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My Guardian Angel(7)


“What?” I said, as my voice had cracked.

“Can you please be more careful?”

I turned away from him and began searching for my keys.

“I’ll be more careful,” I said flatly.

I needed to get away from him. His testosterone was singing my name. I would give anything to submit to him. I finally located my keys and opened the door, closing it on my new fantasy. Why did I feel safe with him?

1970s Dodge Charger

“So let me get this straight. A tall, yummy, hot looking stud saved you and you didn’t invite him in to fuck?” Leave it to Genna to yell it out over the music. She was stunningly gorgeous. She had to be, since she took good care of herself with her lean body and very expensive breasts. Her dark hair was always her best feature since it contrasted with her olive complexion perfectly.

The club was full, but Genna was a promoter and was able to get us the best seats in the house with all the trimmings.

“He was too young!” I shouted.

She rolled her eyes. “And?” I waved my hand at her.

“Fuckin’ lineup. So what did I miss?” Tara had come back from the bathrooms. Her shorter, blonde, statuesque body made her look like the perfect package. She was a voice actress for quite a few animated movies. At one time, she did try her hand at real acting. She gave it up after a while, since she only was getting offers for B movies. She figured voice acting was her ticket and she was fine with it.

“Little Miss Prissy over here, let a good-looking stud out of her vajajay’s grasp.” Genna thumbed at me. Tara gave me the same look Genna did when I first told her.

“I don’t know him,” I fired back.

“And?” Genna asked as if I was stupid.

I shook my head. “You both are sluts.”

Genna raised her glass. “If memory serves me right, so were you once.” I picked up my drink, remembering my younger years. I was such a stupid girl.

“That was then, this is now.” I took a healthy swig of my drink.

“So what does he look like?” Tara asked, wiggling her eyebrows at me. A small smirk came across my face as I began to remember him.

“He’s tall. Well, taller than me, with a lot of muscles.” I closed my eyes remembering him.

“Uh huh, yeah, what else?” Tara smiled.

“His hair is a dirty blond, but he shaves it down crew cut style.”

Tara put down her drink. “Hmm, go on.”

I grinned remembering his tat. “And he has a full sleeve.”

Genna slammed her drink down while Tara looked affronted.

“Damn woman!” Tara snapped.

“What’s wrong with you?” Genna asked miffed.

“Girls! He was too young. He must have been, like, at least five years younger if not more. No, no I can’t.” I shook my head.

“You have to be shitting me!” Genna barked. “Men do it all the time, taking on younger and younger women. So why the fuck can’t we?” She challenged.

“I'm not saying women can’t! I'm saying I can’t!” I retorted.

“You’re stupid, you know this right?” Tara shouted at me. I stood up, ignoring them.

“Where are you going?” Genna called after me.

“Dancing!” I fired back.

I pushed and edged my way to the dance floor. The place was crowded and the vibe electric. I loved the feeling of the heavy bass moving through my body. The sound resonated as I found my spot and began to dance.

I wanted to ignore their stupid comments. I wasn’t old. For God’s sake, I was only thirty-three. I was young, pretty and had my share of fun. Yet, I wanted something more serious, something soul crushing, heart wrenchingly serious. I didn’t want any of this bullshit kid stuff anymore. I wanted what I wrote about. I dreamt what I wrote about. I wished for it every day, even though I knew it wasn’t real; I still clung to the idea that a soul changing love existed just for me.

The beat picked up and so did my hips. “GO GIRL!” I scarcely heard Genna over the music. A man approached me, coming into my space.

“That’s right babe, shake your hips for me.”

I literally stopped what I was doing and stared at him. This tall, lanky man with a receding hairline stood in front of me. His body was flailing around, nearly knocking into those around him.

“Ah, excuse me.” I wagged my finger at him. “What exactly are you doing?” I asked trying not to laugh.

“Dancing with you, baby.”

That did it. I started to laugh uncontrollably.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause from the looks of it, you look like you’re having a seizure.” He looked insulted, but moved in closer. I stood my ground not wanting to back down from him.