A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed! I really appreciate it.

Thanks again to LadyFey, my buddy and editor.

Little Red Dress Chapter 4

Fritz's face felt hot, a slow burn that started in his belly and spread through his entire body down to his fingertips, his pulse racing like he had just finished a sprint. The adrenaline coursing through his veins put his senses on hyperdrive, and his focus bore down on the stranger's filthy hand touching the creamy skin of Brenda's exposed thigh. The contact lasted just a couple of seconds, but it was more than enough for Fritz. He looked at Brenda's face and took a crumb of solace in the fleeting look of disdain that flitted over her features.

It was all he could do to stop himself from lunging at the man who dared to lay his hands on his wife, but he knew it would make a messy situation even worse. Brenda was in charge of this revenge scenario, and he had to have faith that she wouldn't let things go too far. Fritz had to give her the trust she was refusing him, no matter how difficult. That being said, though, there was no way he was going to stay hidden in the shadows while his wife flirted with another man. Fritz took a deep breath and pulled his shoulders back, trying to adopt the countenance of someone more serene than he, and he walked to the bar, his eyes never leaving Brenda. He pulled out a stool at the very end of the grand, dark cherry bar where it curved and met the wall, so that he was cattycorner from Brenda, but the strange man's back was to him. He had to hand it to Brenda: it must have been her CIA training, but she barely reacted when he walked past her and took a seat. If it wasn't for a subtle straightening of her back and tensing of her neck muscles, he would have thought that she was too enraptured with her suitor to notice him. As if to cover her tell, she intentionally turned her head toward the man and plastered on a fake smile to match her look of forced interest.

Fritz shot fire from his eyes into the back of The Jackass, as he thought of him, hitting on his wife, but to his dismay, the sandy-haired man didn't spontaneously combust. Instead, he prattled on to Brenda about nothing, but behind his meaningless words Fritz recognized the desperation of a man trying to get laid.

In addition to Brenda's obvious bad behavior aimed at getting back at Fritz, there was a whole other thing she was doing to twist the knife of revenge. The dress, the bar, the awkward conversation and growing sexual attraction between two people who just met…it could have been him and Brenda sitting there, playing The Game.

The Game started right after they got engaged. Brenda told him, half joking, that she wanted to make sure they didn't become one of those married couples who had boring and infrequent sex, so she had an idea for how to keep things fun. One of them would call the other, if at work, or send a text if not, and say, "I feel like playing." Perhaps a strategically placed note or a message written in lipstick on the bathroom mirror would deliver the invitation. A vague comment about a new restaurant or a spot in Griffith Park would come next, or a link to Google maps with a spot pinned arrived via e-mail with little or no conversation. Later on, when Fritz showed up at the location Brenda had hinted at, he'd settle in as if he were a single man out on his own. His wedding band would find a resting place in his pocket, and he'd scan the area for beautiful women, and he inevitably found a beautiful blonde. Brenda would walk right past him and sit by herself, a single woman out for the evening, no rings on her finger, saying nothing to him. In that moment, they were strangers. Eventually a conversation would start and they would introduce themselves; most of the time they used their real names, sometimes for reasons unknown, Brenda liked to use the name Sasha. They were an FBI agent and a Deputy Chief some evenings, other times they had different jobs and backstories, which they shared with each other through a growing attraction. The evening always ended with hot, one-night-stand sex, often in the car, sometimes elsewhere, or the duplex was claimed by one or the other as their apartment. . Brenda chose venues she discovered during a case, like the time they met in a restaurant where the chef's wife was recently murdered. Fritz tried to be a little more creative, and they "ran" into each other at parks, a beach, or his latest, the grocery store. Other singles shopping on a Friday night glared enviously as Fritz accidently rammed into Brenda's cart, and a profuse apology turned into an hour-long conversation in Frozen Foods, which culminated in the two ditching their grocery carts altogether trotting out of the store holding hands and mumbling about whose apartment was closer. The Game was hot, it was wild, the juice from the forbidden fruit burst forth in their mouths and dribbled down their chins as they came together again and again as strangers. For the second time that hour, he sought solace in a memory of a happier evening:

At his office at the FBI headquarters on Wiltshire on a Wednesday afternoon, Fritz received a package from the LAPD via courier. Inside the manila envelop was a single sheet of paper, instructing him to go to an old theater in West Hollywood that mainly showed art films at 8PM, and to park on the fifth level of the parking lot: He did as told.

There was plenty of parking on lower levels, but he knew he had to do as he was told. He had been looking forward to this all day, and although inpatient to get to the part where he was getting laid in some unique venue, he knew the delicious buildup of tension and an evening flirting with Brenda, or whomever she was going to be, would pay off. He parked his car and stepped out, wondering where the stairs to the theater were. It was so dark that he didn't notice a familiar petite figure walking up behind him.

"Oh shoot!" came Brenda's voice in unaccented English. He turned around and she was standing there in the shortest skirt he had ever seen her wear, looking into her giant purse with dismay. She glanced up at him, her hair and makeup perfect, and stuck out one perfect red lip. "My phone! My phone! I dropped it and now I can't find it at all!" Her lips trembled a little as if she were going to cry.

"I'll help you look for it," Fritz said, smiling graciously, eager to help this damsel in distress. "I'll do anything I can to help you out, Miss." He laid the charm on as thick as he could.

"Aren't you sweet. I dropped a bunch of stuff from my purse and my phone went flying…wait, is that it right there?" She walked about six feet in front of Fritz and bent over, straight legged, so her short skirt hiked up even further.

Fitz almost had a stroke. Brenda was wearing black thigh-highs, and a red garter belt. She leaned a little further down to scoop up the invisible object on the ground and he got a nice glimpse of matching red thong. He was barely breathing when she popped up several seconds later, mumbling about needing to get her eyes checked. Brenda's red silk shirt was low-cut, and gravity was on his side, because bending over drew Brenda's breast out in the deep vee even further, revealing the lacy edges of her red bra. "Oopsy!" she said. "Gosh, I'm so scattered! Maybe we should split up and see if we can't find it faster."

Fritz found her phone about twenty feet away next to a cement pole. Brenda feigned surprise and gushed over his keen eyesight.

"You must be a cop or something, because I looked over there and never saw it. You are truly sent from heaven, you know that? I would have been lost without you." She stepped closer, so only a foot of space was between them. She was wearing a perfume Fritz didn't recognize. "I wonder," she said, her voice low and gravelly," if there is any way I can possibly thank you, any way at all." Fritz backed up so he was leaning against his car, the only one around and barely visible in the darkness.

"You could have a drink with me…" what did you say your name was?"

"Sasha," she answered, moving closer and picking up Fritz's tie, running it through her fingers. "And I'm not going to ask you yours. I know it's somethin' like Julien or Devon or another fancy name. A man as handsome as you can't have an ordinary name."

"It's Fritz," he whispered, mesmerized by the sex kitten in front of him. Her small hand slid a little lower, never breaking eye contact.

"Well, Fritz, I say we do drinks later. Right now, I have a thank you card to write."

Brenda was on her knees in a heartbeat, tugging at Fritz's zipper and reaching in for his cock. He looked around the dark parking garage and realized there was little chance they would be disturbed. This was his last coherent thought before she deep throated him, and he yelled, "holy fuck," his voice echoing in the near-empty space.

As he felt himself tighten, the image of Brenda's ass in the air bent over his car floated though his mind, and all of a sudden he wanted this show of gratitude to go a different way. He reached down and pulled a surprised Brenda up, and wordlessly lifted her on the hood of his new car. "I think I'd like to shake things up a bit," he grunted, his hand sliding up over her stockinged thigh.

"What ever do you…oh!" Fritz had reached her pussy and was thrilled to find it dripping wet. He rubbed her nub a few times as she cried in pleasure, then he reluctantly pulled his hand back to free his cock the rest of the way. He put one hand under each of Brenda's thighs and pulled, bringing her hips to the edge of the car and forcing her to lie back on her elbows. He pushed the flimsy g-string aside, and held her hips as he thrust in. Brenda arched her back and moaned low and deep as Fritz pulled out and slammed in, resisting the urge to shut his eyes from the extreme pleasure so that she could take in the beautiful sight in front on him. Brenda's head was tossed back and her bright red mouth was open, her tongue licking her luscious lips, blonde hair spread across the hood of his car, beautiful breasts spilling out of her low cut shirt and bouncing with each thrust. Her tiny black skirt was up around her waist, the sexy bright red garter and black stockings completing the picture. Fritz took Brenda's ankles and put them over his shoulders and leaned into the car, going impossibly deep. Brenda's moans changed to loud chants in what he was sure was Russian. Knowing he wasn't going to last long, he reached down and again pushed he g-string aside, gathering moisture and rubbing her clit. He wasn't sure what language she was screaming in, but he knew when she came, because she convulsed so hard she nearly choked him with her legs. Gasping, she opened her eyes and said, "join me, handsome stranger," and he did, a thousand lights suddenly exploding and eliminating every corner of the coal-black parking garage.

Brenda untangled her legs from him and scooted off the car while he was still too high and winded from his orgasm to talk. She pulled her skirt down and adjusted her blouse, than gave him a big flirtatious smile.

"Well, thank you muchly for helping me find my phone, I'm sorry, your name was—oh yea, Fritz! Thank you so much, Fritz. I hope you have a wonderful night, and you enjoy your movie." With that, she turned and disappeared into the night.

When Fritz got back to the duplex, Brenda was already home. He found her on the couch with Joel, wearing her favorite hot pink sweatsuit.

"Where have you been?" she asked him innocently, patting the couch next to her. "I've been waiting for you all evening, all by my lonesome." She squinted at him. " Hey, Fritz Howard, is that lipstick on your collar?"

Fritz lunged, hopping on top of her on knocking her back on the couch., Grinning widely, as he swooped in for a kiss.

Sitting at the bar, watching The Jackass try and charm his wife, he couldn't help but think part of her revenge was to sully their fun game by playing it for real with a stranger. Fritz had to take several more calming breaths to resist the urge to start yelling at Brenda and call her all kinds of things he'd regret. When he was under control again, he turned back in to make sure they weren't making plans to go into the hotel and fuck.

"…are so damn beautiful. can't believe you aren't a movie star, sweetheart," The Jackass said, leaning in closer to Brenda.

Sweetheart? Fritz thought. That should set Brenda off. Derogative terms like "honey" and "doll" always pushed her buttons. But except for a slight narrowing of her eyes, her expression remained the same. She took a sip of her wine and flicked her eyes in Fritz's direction.

"Why thank you, Eric—"

"Earl."

"Eric. But not every woman who lives in LA is a movie star." She tossed her long blonde hair and Fritz's stomach clenched.

"You're so lucky to get to live here, in this beautiful city. Indianapolis is so—blah compared to out here. And the women certainly don't look like you." Fritz could hear the idiot drool. Brenda mumbled something noncommittal and The Jackass dipped his head closer to hers. Fritz's palms itched, prepared to reach out and grab the interloper's hands if he went in for another illegal touch.

"…we got winters that just about do me in. And here, what with the ocean and all," the man sighed dramatically. "I would leave Indianapolis in a heartbeat if a job opportunity opened up. In fact, I think I'll chat up a few of the guys at the Mechanical Engineering Society conference I'm attending, to see if there are any positions available in this area. Could be a whole new world for me. Full of sunshine and beautiful ladies." His unctuous smile oozed across his face.

Before Brenda could answer, The Jackass continued, his voice slightly lowered so that Fritz had to strain to hear what he was saying. "The only thing I don't like about LA is all the gays. In Indiana, homos stay in the closet pretty much, or risk getting the shit beat out of them. But here, everywhere I look, some gay dude is sashaying around and checking out my butt. Must be hard for straight dudes to live around those freaks, who seem to think they have the same rights as everyone else." The Jackass picked up his drink and took a deep pull, but not before mumbling an offensive slur within earshot of the effeminate bartender.

A flush spread from Brenda's cleavage, up her neck, over her face, and to her hairline. Her petite hands were balled into fists and her eyes had grown that scary crow-black he saw when she was swooping down on a suspect. The bartender brought Fritz a seltzer and cranberry without him asking, and he nodded at him gratefully, feeling better than he had in hours. Someone besides himself was about to be torn to bits by Brenda, and he had a front row seat.

Brenda had opened up to Fritz about what it was like for Jimmy, her favorite brother, to grow up gay in the 1960's South. The neighborhood boys would corner Jimmy and beat him up until Brenda or her other brothers would rescue him, often getting hit themselves. Brenda would take her sobbing, bleeding brother and clean him up as best as possible, sometimes even using her makeup to cover up his bruises, so that her parents wouldn't know what was happening, because above all, Jimmy feared his parents' rejection. It made Brenda endlessly happy to see her brother grow up to a confident young, gay man who found a great community of friends, and a partner in New York City, but those dark days of her childhood were never far from her mind. She confessed to Fritz she was afraid someday the bullies would go too far and kill Jimmy, that she and her brothers wouldn't be able to find him and it would be their fault. Because of her childhood experiences, she had little tolerance for homophobia. One of the best things about California, she told Fritz, was that gay men and women weren't treated with the depth of derision and prejudice like they were in Atlanta.

Brenda picked up her wine glass with shaky hands, a frown between her brows. "So you mean to tell me, Eric—"

"Earl."

"Whatever. You are tellin' me that the presence of gay men would be the one thing that would keep you from movin' to California?" Brenda was in full interrogator mode, and it was as if she had grown six inches and towered over The Jackass. He noticed the change in her demeanor and scooted his stool back a few feet.

"Well, among other things. See, I'm a good Christian, and we don't believe in homosexuality. So yea, all these poufs rubbing our faces in it would be hard to live with. How do you put up with it? Maybe it's not so bad for women, you know, because they are helpful with fashion and stuff like that."

"Yea, gay men are around just to style our hair," Brenda said in a prickly tone. "Listen Earl, I think you should stay right in Indiana, along with your buddies over there—" she jerked her thumb over her shoulder—"Who are wagerin' bets about whether or not you're gonna get lucky with me tonight." Fritz looked in the direction Brenda gestured and saw a group of six or so men occupying a corner of the room who were whispering and pointing in Brenda's general direction, laughing and giving The Jackass, who was in their line of sight, a thumbs up.

The Jackass looked nervous, as his conquest was beginning to seem less certain. "Oh, those guys, honey, please ignore them, they're just jerks I met at the convention."

"They seem to have the same mentality as you do," she said. "And let me tell you something, you narrow-minded bigot. The last thing LA needs is a corn-fed Midwestern Christian boy to move here thinkin he's gonna get all the ass he wants when in truth he's too naïve to have ever left the farm. LA would chew you up and spit you out, I assure you." Brenda scooted as far back on her stool as possible. "So why don't you go back to your little friends over there and make plans to hunt down movie stars' houses or whatever nonsense tourists do in LA before takin' your hateful mind back to middle America to lead your little life."

The Jackass, stunned at first, started to get angry. "Listen, sweetheart, I don't need to take that from you. And I can sit wherever I want to. It's a free country. Furthermore—"

"Yup, it's a free country, and I choose not to talk to a small-brained homophobe any more. I think I'd like to spend the evenin' conversin' with someone with a little more class." To his surprise, she turned in her chair and looked directly at Fritz. "You there. You look pretty sophisticated. You wanna spend some time talkin' with me so this idiot will take the hint and leave me alone?"

The Jackass turned around in his seat, having no idea Fritz was even there. "What, is this what you do? You some kind of slut, going from man to man each night? Or are you a hooker? Is that it?" He stood up, as if to try and intimidate Brenda with his height.

Brenda glared up at the man. "No, not a hooker. If I were gettin' paid to put up with your company that would be one thing, but I'm not."

The bartender looked over at the trio with concern, and Fritz stood up quickly. To Brenda, he said, "Yes, yes, I'm both sophisticated and open-minded. And I'd love the chance to talk to you." I'm just an actor in your play, Brenda, reading whatever script you hand me.

The Jackass opened his mouth to protest, but Fritz took him by the arm and turned him slightly away from Brenda, while he pulled out his badge.

"Get your damn hands off of me," the Jackass hissed, trying to yank out of Fritz's grip. "I'll call the cops, I swear. What are you, her pimp? I'm gonna… ohhh." Fritz shoved his badge in Earl's face, which effectively shut him up.

"Here's what you're gonna do," Fritz said softly. "You are going to stop bothering this woman and you are going to return to your buddies, and all of you are going to leave. Go to another bar, I don't care. Just get out of here, or I'm going to make your life very difficult." The Jackass opened his mouth to speak, and Fritz cut him off. "No discussion. Get lost. Now." And he gave the man a small shove in the direction of his friends.

Earl quickly righted himself, took a second to smooth down his jacket, and started to walk toward his friends as instructed. When he was about ten feet away, Brenda called out to him.

He turned around reluctantly, glaring at her.

"Just thought I'd remind you, since you are such a good Christian and all, that you can put your weddin' ring back on now," she smirked, then drained her Merlot glass. As she gestured to the bartender for a refill, Fritz picked up his own drink and moved to take the seat vacated by The Jackass, who glowered at Brenda and continued his trot toward the door gesturing at his confused buddies to follow him.

Brenda gave a little laugh and shook her head, the red having drained from her face a bit.

"My, my, my, I sure know how to pick 'em," she said, looking at Fritz. "I truly hope you aren't an idiot too. I'm in the mood to get to know someone tonight." She cocked her head back and looked at him.

"You don't know me?" Fritz asked, his previous anger melting to amusement.

Brenda shook her head, her runaway curls flying this way and that. "Nope, don't think I've ever seen you 'round here before." She squinted at him. "I sure do think I'd remember a man who looks like you. What's your name?"

"Fritz," he answered, something in him that was coiled tight relaxing a tiny bit. "Fritz Howard."

"Interestin' name," Brenda mumbled and extended her hand. Fritz noticed her wedding rings were missing too. "My name is Brenda." Her grip was firm and confident. "It's very nice to meet you, Fritz Howard. Buy me a drink?"

End Chap 4

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Cheer me home! I'm writing three stories at once and it's nuts. Two more chapters left...give me some reviews as sustenance!