4: In Which She Has a Knight to Remember

4: In Which She Has a Knight to Remember

********************

“So what do you think?” Roxanne looked at me expectantly, batting her exceptionally long faux lashes. She waited a beat. “Amor? Say something.”

I closed the magazine. “Why haven’t I ever heard of it?”

“Beats me.” She shrugged, kicking her feet up on her desk. Her heels were extraordinarily high. At least six inches. “Iron Woman is considered one of the top international magazines out there. It empowers women, but without getting too fucking feminist, y’know?”

“I guess writing a column is easier than writing a book,” I said slowly, my eyes on Mila Kunis, who was on the cover in all her dark-haired, smoky-eyed glory. To be honest, I was a little excited about writing. It was the little vain princess inside.

“Great.” Rox clapped her hands together, sitting up straight. “Lesner will be pleased, I guess. He only wants you to succeed, Amor.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“You could be a star if you really put your mind to it. Think Nate Berkus, Gayle King, Dr. Phil, hell, even Oprah herself.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. I’ve got to get back to the booth, Rox. Five minutes ’til show time.”

“You’ll thank me one day, babe.”

***

Radio One’s station was almost directly across a very popular bar nicknamed The Brawl on account of the number of bar fights that took place every night. The hilarious thing was that it was owned by a supposedly upstanding citizen of the town, yet the bar’s patrons were anything but. It was highly unfair that, whenever I worked late, I had the misfortune of bumping into a drunkard or two. Despite the station’s high gate and maximum security, things were pretty lax at night. Hell, the guards took one-hour bathroom breaks. Who honestly wanted to break into a lowly radio station?

The Brawl was opposite the station but it wasn’t exactly extremely near it. I’d made the stupid decision to park my Beemer outside the gate. Rox had warned me countless times about doing that; that that was asking for trouble. After the station manager had his Benz’s tyres stolen, the unofficial rule was to protect your car at all times. Drunks did the dumbest things.

Clutching my handbag to one side, I stuck my key into the car and tried to turn it, to no avail. Peering in the dim glow of a streetlight, my face crumpled into a frown. Someone had obviously tried to break in with some tool, and ruined my lock in the process. My key wasn’t going to go in anytime soon. I hotfooted it to the passenger door, trying the same thing. No go. The bastard had tried that door too. However, it was obvious he wanted the car in one piece, otherwise he would’ve bashed a window in out of desperation.

Now what am I going to do?

I could break the window but it would be like savagely attacking a defenceless toddler. My Beemer was my baby. I could never do that to her.

Taxi, it is.

But I couldn’t just leave my car there overnight. What if whoever tried to break in came back with the proper tools?

Catch 22, Amor. I believe that’s what they call it.

“Oh, finally,” a voice said from the shadows. My heart jumped into my throat and I mashed myself against my car. “Was waiting for you to show up,” he slurred.

The man was drunk, that much was obvious. His long, black hair was dishevelled and matted to his face with perspiration. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt, I placed him as a twenty-something.

He stretched out a hand. “Gimme the keys.”

“What?”

“Keys. I gotta go home.” He patted the roof of my car. “See, I didn’t want to hurt the car. I mean you no harm.”

“Get lost,” I spat. Did he expect me to recoil in fear? Just hand over my keys and stand out in the dark?

His face hardened. “Come on, lady. My ride left. I need to get home. My head hurts.”

“Not my problem. Call a cab.”

“I want to drive myself.” He pulled a fist back and flung it into my window. I squealed. He squealed.

“Shít shít shít!” Blood gushed from the lacerations in his hand. “Why did I do that? I should’ve wrapped it in my shirt, right? That’s what they do in the movies. I’m such a f*ck-up!”

“Go away,” I said loudly, raising my bag like a weapon. “Go away and I won’t press charges.”

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

“I’m so scared, bítch.” With his non-bloody hand, he reached in through the hole he’d made and unlocked my door. “You gonna give me the keys or what? I don’t know how to hotwire.”

“Somebody help me!” I screeched, the sound of my voice echoing in the night. Unfortunately, the noise from the bar made it impossible for anyone to hear me.

Long Hair was now coming at me. I screamed, running around the car, to the safety of the other side. He let out a crazed laugh.

“We gonna play Tom and Jerry, huh?” His tongue exaggerated the r’s. “My head hurts. So stop.”

“I’ll give you money for a cab,” I told him. “Just leave my car alone.”

“What’s so special about it? What’s the engine like?”

“Twin turbo, I think.”

“Yeah? Which series is this one?”

Seriously? We’re going to talk cars? “It’s a BMW 328i. It’s very special to me, so why don’t you leave it alone?”

He nodded. “I want the keys.”

“But you just nodded!”

“Did I? Oh. Right. My head hurts too much to shake. Can we agree that nodding means no?”

“I’m not giving you my keys!”

“It’s just a car. I’ll pry them outta your hands if you really insist.”

He resumed his slow, drunken shuffle toward me.

“Is there a problem here?” a voice said.

I recognised that voice. My heart sank at that voice.

“Get lost, buddy. We’re just fooling around.”

Ashton stepped in front of me. “This is the second time this month, punk. You remember me? The guy that cracked your rib the last time?”

Long Hair backed away. “Can’t you mind your own business, asshole?”

“Fuck off, buddy, before we go for round two.”

Long Hair seemed to think about it. “Prick.” He staggered away, mumbling to himself.

Ashton turned around to get a look at me. He arched a brow in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” I jerked a thumb at the gate of the station. “Thank you,” I said grudgingly, glancing at my broken window and feeling a ball of pity in my throat.

Ashton ran a finger along the ridges of the broken window. “You shouldn’t be out this late. The world preys on innocents like you.”

Pity was replaced with rage. “Innocents like me? I could’ve handled that guy. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Right. Your Usain-Bolt strategy definitely made him shit his pants,” he said patronisingly.

“Why don’t you get back to your drinks?” I muttered, throwing my bag into my car.

“I was just leaving.”

“Okay then, leave.”

“Come on, honey. I have to make sure your sexy little ass gets home safely. What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I don’t?” The mischievous grin on his mischievous face was the salt to my wound.

“I’m not even going to humour you. Leave me alone.” I bent and carefully picked up the shards of glass on my seat, throwing them onto the gravel. I used a copy of the latest Iron Woman to sweep the tiny particles onto the ground.

Ashton’s hand lightly patted my ass. I jumped, knocking my head on the roof of the car. Wincing, I straightened up.

“What the hell is your problem?” I growled, rubbing my head.

“Sorry. Force of habit. It was just out there.”

“Don’t ever touch me again,” I said through clenched teeth. I was more pissed at the sharp sensation that rushed into my abdomen.

He cocked his head to one side. “My hearing’s not the greatest. Did you ask me to touch you again?” He took a step forward, trapping me against my car.

“Go away.”

Ashton’s hands were like hot coals around my waist. The dress I was wearing was a cream knit one, thick to the touch. It might as well have been the thinnest silk by the way I felt every single tap. Ashton parted my legs with his knee, resting his leg between them. Without further ado, he upturned my chin, his fingers running down my neck. When his lips brushed against mine, that was the right moment to pull away, shove him back, and hop into my car and speed away. However, I couldn’t resist that small ‘why not?’ my conscience kept asking. His hands cupped my ass as the kiss deepened, my mouth opening slightly, and I inhaled sharply, looping my arms around his neck. He pressed himself more firmly against me, his groin against my stomach. Again, when his erection dug into my gut, that was the right moment to hit the road.

But I didn’t.

I ran my hands up his shirt and over his taut back, purring as his hand glided up my dress, gently stroking the skin of my hips. This was dangerous. We were in public. Anyone could see. Long Hair could be waiting in the shadows with his posse, just killing time until he tried for another attack.

And then Ashton’s hand skimmed over the front of my thong. It felt like I’d been torched down there.

He slowly pulled away, his eyes sparkling. “Goodnight, Amor.”

Goodnight?

I quickly recollected myself. “Yes. Thank you. ’Night.”

He waited for me to get into my car before leaning into the window. “You OK?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Why? I’m fine. Just fine. Thank you.”

“You need to stop thanking me. I might start thinking you’ve got a heart.”

***

“This better be good, Amor,” Rox growled into my phone. “The show starts in half an hour and you’re not here yet!”

I grimaced. “Rox, I...fuck it, I’ll just say it – I’m extremely horny.” I reddened at how crass I sounded.

There was a long silence after my revelation. “I don’t swing that way, babe,” she said slowly, “but if you’re really desperate –”

I burst into a fit of laughter, twirling the cord of my phone in my hand. “Are you crazy? You really think highly of yourself, Roxanne my dear.”

She laughed. “So you’re horny. Big deal. When was the last time you and that dish of a boyfriend of yours had sex?”

I rolled my eyes. If only she knew. If only she really knew when the last... “It’s been a while. You know how busy I am.”

“Then call him up tonight.”

“Can’t.”

“Then use your hand. Duh.” She paused. “Get your ass here ASAP, OK? You don’t want Upstairs breathing down your neck.”

“I’ll be there, I swear. I just...I’m frustrated.” And why are you telling her this, Amor?

“Amor, I have to go. For your sake, I hope you’re here on time.” She hung up.

Thanks to Ashton’s little display, my senses had awoken from their slumber. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep and was actually contemplating touching myself.

“Ick,” I said aloud, setting the phone on the cradle at my bedside. Masturbation was for horny teens. I was a woman. Besides, what would I fantasise about? I had the imagination of a Persian rug.

I hated my theme song. It was cheesy. I was going to have to speak to Rox about changing it.

“Hello, Nina. How are you today?” I forced some cheer into my voice.

“Hi, Amor. Not so great.” She paused, inhaling sharply. “I think I’m too uptight when it comes to anything sexual.”

I almost laughed. She could’ve been me.

“How so, hon?”

“Well, I push the men I like away emotionally and physically, until they give up and write me off as a dyke,” Nina replied, her voice soft. “I don’t know why I do it; I just do it. And...” She paused. “I haven’t had sex in years. I’m afraid I won’t know what to do.”

I glanced at Rox’s bright eyes behind the glass. She nodded for me to answer.

I cleared my throat. “Do you think it could have something to do with a past experience? Something awful that made you clam up like that?”

Nina considered this. “I...I don’t know. I had a weight problem in college. Could that have something to do with it?”

“Perhaps. You could still be feeling insecure about your outside appearance, but sweetheart, looks aren’t everything.” Bullshit, Amor. “And you should be comfortable in your own skin, no matter what size it is. When it comes to sex, there can be no doubts. It should be something you want wholeheartedly and no one should pressure you into it.”

“But how do I become comfy in my skin?”

“Do things you’ve always wanted to do but have never had the courage to try. Wear that dress you thought was too risqué. Ask a guy out. Buy a sex toy. Do different things but be you, Nina.”

Nina giggled. “There’s a really cute leopard-print I wanted to try on at Macy’s.”

“Go for it.”

Nina thanked me and I took the next caller, but all the while I was thinking about what a hypocrite I was. I knew nothing about love. Not since...

No, don’t even think about it.

When it was over and my stupid outro came on, I had the strongest desire to punch something. Preferably someone tall, dark and annoying.

“You were great,” Rox mouthed as I passed.

I shrugged.

She got to her feet and left the room, following me outside.

“Did you fix your little problem?”

I reddened. “Let’s not talk about it, OK?”

“I almost forgot – today’s Lesner’s birthday and the whole station’s invited,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together.

I mentally swore. “Count me out.”

Rox frowned. “It’s not like I’m asking you to screw the guy. Just show up at his party with a plus one.”

“Why do you continue to punish me?”

“It’s not short notice, sweetie. It’s tomorrow. So get primped, hmm?”

“Whatever.”

***

As I’d expected, Ashton made me grovel for a date. Whatever was left of my dignity was now dust in the air.

“I know I haven’t said this before but you clean up nicely,” he said, straightening the tie of his tux. He looked down at me. “This is the part where you thank me.”

“I’m paying you,” I muttered, stiffly accepting his arm. “If I wanted you to call me Britney Spears, you’d call me Britney Spears. Because I’m paying you.”

“That right?” His hand strayed down my side. I jolted with a start as if he’d burned me. As we entered Lesner’s front door, he breathed into my ear: “Britney Spears.”

The tightening in my abdomen was quite possibly the worst thing I’d ever experienced. He might as well have told me that he was going to fuck my brains out by the way I was reacting.

It was comforting to be drawn into a crowd of faceless people once inside Lesner’s mansion. There was no one I recognised and I wanted to keep it that way. I especially didn’t want to see Lesner himself. Or Rox, come to think of it.

“This guy’s embracing his inner asshole a little too much,” Ashton commented, indicating a large painting of a topless Lesner holding a spear in what looked like a desert.

“Jealous?”

“Right. I swear, Amor, you take me to the most boring places.”

A wave of anger washed over me. “Tell me, where would you like to go? DisneyLand? Or maybe the local McDonald’s?”

“You read me like a book. It’s scary,” he grinned, and I gently extracted myself from him.

Instead, I opted for taking his hand and all but dragging him through the frolicking crowd. If I saw Rox, I would be obligated to be pleasant and I really wasn’t in the mood for that. As it was, I was in the mood for a stiff drink. I mentioned this to Ashton and like a hound, he sniffed out Lesner’s bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, wiping down a wine glass.

“Red for me,” I said, settling on a free stool.

Ashton rolled his eyes at me. “She means two shots.”

“I don’t drink vodka,” I protested.

His eyes bore into mine. “Yeah, you don’t do much, actually.”

Oh yeah?

“Keep the wine,” I said through clenched teeth. “Smirnoff would be great.”

Ashton’s hands trailed down to the small of my back. “Now this I have to see, babe.”

I crossed one leg over another. That small touch had just about made me cream my panties.