Flavor of the Month

She kicked her cords to the corner of the room then shimmied out of the offensive clothing. She held them up, disgusted. Who, besides her, wore such dreadful underwear? She groaned then stalked to the connecting bathroom and threw them into the old claw-foot tub.

“Oh, but there are plenty of others where those came from,” she muttered to herself.

She strode back into the bedroom and rifled through her underwear drawer, coming out with a single pair of acceptable bikinis and putting them on before yanking out every last pair of undesirable, repulsive cotton panties. Her eye caught on a brand-new blue-and-white striped pair, then another two pairs of plain white. Okay, so she could still use them as period panties. But the rest of them? They had to go.

Hands full, she stalked back to the bathroom and dumped the offending underwear into the bathtub with the other pair, not stopping until she stood above the pile with lighter fluid and matches. Only she was unprepared for the huge flame that shot out from the mess, licking at her fabric shower curtain, determined to take that with them, as well.

Oh boy…

The smoke alarm in the hall began buzzing as she reached to turn on the faucet then used the handheld showerhead to attack the threatening flames.

Great, just great. Only she could nearly burn the house down trying to destroy any evidence of the ugliest underwear known to man. So what if they were comfortable? So what if they were affordable? Ben Kane had seen her in them.

She put the last of the flames out, gave the smoldering black pile another squirt of water, then went out into the hall to fan at the earsplitting alarm. Over the racket, she made out pounding on her door. She looked in that direction. The building stood apart from the others and hers was the only one that boasted an apartment overhead. She groaned. If it was Ben, she’d die. Just absolutely die.

Coughing, she rushed to open the door that overlooked the back alley and that was accessible by an iron-wrought staircase, to find herself staring at one of her regular customers.

“Johnnie!” she said. Computer geek Johnnie Thunder was the last one she expected to see on her doorstep at this time of night.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, trying to look beyond her.

Reilly fanned at the smoke filling the apartment. “Fine. Everything’s fine. Just a little…accident in the kitchen, that’s all.”

Oh, that was grand. Her, a baker, setting fires in the kitchen. If her insurance company ever found out she’d said that, her premiums would go through the roof.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked.

Johnnie’s gaze lowered. Seemed she had forgotten to put her pants on over her skimpy bikinis.

Oh, why couldn’t it have been Ben at the door?

She reached for a magazine and held it over herself.

Johnnie said, “I heard the smoke alarm across the street. You know, from my apartment.”

She hadn’t known he lived across the street. “Oh.” She smiled. “Sorry to have disturbed you. I’m sure the stupid thing will stop just as soon as I get some of this smoke out of here.”

“Do you need some help?”

“No!” Reilly bit her bottom lip then sighed. “I mean, thank you, but it’s nothing I can’t handle, really.”

“Are you sure?”

Oh, yes. The last thing she wanted was for him to discover what she’d really been doing. “Positive. See you in the morning.”

He nodded. “In the morning, then.”

Reilly closed the door after his retreating back then collapsed against the hardwood. The smoke alarm finally shut off, leaving the apartment almost eerily silent and smelling like acrid smoke. It would probably take a month for her to get rid of the smell.

Which was no less than she deserved, she supposed. I mean, who forgot they were wearing granny panties when there was a remote chance that one of the hottest guys in L.A. might be stopping by at midnight?

Her, that’s who. And she wasn’t very happy with herself about it.

“Fate,” she whispered.

Yes, that’s what it was. She hadn’t been fated to sleep with someone of Ben Kane’s impressive caliber so fate had stepped in to interrupt. To remind her of who she was, who she used to be, and who she would never be with.

She clamped her eyes shut. Just once. Just once she would liked to have gone out with the captain of the football team.

And just once she would have liked to have had sex with Ben Kane.

“Not in this lifetime.” Reilly tossed the magazine back onto the hall table then stepped back toward the bathroom and the mess there. Better a little mess now then a big mess later, a quiet voice in her head said.

“Tell that to my raging hormones,” she responded.

Even as she scooped the charred cotton out of the tub and into the wastebasket, she wondered where that gift was that Mallory had given her a year or so ago. The one that took fifty dollars worth of batteries and could give a jackhammer a run for its money. She figured that nothing less would be able to take Ben’s place in her bed that night. Though she suspected even the deluxe vibrator wouldn’t come close.

Something clattered in the alley outside. She slowly straightened, straining to hear. Was Johnnie still out there in case she should change her mind and need his help?

Another clatter, this time closer. Reilly jumped. She slowly put the wastebasket down, searched around the bathroom, then picked up a can of aerosol hairspray. She made her way back out to the door and wrapped her fingers around the knob. If it was Johnnie, she’d just tell him…what? That she’d been fixing her hair?

Oh, this is ridiculous, she thought. It was probably just a mouse or something.

Still, she gripped the can tightly as she swung the door inward.

Nothing. Not even a breeze disturbed the night.

She made a face and dared stick her head outside, looking from the left to the right. Not a person to be seen.

She dropped the can to her side and sighed. She was losing it. Really, she was.

The door was nearly closed when she heard a loud screech. She jumped and began spraying. Only the black scrap of fur that she had nearly closed the door on was already inside her apartment, watching her.

A cat.

She rested a hand over her loudly beating heart. “You scared the bejesus out of me,” she whispered, taking in the battered feline. Getting caught in a door looked like it was far from the worst that had happened to the bedraggled black cat. Tufts of fur were missing from his back and hindquarters. Cats didn’t molt, did they?

Reilly opened the door again. “Go on, now. Scat.”

The cat didn’t move. Worse, it sat down, twitching its tail at her.

“Come on, now. It’s too late for this.” Nothing. “If you go back outside I’ll give you some milk.”

The cat got up and meowed, but made no move toward the door.

Reilly looked back outside, then closed the door again. “Fine. You want to bunk here for the night, I’m okay with that. But first thing in the morning, you go.” She put the hairspray down then headed for the kitchen where she put out milk and a half can of tuna. “And no complaints about the smell. It’s a long story.”

The cat shied away from her touch, but the instant she began scratching its ears, it leaned into her palm. Reilly smiled.