Authors Note: Ok. I just wanted to add in here before someone says something that the mugging is actually part of the plot. It's in the storyline and in a few chapters will become more clear, maybe one, depending how much I get written. Anywho, this whole plot idea sounded really good at three this morning when I should have been sleeping, or freaking out over my Algebra Quiz. No, I'm plotting out my fanfic. It should do wonders for my GPA. Anywho, enjoy and review.
11.
Once Trey was bored I was able to leave.
Randy took the boys to go ride the go-karts outside, thus letting Gordon and I slip away unnoticed. For which I was really grateful. Gordon led me through the chaos that was the restaurant/arcade/and outdoor games. Through the throng of over-sugared hyper children.
Past the oblivious parents.
Past the grown-man dressed up as a rat that was a little weird to me. But, hey, who was I to judge? I never held a job. I never worked in a public place. I never had to dress up in a hideous outfit.
Gordon bumped the front door open with his hip.
He must have gotten the sticky substance on his hand coming into the war zone. I had stuck my hand on something gooey opening the door. It was vile and an odd shade of blue.
An unnatural shade of blue.
The blue of fish on a coral reef. A blue that told bigger fishes not to eat them that they were poisonous. But, I suppose some people were not quite as smart as fishes.
I spotted the bike parked under a light in the parking lot. Gordon had led me halfway there before I managed to pull him to a stop. I got him turned around under the night sky. Under the moon and a partial street lamp.
I just needed to see his face for a moment.
For just a moment.
I reached up and ran my thumbs over his cheeks. Over his strong nose and smooth chin. For just the moment I wanted to smooth my fingers over his skin. Once we got home I knew just what we'd be doing.
What we usually did when he got home. Not all the time, but most the time. No longer did we feel the need to make up for lost time. Though, some days we did. But, whenever he came home there were usually three moods he could be in. He could have had a boring time; in which he'd have plenty of energy to burn. He could have had an extremely busy time; in which he would simply just want to be held and taken care of. It was definitely a oddity holding a full grown Gordon, who stood at 6'2" and weighed in at 220 something, all of it being muscle, being better toned then a professional linebacker. It was like coddling a Rott puppy one had since puppy hood. While the dog is a beast, you know it won't hurt you.
Then there was the mood he was in standing in front of me. Where he had a successful job. Where celebratory hanky-panky was to take place.
But we weren't home yet.
I smoothed my hands over the t-shirt.
My fingertips traveled over his stomach. Over the tight muscles of his stomach and up over his firm chest.
When his clothes came off I'd check him for cuts, bruises, and any sign of injury. Only then would I be positive he was safe.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. I buried my face in the shirt and took in the smell and feeling that was Gordon. I breathed him in and never wanted to let go.
I didn't have to.
His hands found their way under my bottom, he scooped me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist letting his carry me to the bike. I buried my face in the side of his neck and kissed the heated skin.
He was so big and strong and I never felt anything but security in his arms.
"Did you bring a extra helmet," I asked.
He didn't.
What he told me was, "I'll go steal Hoot's."
He set me down beside the bike. My helmet was netted down on the back that meant he hadn't worn one. Dummy. Then he ran into the parking lot full of mini-vans and big cars.
I sighed. Inwardly praying that he wouldn't kill himself in a motorcycle wreck.
I pulled the helmet out from the net and tugged it down over my head. Making sure it was snug and comfortable, not pulling on my hair.
The helmet was on nicely.
The sound of footsteps made me turn. "That was awfully quick. Hoot's parked over th…" I stopped talking. There was a man with a knife. A man who looked strangely familiar. He sagged at the sight of me and swore, "Shit."
I was equally stunned.
It was the same fool that had tried to mug Sanderson and myself. I remembered the way he stood, his voice, everything. "What the hell is your problem! Don't you work? You seriously need a real job! Someone is going to shoot you one day. Speaking of which, my husband is here and he is really trigger happy!"
The man was literally stunned beneath the ski mask.
He stepped back, knife in hand. "Just…give me your wallet."
Excuse me?
Oh hell no! "No! Go away or I'll scream and my husband will come and he is not near as friendly as my other friend."
The man actually listening.
He stepped back farther and was about to walk away. When his buddy, the man I had tasered came over. At the sight of me he swore, "Shit! It's her!"
They were so getting on my nerves.
They weren't even good crooks! I had been mugged and these two fools weren't real muggers. They weren't real thugs. I had kicked their ass and I wasn't exactly Rambo.
If I could do them harm.
Gordon could do more then harm to them. I shared this fact with the two idiots, "You two better go! Now! I'm warning you."
The one with the knife believed me. The other one didn't believe me. Or maybe his pride had been damaged when I stunned him with my taser and kicked him. Getting your ass handed to you by a girl must have been a bad thing for a man's pride. Who knew?
He stepped toward me.
He had a knife.
I was no Rambo.
I took off, helmet on my head, flip-flops smacking on the gum covered cement as I yelled for Gordon.
It wasn't often I ran screaming to Gordon for help. Literally. I ran through the row of cars yelling for my husband to be my knight. Even through the helmet I could hear the guy behind me. My spidey sense told me he was following me too.
Where the hell were the police when you needed them?
I whipped around the back of a mini-van covered in honor student bumper stickers and ran right into Gordon. Which sent me back into the minivan. I bounced off that and landed on the ground.
Mr. bad-mugger landed on the ground inches away from me.
He did not move.
This got my attention. I nudged him with my big toe. He was out like a light. I looked up and saw Gordon held Hoot's helmet in hand. Which had a little blood on it. He reached down and helped me up to my feet.
"Who the hell is that?"
That? I looked down and casually told him, "He tried to mug Sanderson and me the other night at the liquor store."
Gordon gave me a look and decided not to ask.