A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! Please keep 'em coming!

Mucho gracias to LadyFey's hard work on editing my messy writing. She is an angel.

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 accidentally 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.

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 screw .

"…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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