Scenes From the City: A Knitting in the City Wintertime Surprise Read Online Free PDF

all my lists.
    “Really…? Taser someone?” he asked, resuming his typing. “I find that hard to believe.”
    “No. It’s true. I’ve always wanted to do it.”
    He shook his head. “Nah. You’re too empathetic. You wouldn’t be able to purposefully hurt someone.”
    “I would.” I decided not to tell him about the time I’d pistol-whipped a thug in Elizabeth’s old apartment. It hadn’t come up yet, and I was saving it for a time when I wanted to shock the hell out of him. “I would do it if that someone were a criminal.”
    Alex’s answering smile was roguish. “I’m a criminal.”
    “No, you were a criminal. And you know what I mean. Someone in the middle of a crime.”
    “I could be in the middle of a crime right now.”
    I glowered at him, setting my coffee down on the breakfast bar. “I mean a violent criminal in the middle of a violent crime—like assault or armed robbery or…kidnapping. If I came upon someone in the middle of a violent crime, I could totally taser the hell out of that person.”
    He was silent, his eyes still on the screen of his laptop, but now he was moving his wireless mouse around and clicking like mouse clicking was a contest.
    I sipped my coffee, studied his handsome face, and decided that I loved him more every second I spent with him. I wondered briefly how that was possible.
    Then I allowed my imagination to wander; I pictured tasering a violent criminal. I couldn’t do it if the guy was just standing there or had surrendered. Alex was right about that. But if I felt threatened , or was trying to stop her/him, or if I were saving another person, then I knew I’d have the tits for the job.
    “I could totally do it,” I said to the room, nodding to myself. “I would do it.”
      His gaze narrowed on the screen, then he lifted just his eyes, trapping me with a stare that looked both challenging and enthusiastic.
    “What time do you get off tonight?”
    “Depends on what time you get me off tonight.” I winked at him.
    I was pleased to see Alex grin then roll his eyes. “God, I love you.”
    I laughed like an evil person at his reaction, then volunteered, “I can get off work as early as four, why?”
    “Let’s go to the Chicago Museum of Art. They’re having a special exhibition of Monet.”
    “Monet? Impressionists? You don’t like impressionists. You told me they look like finger paintings.” I looked at him askance, then gulped the rest of my coffee.
    “Humor me. We’ll get cake after.”
    “You know I love cake. But if we keep eating cake at this rate, my increasing bottom size will require a new wardrobe.”
    “I’m good with that.”
    Now it was my turn to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t help my smile. I loved this about Alex. He didn’t seem to care if I was fit or flabby; every change in my body got him excited. After we married I developed a tummy pooch and the very real beginnings of love handles. He loved it, loved them. He’d grab and bite and smack my soft parts during lovemaking and growl his approval.
    I didn’t love it because I felt unhealthy, so I started seeing a personal trainer and got mad fit for a period of time. He loved that, too. He exploited my newfound strength and flexibility, and—after borrowing Janie’s illustrated guide to the Kamasutra—we’d been extremely adventurous.
    Currently the pendulum was swinging in the other direction. It was my birthday month, and I’d always had a tendency to celebrate by eating dessert after every meal. As well, my trainer was off climbing some mountain in Timbuktu (or thereabouts), so I’d stopped going to the gym because I was, at heart, lazy and hated exercising for the sake of exercising.
    “Where my bottom is concerned, I think you’re good with anything and everything,” I said, lifting my eyebrows meaningfully.
    “That’s true.” I saw him shrug and felt his eyes move over my body as I hopped off my stool and crossed to the sink. “As long as it’s your