she could feel him in her personal space. He was really crowding her now. Was he just a thoughtless fast walker? No, not with the expanse of grass where he could pass her if he wanted. He was on her heels.
She shouldn’t have worn these Jimmy Choos to walk around town in. But they were so pretty . . . Her ankle gave out again, and she stopped all of a sudden to keep from falling off her four-inch heels. The person behind her had no choice but to plow right into her. They both went down onto the grass, and the contents of her purse spilled all around her. As she began to pick her things up, she turned to see just who this idiot was.
Oh, for crying out loud. It’s a kid. She glared at him but saw he was writhing around in pain. Abandoning the contents of her purse, she went to see if he was all right.
Lying on his back, he swayed slightly from side to side and clutched his left leg that was bent at the knee and pressed up against his chest. As she neared him, asking if he was okay, he suddenly let out a wail. His thigh dropped to the ground, and he clutched his unattached calf to his chest.
“My leg! My leg! What have you done?” he howled dramatically.
She was momentarily horrified. He’d turned to lay on his side, shielding her view so that all she saw was a tennis shoe sticking out from under his arm as he rocked and sobbed into the grass, hugging his calf like a baby doll. What should she do? Call for help? Put something on his leg to slow the bleeding?
Then she realized there was no blood. He wore baggy cargo shorts that hung over his knee, well, one knee at least, the other one was in the kid’s arms. A prosthesis . You can’t kid a kidder.
She marched over, clutched the tennis shoe, and pulled the leg out of his grasp. “Well, I’ll be,” she said, examining the leg. “I’ll admit you had me for a second, dude. Nice try.”
The kid was still on his back, rocking from side to side, but now he was in peals of laughter instead of fits of sorrow. She dropped the leg onto his chest with a thud and went back to her purse, where she resumed gathering the contents.
A book was in her pile of things, and she knew it wasn’t hers. She picked it up and rolled her eyes. Everything You Always Wanted to know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask. The dirty little cretin; he wanted to intimidate her. Well, he picked the wrong girl. She stuffed everything back into her shoulder bag while he strapped his prosthesis on.
He stood, and as she handed the book to him, she said, “Oh, you poor dear. Having to resort to a textbook for instruction. Or is it like a dirty book? Will nobody go out with you? Well, don’t you be ashamed.” As she talked, she noticed something in his hand. Something he was trying to hide.
He mumbled some inane apologies and attempted to turn while stowing the object in his hand into one of the cargo pockets.
She opened her purse, rifled around, and realized her wallet was missing. She quickly scanned the area. There were people milling about on the sidewalks, but nobody was near her. She bounded after him and grabbed his upper arm.
He looked over his shoulder just as she clamped a second hand to the base of his neck. He tried to pull away, but her long fingernails dug into the base of his scalp. He stopped, and she whirled him around to face her.
She tried to make her tone as deadly as possible, but her Southern accent surely softened it. She adjusted his collar and smoothed the front of his shirt. “What’s your name, slick?”
“Poop on you.” He tried to turn away, but she held on firmly.
“Well, Poop, if I ever see you again, I will snatch off that leg of yours and beat you with it myself.” She smiled at him as if they were having a pleasant conversation, but she could see the look in his eyes go from cocky to wary. “And then I will stuff said limb into your throat and pull it out of your ugly little belly button.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. She poked his belly, patted his
She shouldn’t have worn these Jimmy Choos to walk around town in. But they were so pretty . . . Her ankle gave out again, and she stopped all of a sudden to keep from falling off her four-inch heels. The person behind her had no choice but to plow right into her. They both went down onto the grass, and the contents of her purse spilled all around her. As she began to pick her things up, she turned to see just who this idiot was.
Oh, for crying out loud. It’s a kid. She glared at him but saw he was writhing around in pain. Abandoning the contents of her purse, she went to see if he was all right.
Lying on his back, he swayed slightly from side to side and clutched his left leg that was bent at the knee and pressed up against his chest. As she neared him, asking if he was okay, he suddenly let out a wail. His thigh dropped to the ground, and he clutched his unattached calf to his chest.
“My leg! My leg! What have you done?” he howled dramatically.
She was momentarily horrified. He’d turned to lay on his side, shielding her view so that all she saw was a tennis shoe sticking out from under his arm as he rocked and sobbed into the grass, hugging his calf like a baby doll. What should she do? Call for help? Put something on his leg to slow the bleeding?
Then she realized there was no blood. He wore baggy cargo shorts that hung over his knee, well, one knee at least, the other one was in the kid’s arms. A prosthesis . You can’t kid a kidder.
She marched over, clutched the tennis shoe, and pulled the leg out of his grasp. “Well, I’ll be,” she said, examining the leg. “I’ll admit you had me for a second, dude. Nice try.”
The kid was still on his back, rocking from side to side, but now he was in peals of laughter instead of fits of sorrow. She dropped the leg onto his chest with a thud and went back to her purse, where she resumed gathering the contents.
A book was in her pile of things, and she knew it wasn’t hers. She picked it up and rolled her eyes. Everything You Always Wanted to know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask. The dirty little cretin; he wanted to intimidate her. Well, he picked the wrong girl. She stuffed everything back into her shoulder bag while he strapped his prosthesis on.
He stood, and as she handed the book to him, she said, “Oh, you poor dear. Having to resort to a textbook for instruction. Or is it like a dirty book? Will nobody go out with you? Well, don’t you be ashamed.” As she talked, she noticed something in his hand. Something he was trying to hide.
He mumbled some inane apologies and attempted to turn while stowing the object in his hand into one of the cargo pockets.
She opened her purse, rifled around, and realized her wallet was missing. She quickly scanned the area. There were people milling about on the sidewalks, but nobody was near her. She bounded after him and grabbed his upper arm.
He looked over his shoulder just as she clamped a second hand to the base of his neck. He tried to pull away, but her long fingernails dug into the base of his scalp. He stopped, and she whirled him around to face her.
She tried to make her tone as deadly as possible, but her Southern accent surely softened it. She adjusted his collar and smoothed the front of his shirt. “What’s your name, slick?”
“Poop on you.” He tried to turn away, but she held on firmly.
“Well, Poop, if I ever see you again, I will snatch off that leg of yours and beat you with it myself.” She smiled at him as if they were having a pleasant conversation, but she could see the look in his eyes go from cocky to wary. “And then I will stuff said limb into your throat and pull it out of your ugly little belly button.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. She poked his belly, patted his
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