a motorcycle gang storming into a town for the fun of causing
mayhem. The "defiant ones" snorted and snuffled in glee, causing her to sit bolt
upright in bed.
She cautiously lifted the shade on the window in time to see the little picket
fence which surrounded her grandmother's rose garden crash over. Stomping pig
feet echoed in the night.
Her grandmother's garden was trampled in a random display of violence before the
herd inexplicably moved on.
Hank was fit to be tied.
The Hogs resided with their neighbor, Joe Sprit, who lived several miles down
the road. Every now and then, for reasons known only to The Hogs, they escaped
their pen to take a midnight foray through the town. It had been going on for
years. Zanita referred to it in her goofier moments as "The Night of The Hogs."
Since no one was sure how to deal with the problem, they tended to live with it.
Joe claimed he had reinforced the fencing several times, but somehow, when The
Hogs wanted out; they got out. When a Hog had mayhem on its mind, there was
little a human could do.
So now, she ruminated facetiously, she was just grist for the Hog mill. Deciding
that some fresh air might revive her, she walked outside to the front of the
theater. It wasn't long before she saw Tyber pulling into the lot on the back of
a Harley-Davidson. Somehow she was not surprised.
He slung his helmet over the bars, spotting her at once. Smiling a greeting, he
walked her way, looking altogether too sensuous and sinewy. He wore black,
thigh-hugging jeans with black boots. A gray shirt and cuffs turned back on his
forearms completed the dangerous look. His long hair was tied back, once again,
in a ponytail. She wondered what it would look like loose about his shoulders,
silently thanking him for not putting her through that torture.
"Waiting for me?" He greeted her with a grin.
Unashamedly arrogant. "Getting some air. Everyone's waiting for you inside."
He nodded, steering her through the door. "I have a confession to make—I really
wanted to see this picture, and I hate going to the movies alone."
"So you engineered it so the whole class would accompany you? Talk about abuse
of power…."
"Afraid so. I'll tell you what—to make it up to you, I'll buy your ticket. But
you have to buy the popcorn."
"What kind of a deal is that? The popcorn in this place is more than my rent."
"I never said I was stupid." He winked at her, revealing that engaging dimple.
After greeting the class and telling them to meet after the movie in the mall
court, he drew her determinedly over to the refreshment stand.
"A jumbo deluxe popcorn," he told the girl behind the counter.
"Thanks a lot! Why don't you get Stan to buy your popcorn for you? I'm sure he'd
be more than willing."
He considered her question for a moment. "Because Stan doesn't have legs like
yours."
That shut her up. He had noticed. "You shouldn't talk to your students like
that."
He threw her a look. "You're not a student, and this is not a classroom. It's a
seminar—for colleagues." He fished his wallet out of his back pocket to pay the
girl.
"I am not a colleague of yours, and I said I would pay for that."
"I'm aware of that. As for the popcorn—I was joking."
"But—"
"Let's go see the movie."
As he led her to their seats, she got the uncomfortable feeling that she had
somehow been maneuvered into a date without ever agreeing to one, or for that
matter being asked to one. The sneaking suspicion crossed her mind that Tyber
could have manipulated the entire class just for that purpose. But that was
absurd. Why would he do such a thing?
She felt an elbow nudge her side.
"You're falling asleep again, Ms. Masterson. I don't mind, but the two rows
behind us are complaining about your snores."
"I don't snore." She mumbled, falling into a doze again.
Jab.
"Will you quit it?"
"Why are you so tired?" he whispered low in her ear, sending a frisson down her
bare neck. "Is my company that
mayhem. The "defiant ones" snorted and snuffled in glee, causing her to sit bolt
upright in bed.
She cautiously lifted the shade on the window in time to see the little picket
fence which surrounded her grandmother's rose garden crash over. Stomping pig
feet echoed in the night.
Her grandmother's garden was trampled in a random display of violence before the
herd inexplicably moved on.
Hank was fit to be tied.
The Hogs resided with their neighbor, Joe Sprit, who lived several miles down
the road. Every now and then, for reasons known only to The Hogs, they escaped
their pen to take a midnight foray through the town. It had been going on for
years. Zanita referred to it in her goofier moments as "The Night of The Hogs."
Since no one was sure how to deal with the problem, they tended to live with it.
Joe claimed he had reinforced the fencing several times, but somehow, when The
Hogs wanted out; they got out. When a Hog had mayhem on its mind, there was
little a human could do.
So now, she ruminated facetiously, she was just grist for the Hog mill. Deciding
that some fresh air might revive her, she walked outside to the front of the
theater. It wasn't long before she saw Tyber pulling into the lot on the back of
a Harley-Davidson. Somehow she was not surprised.
He slung his helmet over the bars, spotting her at once. Smiling a greeting, he
walked her way, looking altogether too sensuous and sinewy. He wore black,
thigh-hugging jeans with black boots. A gray shirt and cuffs turned back on his
forearms completed the dangerous look. His long hair was tied back, once again,
in a ponytail. She wondered what it would look like loose about his shoulders,
silently thanking him for not putting her through that torture.
"Waiting for me?" He greeted her with a grin.
Unashamedly arrogant. "Getting some air. Everyone's waiting for you inside."
He nodded, steering her through the door. "I have a confession to make—I really
wanted to see this picture, and I hate going to the movies alone."
"So you engineered it so the whole class would accompany you? Talk about abuse
of power…."
"Afraid so. I'll tell you what—to make it up to you, I'll buy your ticket. But
you have to buy the popcorn."
"What kind of a deal is that? The popcorn in this place is more than my rent."
"I never said I was stupid." He winked at her, revealing that engaging dimple.
After greeting the class and telling them to meet after the movie in the mall
court, he drew her determinedly over to the refreshment stand.
"A jumbo deluxe popcorn," he told the girl behind the counter.
"Thanks a lot! Why don't you get Stan to buy your popcorn for you? I'm sure he'd
be more than willing."
He considered her question for a moment. "Because Stan doesn't have legs like
yours."
That shut her up. He had noticed. "You shouldn't talk to your students like
that."
He threw her a look. "You're not a student, and this is not a classroom. It's a
seminar—for colleagues." He fished his wallet out of his back pocket to pay the
girl.
"I am not a colleague of yours, and I said I would pay for that."
"I'm aware of that. As for the popcorn—I was joking."
"But—"
"Let's go see the movie."
As he led her to their seats, she got the uncomfortable feeling that she had
somehow been maneuvered into a date without ever agreeing to one, or for that
matter being asked to one. The sneaking suspicion crossed her mind that Tyber
could have manipulated the entire class just for that purpose. But that was
absurd. Why would he do such a thing?
She felt an elbow nudge her side.
"You're falling asleep again, Ms. Masterson. I don't mind, but the two rows
behind us are complaining about your snores."
"I don't snore." She mumbled, falling into a doze again.
Jab.
"Will you quit it?"
"Why are you so tired?" he whispered low in her ear, sending a frisson down her
bare neck. "Is my company that
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