Tweaking Mr. Right

TMR: Chapter 2

Two

Leland's eyes followed the strange woman back to the bar. Boy, she looked pissed! He stared after her, enjoying the way her curves swayed with every forceful pound of her bare feet, almost feeling bad about the whole thing. He never meant to make her mad. He only wanted to get revenge on Angela.  

No one told him that Angela would be at the wedding. And EVERYONE knew how he would have felt about that. She disappeared at their engagement party a few weeks ago, he found her screwing a waiter in the restaurant's storage room, and now, everyone expects him to forget about it? No fucking way.

Then out of the blue, he's finishing his last cigarette, and this brunette sexpot paraded up to him with her shoes dangling from her fingers, and with Angela only a few steps behind her. He reacted. He was angry. He grabbed this strange woman and kissed her with all intensive purposes of showing Angela that he could toss that horseshoe, too. What he didn't expect was how her lips tasted like buttery rum and how her hair smelled like rosewood and lavender. And that her body molded against his magically. Her hips were round and soft, her waist small and tight, her breasts full and proud. She had enough curves to keep him busy through a long sleepless night. Angela was beautiful and perfect - and she knew it. This woman was sexy and pliant - and she stared at him with terror and hatred.

And then he goes and begs - begs! - for another kiss. All she wanted was her damn lighter! Leland never begged for anything in his life. But seeing the panic in her dark eyes, he wanted to make it up to her for attacking like that. He wanted to show her that he was not a rough brute, and that he could be tender and warm. And so, he kissed her again.

Someone once told him that the definition of 'insane' was repeating the same act over and over, expecting a different effect each time. Call me crazy, he thought, but I could kiss those lips over and over all night, even for a different reaction every time.

Angela never kissed him like that. Oh, she put her whole heart into them, he was sure, but that only confirmed how much love for him she really had in the first place. He should have known all along that she didn't love him. If a complete stranger could kiss him like that out of pure revulsion, he could only imagine how it would be if she enjoyed it.

"I need a drink," he muttered to himself. But Lighter Lady took off toward the bar. Joining her would not be wise. It's a good thing he would never see her again. With all the lawyers at this joint, she's probably one of them, and off to charge him with sexual harassment or something.

*****

I plopped down on the bar stool, my eyes brimming with angry tears, and bent to fasten my shoes to my feet again. Mat looked up, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Was it that guy? Did he do something to you?"

"No, I'm fine." I forced a smile to my lips...my bruised, swollen, wanting-more lips. I needed to calm myself. Mat was not your typical soft and cuddly gay best friend. His arms and legs exemplified tree trunks, and he was imposing if not tall. And he suffered from some serious dissension concerning men who treated women badly. But Mat's fights usually ended quickly: Guy hits Mat; Mat hits Guy; Guy hits the floor. There were only a few things I feared to disclose to my best friend, however I could not tell him what happened in the shadows.

"Where's Cora? I want to go home," I said through my fake smile. Mat was no fool. But he didn't push me either. He learned the result of my temper after I endured a week of detention from the pep rally-gum incident, and his gym locker mysteriously developed a bad case of garlic breath.