Ruby had started to play music in the diner. Granny had given her a stern look, had mumbled something about patrons coming to eat and not to listen to music but then she had walked off into her kitchen and hadn't said another word about it. And Ruby had hooked up a stereo to her ipod and now low music was playing all day. Somehow, this made a lot of sense to Emma, too. Sure, most of the time you could hardly hear it over the conversations that were going on in the diner, but when you heard it, when you listened to it, it kind of struck the mood of the place. Ruby had an ear for it - a wolf's ear, keen and insightful to undertones.
But then that one Monday morning, Emma had had a rough night and getting up had been a drag, and she really only wanted a cup of coffee, the low guitar tones of 'Underneath Your Clothes' had struck her where her dream had left her frustrated and shivering - right between her legs. It had been an erotic dream and she had not been too thrilled about its abrupt elimination via alarm-clock. She had also not been exactly thrilled about the realization who had shared that heated, breathless space of her dream with her. Someone dark-haired, sexy and mayorly, it had been. And that was another thing, because while Emma was sitting in the booth farthest from the door facing the room, same dark-haired, sexy and mayorly someone was sitting at her favorite table just across the room and in Emma's sight. That was when the song came on and the sheriff was looking up and right into smoky caramel-colored eyes.
Her dream seemed to waken to reality as she stared unblinking at the once so evil former queen. She did have something entirely regal about her, her poise, the way she dipped her head a little to drink from her coffee, the flick of her hand to abscise an imagined crumb from her flawless costume. And, of course, she was wearing a skirt today, and, of course, her blazer hugged her curves in all the right places, and, also of course, she showed just a hint of cleavage to conquer the world.
And Emma's raging imagination it seemed. Because there was not a picture in her mind that wasn't filled with lustful reinventions of this morning's subconscious rollings in the proverbial hay. Emma let out a low growl as she imagined making the lyrics of one of her favorite songs come alive and really get under those clothes, just drive her hands under that shirt, and up those glorious thighs that held a special place in all her fantasies about the mayor.
To open that blazer, to feel those curves, to fall into that cleavage.
Emma was starting to breathe heavily, pressing her legs together tightly, her nails scratching over the formica of the table as she imagined all of this and then... the music suddenly stopped.
Nobody seemed to notice but her and she was looking up confusedly and over to Ruby. And her friend was looking back at her, eyebrows raised, eyes wide.
The heat shot so rapidly northward, that it made the sheriff dizzy and she staggered a little as she stood. She left some bills on the table and then fled the diner for some much needed air.
"Goddammit," she cursed as the cold hit her. "Just a song," she had to remind herself, "Just a song."