum and winked when I got a glare in return.
Once inside my Jeep Wrangler, I cranked up the heat and tore into a bag of Sour Patch Kids, popping about five into my mouth at once. I enjoyed the way the sour coating on the outside burned my tongue. I backed out of the lot and drove the short drive to my apartment, with the radio too loud and too much candy in my mouth.
I let myself into my apartment, flipping on the light as I shut the door, and then leaned back against the painted-wood finish and sighed. Peace at last. I wasn’t a loner, I wasn’t a quiet person who enjoyed staying in rather than going out, but after the day I had… it was nice to be alone.
I took in the Tiffany-blue walls (hey, every girl need’s a little Tiffany’s in her life, even if it is only paint), the cream-colored sofa, mirrored coffee table, and the scattered magazines around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. I dropped my bag of goodies on the floor beside the couch and shrugged out of my coat as I walked to the wall of posters all hung in vintage frames.
All the posters were of the same person. The woman I respected, was intrigued by, and yeah, maybe slightly obsessed with: Marilyn Monroe. She died before I was born,
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