Courted by Karma (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod) Page 2

  “Okay, try it like this.” Crookie pursed his lips and looked like a fish. He blew out softly. A soft, steady stream of sound emitted from between his lips.

  “No, Crookie, it just can’t be done with these lips. It’s a birth defect or something.” Even as I shook my head in denial, I pursed my lips like he demonstrated. I blew out softly. Barely a sound emerged and what did was anemic and wobbly before it disappeared completely. I put my hands on my hips. “See, I can’t!”

  Crooks blew out again and started whistling like a songbird, true and sweet. “See, you can, Bel. Just try again.”

  “You can, not me. I can’t,” I insisted, giggling.

  Crookie paused to say quickly, “Yes, you can.” He kept whistling jauntily and waved an encouraging arm in a “join me” motion.

  I laughed at his certainty that it only needed his special invitation for me to be able to suddenly start whistling “Dixie”. He looked so determined and goofy while wiggling his eyebrows and loudly whistling a lively tune that, puckering up to please him, I blew out again. It was to no avail. This time no sound emerged, no matter how many times I tried. I gave up. I have long ago resigned myself to the fact there are some things in life beyond my capabilities and whistling is one of them. Instead, I started clapping and getting down marching in place while leading the parade to Crookie’s warbling rendition of “When the Saints Come Marching Home”.

  Crooks stopped his whistling and grinned, the strange look back on his face again. “I can see somebody has been having fun tonight. I must have missed out on some partying.”

  Throwing out my arms, I laughed. “Oh yes, you did! We all had lots and tons of fun.” I peered closer at his smiling face, noticing his cheeks for the first time. “Wow! It must really be cold out there; your cheeks are flaming red. Sorry I took so long to answer the doorbell, but I was diggin’ in my undies drawer.”

  He smiled uncertainly at this while his glance nervously swept down the front of me. The light from overhead glinted off his rimless glasses before he averted his eyes.

  “Uh, Bel, I am almost afraid to ask, but why are you wearing only jeans and a bra?”

  Surprised, I looked down. Sure enough, I was shirtless and wearing only a black bra. Remembering now what had me groaning when awakening a few minutes ago, I vaguely recall getting so hot I couldn’t stand it and flinging off my sweater earlier in the living room. I may need to reconsider why I usually stick with one drink all night. Apparently, it’s not only because I don’t need to drink to have fun. I get incredibly overheated from booze, and the more I drink the hotter I get. Getting incredibly uninhibited in direct correlation with the number of shots I take doesn’t help. It only makes stripping start to make some kind of convoluted sense.

  ‘Huh. Maybe my bestest friend Anna was right again, and I AM liable to do crazy acts when I’m trashed.’

  “Well, crap,” I whispered out loud in wonder. I really hoped she was dead wrong about the drunken crying prediction because that would be the ultimate in disgusting.

  When it penetrated Crookie was fire-engine red from blushing and not frozen, my hands went up in front of my chest in a move that almost stabbed my eye out with the scissors. I then spread my hands to give my ta-ta’s a quick look to check out their exposure.

  Dropping my hands, I exclaimed on a laugh, “Oh, come on, you are such a baby! This bra isn’t even that skimpy! It’s not see-through or lacy. You’ve seen much more of my boobie’s in a bikini top.” I shooed him away with the scissors. “You go now, Crookie-Pookie. I need to do something. I’ll come find you in a few minutes, okay?”

  His unblinking eyes stayed so determinedly above my neck that I couldn’t hold back. Bursting out in laughter, I held onto my desk chair so that I didn’t fall over. This caused Crookie to blush harder, shut his eyes with a pained grimace, and turn his head away.

  Eyes closed, he spoke rapidly, “I am wired tonight after meeting with Tina. I think I will check out the movie situation on TV. I am hungry, too. Is there any ham left?”

  I had no desire whatsoever to hear about Crookie’s murdered, almost ex-wife’s funeral plans, but I knew soon I’d have to grimace and bear it. That’s why Crookie was staying with me, so I could offer him succor in his time of need.

  Straightening up, I giggled again when I realized he couldn’t see my nod. “Yep, there’s plenty of ham. Try the red grapes in the blue bowl. They’re the last of the organics this season, and really sweet and juicy.”

  I gave all my attention to the bag until I heard Crookie mutter something. I glanced back over my shoulder in question. “What?”

  His eyes were open again, but staring at some point above my head. Instead of leaving, he cleared his throat in a nervous gesture that I knew meant he had something to say.

  Smiling and shaking my head, I repeated encouragingly, “What, Crooks?”

  Behind the glasses, tonight his hazel eyes were a magnified kaleidoscope of green, gold, gray, and earnest. “It is all about the word “bra” for a man, Bel. Speaking for myself, I do not think it matters if the bra is skimpy or as large as a house. A woman in a bra is not a normal sight.”

  Still snickering over Crookie’s male definition of bra torment, I carefully finished wielding the scissors across the top inch of the gift bag. When the gift bag stood gaping open at the top, I leaned over and peered down into the interior.

  The big box I had felt up so thoroughly on Sunday night had a lined piece of paper folded in half and taped to the front. The words: ANABEL—READ THIS NOTE FIRST were written across the front in thick, black marker.

  ‘Holy Moly, this was like participating in a bossy scavenger hunt that was making my Vicky tingle!’

  Lifting the tape and removing the paper, I unfolded it and skimmed it as quickly as my eyesight allowed.

  Anabel,

  After reading this note, open the box. What I am going to ask you to do will take some time to prepare for, but I’ve given you all the tools necessary. I do not want you to stress over getting it perfect. I think a week is enough time. When you are ready, we’ll do it at my house. I will tell you then why this is my fantasy.

  Luke

  ‘Well, Holy Crap!’ Seeing the word “tools” and “prepare for” made my smile falter. Getting serious, I closed my eyes and prayed to the pleasure gods that no tortuous instruments of pain be in the box. I wasted no time opening the box after that. Taking out all the items one by one, I set them carefully on my desk.

  When the large box was emptied, I plopped down on my vacant desk chair. I surveyed His Turn all laid out before me while tapping my bottom lip in deep thought. The grin kept growing bigger and bigger under my finger.

  Crookie was absolutely correct to later accuse me of laughing maniacally. I did it for the first time after comprehending the full scope of Luke’s sex fantasy. I am now completely convinced there are unseen forces at work here, although from where they originate--north or south of the Equator of Evil--I do not know.

  What I do know is that I’m just a wee bit curious to find out the story behind Luke’s first choice of a sex fantasy, but I won’t need a week to prepare before I find out.

  Forty minutes ought to do it.

  ‘Stress over getting it perfect?’ I laughed loudly again. ‘Good god, this couldn’t BE more perfect!’

  Jumping up, I awkwardly scooped everything into my arms and ran down the long hallway to the exercise room. Kicking the door closed behind me, I switched on the overhead lights, set my load down on a chair, and checked out my iPod. I smiled in relieved satisfaction that I had remembered correctly.

  I had promised Luke faithfully to do everything his note said.

  Going over to the mirrored wall near the chair, I stripped off my jeans and panties. I unhooked the Black Bra of Torment and threw it over my shoulder.

  My smile turned into laughter. ‘How was Luke to know I could skip from A to Z in one, easy minute?’

  I picked up the first item and drew it over my head, f
eeling the cool fabric slither down over my nude body as I shimmied, wiggled, and adjusted.

  ‘Jesus, it fit perfectly. What an unusual Dark Prince to pay such close attention to detail!’

  I may not be operating on all cylinders but as I went through the pile on the chair, it didn’t take a sober genius to understand Luke must have been planning his turn at a fantasy long before we enacted mine last Friday night. It was a little disconcerting to know he had thought steps ahead to deliver the note Saturday, and then to deliver the gift bag Sunday night. It was also intriguing. I’ve never before encountered a man that strategizes in this way. Thinking back over Saturday and Sunday’s events, I was sure he hadn’t the time to shop for everything in that box during the weekend. I shrugged off the little ping of uneasiness this realization caused. I did conclude that while I don’t know what this means yet, I played right into Mr. Tricky’s hands by asking him if it was now “His Turn” in my note I’d left him Saturday morning.

  ‘I won’t be asking him when it’s My Turn again, after tonight, even if it kills me!’ I vowed.

  I fiddled with the iPod until I found what I wanted. Smiling wickedly at my image, I almost couldn’t believe what I was considering doing. If I wasn’t still smashed I might not have the balls, but I am and I do. It will be an extremely pleasurable way to remind Mr. Cocky that he doesn’t control the entire world; all while I am seriously rocking his.

  Would Luke’s life be any fun if he could predict and rule my world as easily as he does the rest of the Universe?

  I should say not! I agree he’d be a sad, depressed control freak without me to challenge him.

  Finished with putting on the last item I was wearing at this time, my critical gaze scanned up and down the full length of me reflected back in the mirror. Checking out my curves and angles, the excitement lighting me up inside was plainly visible on the outside. My eyes were hot blue flames outlined in black.

  I started dancing to the music filling the room. To my image in the mirror I said, “You are one hot mama. Uh huh, that’s right, I’m talking to you. Ever imagine you’d be doing THIS twenty years later, Hot Mama?” I held my hips as they exaggeratedly undulated in a slow, figure eight.

  Black was smeared under my eyes and my long blonde hair needed a comb, but all in all, I was still good to go from getting dolled up earlier this evening. Giggling at my dancing image in the mirror, I swung around to get busy. I had one more detail to take care of to make my plan work, but first stopped by the closet again. I adjusted my clothing and buttoned on an ankle length coat. A minute later, I found Crooks sitting at the kitchen island taking his first big bite of a ham and cheese on marbled rye.

  “Can you give me a lift and drop me off across the road from my brother’s place? Or do you think I could drive myself?”

  Crookie choked a little, but continued with the enormous bite of his sandwich. He raised his eyebrows as he took in my trench coat. He continued regarding me thoughtfully while he systematically chewed. I got a bottle of bubble water from the fridge and shifted from foot to foot waiting for his response.

  He finally swallowed. “Are you nuts? No, you cannot drive yourself, Bel.” He glanced up to the huge, round kitchen clock hanging high on the wall. “Do you want a ride now?”

  “No, I’m not nuts,” I laughingly retorted. “Geesh, why do you think I asked your opinion in the first place?” I followed his look and tried to read the clock’s arms pointing at the Roman numerals. Ten minutes after midnight. “In ten minutes?”

  Crookie shrugged. “Okay. I am not tired anyway.” He did his owl head tilt. “Why do you want to go across the road from your brother’s? Is this some kind of weird chicken joke? I thought he lived on a lake in the country somewhere?” At my laughter, he looked alarmed. “Tell me you are not asking to be dropped off somewhere on the side of the road because I am telling you--it is cold out there!”

  “Thank you! Reg does and I’m not.” I stretched up and kissed the air near his shoulder with a loud smack. On my way out of the kitchen, I grinned back at my favorite engineer or scientist, or whatever the heck he was, munching away on his sandwich while giving me a dubious, concerned look. “This little chicken will tell you more why she wants to cross the road on the drive over.” I motioned towards a drawer with my water bottle. “There’s a pen and stickies in there, if you want to write down the code to the doors so you can get back in here.” I stopped again and teased, “You won’t be scared here without me, will you?”

  Crookie’s mouth was full again, so he flashed me rolling eyes of disgust at my last question. He then vigorously nodded his agreement and flashed me the “okay” sign about the door code, as he reached for the drawer.

  In record time, I fixed myself up from top to bottom. In the bathroom mirror, I took in my finished appearance to fulfill my Dark Prince’s sexual fantasy and again laughed maniacally. I belted on the coat once more, filled a small cosmetic bag in case of touch-ups, and then went to load a backpack with the extra items still in the exercise room.

  Then it was back in my closet to pack up a couple of other key pieces I thought I may need. I was tucking a small gift bag of my own into the backpack when Crookie appeared at the door.

  “About ready?”

  “Yes I am!” I spun around to join him.

  Crookie noticed my toes poking out from under the long coat. He looked back up at me in disbelief, his high forehead puckering with frown lines.

  This is when my friend started channeling a Jewish mother and proceeded to harangue me that he would not let me leave the house half-naked in the winter in such flimsy shoes. He was so insistently stubborn over my protests I’d be fine, I impatiently relented or I knew we’d never leave.

  Without much thought, I placed a foot on his kneeling thigh for him to unclasp the glittering buckles of the ankle straps on my new stiletto-heeled sandals. I held onto his giant head for balance. He kept shouting at me to quit pulling his hair. Laughing helplessly, I was stumbling around while he guided my bare feet into the winter boots he’d found somewhere in my closet. He didn’t even have to unlace the thick laces running up their sturdy front.

  Muttering under his breath about ‘illogical, impulsive women that do not use the brains they are born with’, he placed the exquisite black sandals in the open backpack, but not before closely examining their sparkling, crystal-studded heels.

  “I would approximate these have to be a minimum of five inches tall!” He whistled under his breath. Chasing facial expressions left me in no doubt of his thoughts. There was fascinated horror that women torture themselves wearing such high heels. This was soon followed by calculating male speculation. My new shoes scream sex and it was nearly one in the morning.

  Crookie is too polite to actually come right out and ask what I’m up to. My answer to his inquisitive stare was an enigmatic little smile. Pointedly ignoring his disappointed expression, I closed the backpack and passed the bulging bag over to his outstretched hand to carry.

  We turned for the door and both stopped dead in our tracks.

  Mike McClain was standing in the hallway at the entrance to my closet. A hand that held a white satin and lace thong was idly scratching his bare chest. His eyes were bleary, but his smile was wide while he looked from me to Crookie, and then back to me again.

  Mike’s skin was winter pale over his attractively muscled chest and arms. I couldn’t help notice it appeared smooth like unblemished marble, except for the light smattering of dark hair across his pectorals. That chest hair hadn’t been there when I last saw him shirtless a decade ago. For that matter, his muscles hadn’t been so cut back then, either. A corporate lawyer, my old boyfriend obviously didn’t let a busy practice prevent him from spending time in the gym. Mike had grown up nicely to be one hunk of burning beefcake.

  I glanced up from my thoughts when he spoke. “All the running around and the crazy laughing woke me up. Where’s everybody going?”

  At least, that’s what I think he sai
d because his words were really slurred. I giggled at Mike’s hair in a spiky rooster-do on one side of his head, and at Crookie’s hanging jaw.

  “Umm…hi Mike,” Crookie finally answered, after throwing me an astonished, questioning look. “What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t really know, Bob, I just woke up in Bel’s bed.” He yawned so widely that I saw tonsils. Ignoring the thong wrapped around his hand, Mike cracked his knuckles and smiled toothily. He was rocking lightly on his feet.

  Mike’s eyes crinkled at the corners adorably when he smiled. “Hiya, Bel!”

  I smiled back. “Hiya, Mike.” In an aside to Crookie, I marveled, “Can you believe it? After you left, Mike hit the bottle tonight for the first time in ten years! He passed out on my bed and I forgot he was here.”

  His eyes glued to the thong, this explanation only increased the astonished expression on Crookie’s face. I didn’t provide him further details or want to remind Mike of what happened earlier. I was in a hurry.

  “Mike, there’s somewhere I have to be, so you need to go home, okay?”

  “Oh.” Mike’s exaggerated frown said that he didn’t like something about my statement, but he appeared too drunk to think coherently. Soon he was grinning again. ‘Okay, Bel, whatever you say!”

  Crookie pointed a hand at Mike’s chest. “Mike, where is your shirt?” He murmured peevishly to me, “Does anybody wear shirts around this place, or am I the only one who knows it is winter out there?”

  Mike only laughed while rubbing his sleepy eyes with both hands. He lowered them slightly to peek over at me. Eyes the color of melted caramels lit up with teasing warmth when he dangled the thong in the air. “Hiya, Bel. Is this yours? Did I see your bra tonight?”

  “Hiya, Mike.” I laughed, but answered Crookie. “We couldn’t find it. I don’t know what he did with it. We’ll get him into his jacket and he’ll be fine with no shirt until he gets home.”

  “I need a drink of water,” Mike stated, and leaned heavily against the closet door. He started moving his cheek against the satiny wood grain. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I can drive home.”