From Strawberry...

"Maybe she's looking at you," I say, but my heart is doing a drunken stagger and my hands are shaking. The back of my neck is burning like I can feel her gaze.

"Oh, honey, I couldn't be more flaming if I had fire tattooed all over my smashing bod."

I'm laughing for real now and the stack of books I'm holding cascades from my grip like slippery little traitors. Then Jay is gone, that rat bastard, and I bend to gather up the books.

"Can I help?" I've never heard her voice but my visceral reaction seals the deal. It's Strawberry.

I cannot bring my gaze up. "I've got it," I whisper. My eyes are locked on her black skirt, her fence net stockings, her short black buckle boots. I want to run the tips of my fingers over the boots to see if the leather is as soft as it looks. She's crawling to gather some books for me. My brain jumps in with graphic X-rated images of her crawling to me, naked. Then me to her. Her mouth on me, everywhere. And then mine on her. The taste of bright young skin and shampoo and whatever the hell pink tastes like.

"You okay?" she says, smiling. Her lips are pink, too and so is her tongue.

I bite my own tongue to snap out of it and jump as if she's shouted at me. I've had so many fantasies about this woman, I half wonder if I'm hallucinating. Until she touches me, kneeling on the floor in front of me.

"Yeah, I'm a fucking klutz is all. Thanks, thanks a lot," I say and turn and hurry away, clutching my books.

I hear her soft laughter as I retreat. My red pleather boots squeaking at me with each step. I swear they're saying, chicken, chicken, chicken.

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