FANGED

Chapter Eight

Elongated fangs flashed white in the dimness of my living room as he smugly smiled at me while I continued to shriek until little black dots started to cha-cha into my line of vision.

"H...how...when...what...," I stuttered and stumbled unable to put a full sentence together while my head ping-ponged from him to the locked door, back to him and then around to the locked kitchen door behind me.

Gasping for air, I scrambled to put basic sentence structure back into my speech abilities. I only needed a noun, a verb, possibly an adjective or two, a pronoun...conjunction...Conjunction junction what's your function from School House Rock started to play in my head and ate at my brain like a demented zombie.

"Sit down before you pass out." The sound of his profoundly seductive voice momentarily threw me off balance and I grabbed the doorframe before I toppled over. Leaving a perfect imprint of my fingers in the trim. Drat! One more demerit against my security deposit. At this rate, I'll be buying Mrs. Myrtle a condo in Florida.

I needed to invest in some earplugs when it came to him. That husky voice mixed with his alluring accent was lethal to a women's libido. Not to mention his sexy bod all laid out on my couch as if he was offering himself up to me like a Pu Pu Platter.

Gathering my sidetracked thoughts, I griped my spoon shovel and thrust it towards the seductive beast.

"How the hell did you get in here?" I demanded, pleased that I had indeed figured out how to form complete sentence structures again. Next stop, Nobel Prize for Literature...here I come.

"I don't have time for this," he said, running an irritated hand through his raven hair, still clutching my billfold.

The man missed his calling in life, he should have done commercials for shampoo instead of being a creepy canined cat burglar.

"Good, because I don't have time for you either, Fang. Now, if you would kindly put my wallet back into my purse which...dude...didn't your mother ever teach you not to go into the forbidden zone of female purse?" I motioned with the spoon to my purse.

Sighing, he dropped my billfold back into my bag. "Happy?" he asked, quirking one of those sexy brows at me.

"Ecstatic." I slowly inched my way towards him, my trusty spoon held out in front of me as if I was holding a rifle with a bayonet through the jungles of Vietnam. Rambo had nothing on my moves.

When I was in grabbing distance, I reached out and snagged my purse, tossing it over my shoulder and quickly backed up.

"I'd better not be missing anything," I warned, narrowing my eyes at him and poking the empty space in front of me with my wooden weapon.

"Trust me, I have no desire for your membership card to Starbucks." He rolled his icy eyes.

"Goes to show what you know." I stuck my tongue out at him. "I'm one Frappuccino away from getting a free muffin. That's as good as gold," I mumbled while trying to rifle through my bag to check to see if he absconded with anything while keeping my spoon firmly pointed in his direction.

Multitasking seriously was not my thing, so I gave up and assumed he would have no use for tampons, safety pins and a half eaten bag of Goobers.

"Satisfied?" he asked sweetly, giving me another one of those "aren't you special" kind of smiles.

"Not until you're gone, now...SHOO!" I indicated the direction of the door with my spoon shovel.

You know...I really should have switched to the fork. It at least had pointy ends and would have been easier to shish kebab him with. Though, I had to admit, I had developed a fondness for the spoon. We'd been through a lot tonight and it felt like it had become a part of me. Maybe, I could keep both of them and strap them to my back like a dual pair of Excaliburs.