No Attachments

by King, Tiffany

  I kept my eyes on the trio in the corner through the mirror over the bar, waiting to see who would make the first move. I had several game plans in place. If I was approached by one of them, I would suggest buying a round for her and her friends so I could get close to my target. If they chickened out and never made their move, I'd order a round anyway and see if I could strike up a conversation that way. One thing was certain. I would not walk away tonight without making contact.

  It took fifteen minutes for the group of girls to finally make their move. Much to my astonishment, it was Ashton instead of her heavily-endowed friend who approached me. After listening to her boisterous friend, I would have bet money that she would be my first contact with the group. The night was shaping up to be filled with surprises. My good fortune continued as Ashton awkwardly began to flirt with me. Seizing the opportunity, I ordered a round of drinks to see if that would loosen her tongue further. Much to my pleasure, the whiskey not only loosened her tongue, providing me with information, but it also provided a glimpse into something more. Her voice washed over me like a seductive caress, laced with an equal share of innocence and wisdom that hinted at a hidden inner pain. Something was bothering her, but regardless, whatever it was didn't concern me. It wasn't my job to rescue her. She was just an assignment, nothing more.

  With each round of drinks though, that fact continued to dissipate. The more she talked, the more I was pulled in. Even her fumbled attempt at sexual banter was endearing and erotic at the same time. When she asked if I wanted to put my trunk in her, I got rock hard and wanted to hoist her up on the counter and take her right there in front of everyone.

  I reached over for my cellphone to check the time and was shocked when I realized I had been lying there, thinking about her for the last hour. I reached over and flipped the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. As I contemplated my next move, the sane part of me knew I should call my client first thing in the morning and hand over Ashton's location, but the slightly insane side considered the possibility of waiting a few days to see if I could flush out why she had run away. The irrationality of this thought wasn't lost on me. It shouldn't matter why she'd run off. I was paid to locate her, plain and simple. It wasn't my business to ask questions. The fact that I had the sudden urge to hunt down my client instead, and bury my fist in his face for ever hurting her, shook me to the core. It had been years since a woman had this effect on me.

  Insanity. That's all it was. I would turn her in tomorrow. It was the only way to get my mind back on track. I had no problems keeping the women I dated at arm's length for the last six years. I wasn't about to screw that up over some girl I'd been tracking for the last three weeks.

  Chapter 3: What happened last night?

  Ashton

  My head felt like I was in hell with a herd of elephants in tap shoes. Dragging the pillow off my head, I looked around to find my room empty, but someone was insistently pounding on the front door.

  "Oh, mother of all things holy, shut up, and stop the goddamn pounding," I squawked out as I attempted to sit up. The sound of my own voice made me cringe and want to curl up into a ball as needles of pain shot through my head. Stumbling to my feet, I grabbed the pair of yoga pants and t-shirt I'd left draped over the foot of my bed the previous day. I nearly fell over trying to pull them on before I shuffled my way to the front door of my rental cottage. I threw open the door, ready to poke the eyes out of the offending knockers.

  "Took you long enough. You were supposed to text us, you bitch. We were worried sick," Tressa yelled, making me cover my ears with agony as my eyes watered in pain. My stomach flipped, making its own displeasure glaringly obvious. Lurching past my two astonished friends, I stumbled to the bushes that bordered the front of my cottage and expelled all the liquor I'd consumed the previous evening. My stomach muscles clenched as I continued to heave even after there was nothing left to come out. Ironically, the last time this happened, I swore I'd never puke again. The waves of nausea were not foreign to me. I had spent more time kneeling before a toilet puking than I liked to think about. Of course, those circumstances were different, and the poisons in my blood stream at that time were worlds apart. If this is what resulted from a night of drinking, I was out.

  "Holy shit, that's a lot of puke," Tressa said behind me as Brittni handed me a cold rag to mop up my face. "I think you might have drunk a little too much," she said.

  "Oh, you think, ole wise one?" I sniped. "Can we use our indoor voices?" I asked, holding a finger in front of my lips for emphasis.

  "You have a headache?" Tressa asked, snickering behind me as I stumbled back into my cottage and sank down on the couch.

  "A headache I could handle. This is a freaking jackhammer," I mumbled, letting my head fall back against the cushions of the couch. "Please tell me why I drank so many shots?" I moaned.

  "More importantly, how was the sex?" Tressa interrupted impatiently.

  My eyes flew open at her words. Stumbling to my feet, I hurled my way across the living room to my bedroom. I swept my eyes around the room, checking to see if I'd missed his presence in my mad bolt out of the room earlier.

  "Are you expecting him to crawl out from under the bed, or maybe jump out of your wardrobe?" Brittni asked dryly, peering over my shoulder at the large wardrobe that served as the only closet in the whole cottage. I had cringed at first when I walked through the place before renting it and realized there were no closets. How anyone could function without closets was beyond me, but the charm of the cottage had overlapped the lack of storage space, and I've managed to make it work.

  "You're a riot," I replied, sinking down on my bed.

  "So, did Tall, Dark and Sexy do the old bang-and-bolt?" Tressa asked, surveying my room critically.

  "Um, I don't know. I can't remember," I admitted mortified. How much did I drink that I couldn't even remember whether I'd had sex?

  "You mean, you don't remember him leaving, or you don't remember banging, Bang-a-licious?"

  "Either," I answered weakly, cupping my throbbing head in my hands while fighting a fresh onslaught of nausea. It was official. I was a slut. Not only did I pick up strange men in a bar, but I also had sex with them without remembering it.

  "What's the last thing you remember?" Brittni asked, sinking down on the other side of me.

  "I remember talking with you guys in the bathroom and then joining him. I also remember talking to him…Oh god," I squawked.

  "What?" Tressa demanded.

  "I'm pretty sure I asked him if he was going to put his trunk in my head, or his trunk in me or something," I mumbled through my fingers.

  "What?" Tressa busted out before laughing. "Well, that's one way to tell him you're interested," she gasped.

  "I didn't mean it. The whiskey had my tongue all tied together. I meant to ask him if he was going to put my head in his trunk. And stop laughing. It's not that funny," I grumbled as Brittni joined in her laughter.

  "Oh my god, that's classic. How did he respond?"

  "How do you think?" I said, peeking through my fingers that covered my face.

  "Okay, so you asked him to put his trunk in you," she snorted, trying to choke down her laughter. "What else?"

  "Well, after that it gets kind of hazy. I know he ordered more rounds and at one point I believe I may have suggested strip darts. God, kill me now."

  "Wow, you went all out," Tressa quipped, laughing again. "So, how far did the game of darts go?"

  "I have no idea. I can't remember fuck-all after that. For all I know, I probably ran around Joe's buck naked."

  "If you had, my mom would have been on it like white on rice, and it wasn't included in her daily scandal rap sheet, so I'd say you're safe," Brittni reassured me, grinning wickedly. "Were you wearing that when you woke up?" she asked, pointing to the clothes I'd pulled on.

  "No, I was wearing my bra and panties," I answered, looking down at the t-shirt that was on backward.

  "Hmmm, I find it hard to belie
ve he'd bother to put your bra and panties on after ravishing your body, so chances are you passed out on Prince Hotness. Judging by the glass of water and bottle of aspirin on your table, he's part Prince Charming too," Brittni observed, pointing to my nightstand. "Here, take these," she said, popping open the bottle of aspirin. "Maybe you can just ask him where he put his trunk the next time you see him," she added laughing.

  "I can't, he was just passing through. He's some kind of journalist and was on his way to his next story," I said, tossing back the pills before lying back on my bed. "So, you don't think I slept with him?" I asked, not sure if I was relieved. Sure, I wanted to get that one item marked off my list, but I kind of felt like it was cheating if I didn't remember it.

  "I don't know. What do you feel like down there?" Tressa asked.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, wary of where this was going.

  "I mean, are things messy down there?" she replied, pointing between my legs.

  "Oh, Jesus, Tressa, come on," Brittni piped in.

  "Okay, I'm just kidding. I'm guessing he did not stick his trunk in your head or any other orifice on your body," Tressa confirmed, snickering again.

  "Laugh it up. Karma's a bitch," I mumbled, throwing my arms over my eyes in a halfhearted attempt to block out the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains over the bay window in the room.

  "Don't you have to work today?" Brittni asked, straightening up my bed around me.

  "Yeah, but not till noon," I said as the lull of sleep pulled me toward it.

  "I don't know how to break it to you, sweets, but it's eleven fifteen," she pointed out.

  "What the hell? Are you kidding?" I bolted upright in my bed, peering at my clock in dismay. "How did it get so late?" I said, jumping to my feet and racing toward my bathroom.

  "Why do you think we were freaking out when we didn't hear from you? By ten thirty I was ready to call in the cavalry, but Brittni convinced me the sane thing would be to check on you first. Didn't your phone go off from all the messages we sent you?"

  "Frick, I'm not even sure where my purse is," I said, scanning the room for my purse. "Maybe Nathan only pretended to be interested so he could rob me blind while I was drunk and passed out. 'Nathan' probably wasn't even his real name."

  "Chillax, girl. Your purse is on your chair," Brittni said, striding toward the chair to pick up my purse. "Your phone is here, but it's as dead as the road kill Creepy Freddy likes to eat," she added, holding up my phone.

  "Damn, I better charge it," I said, glancing at my clock again.

  "Go shower and we'll plug it in for you," Tressa said, shooing me toward the bathroom. "Text us after you get off work," she called out as I closed the bathroom door behind me.

  Thirty minutes later I pulled into the dusty side lot of Smith's General Store. When I first arrived in town four months ago, I knew I wanted to work here. Not because I had some deep desire to stock shelves or bag groceries, but because it was a blast from another time. When I was thirteen, I was obsessed with the TV show Gilmore Girls. The show was about a young single mother raising her teenage daughter, and although the show delved into deep issues occasionally, it was the quirkiness of the small town that pulled me in. I'm sure some psychologist could have a field day comparing my attachment to the show with the loss of my mom. That was probably part of it, but after living in an overly populated city in Florida all my life, I'd always yearned for a small town. A town where friendships went deeper than just acquaintances you went to school with. I wanted friendships that couldn't be shaken, no matter what obstacles might get in the way. I wanted a town where if you got sick, people actually cared. Maybe they would even care enough to check up on you, or bombard you with soups and casseroles, or who knows what. The point is, they wouldn't shun you, or refuse to come near you because they thought they might catch something. Before I arrived in Woodfalls, I thought a town like that only existed on TV, but so far this place has lived up to my expectations. Woodfalls was charming and quirky and certainly not perfect, but that just made it even better. I fell in love instantly and was able to cross yet another item off my bucket list.

  "You look like something even the cat wouldn't want to drag in," Fran greeted me as I entered the store.

  "Well, I feel like something even the dog wouldn't want to bury," I replied, grabbing an apron off the hook behind the old fashioned counter where a dated cash register sat. Not that we actually used it, Fran kept it for nostalgia reasons. Even in sleepy Woodfalls, we actually had computerized registers.

  "Rough night?" she asked with double meaning, eyeing me critically. Fran was the only person who knew why I was really here. I felt it was only fair to tell her the truth, since one day I may just disappear again. For all her feistiness, she is still a sweet lady. If she had concerns about me working here, she never let it show, and has always paid me under the table to keep me off the books. It was just a safety precaution because I wasn't sure if anyone would ever come looking for me. Truthfully, I really didn't even need to work. I had a trust fund that had been turned over to me the day I turned twenty-one. The days leading up to my disappearance, I'd gone to the bank each day and withdrew the allotted amount that wouldn't raise a red flag. My window of opportunity was short though, because once the monthly statement came in, the gig would be up. By the time that happened, I was long gone with enough liquid cash to keep me comfortable.

  "Not like you think," I answered, unpacking a box of candy bars. "I went out with Tressa and Brittni," I added as explanation for my hungover appearance.

  "Ah, I see," she said chuckling. "Tipped up a few too many, did ya?

  "A few I could have handled. The dozen or so after that is what killed me," I said, grimacing at the memory of my puke party earlier. If I never drank whiskey again, it would be too soon. "But at least I can cross getting trashed off my list."

  "I don't remember trashed being on your list," she chirped, hoisting up a heavy box of canned goods before depositing them in front of the shelf where they needed to be unpacked.

  "Oh, it wasn't, but after the pain I felt this morning, it was a last-minute write-in because I'm never going there again," I said, coming around the counter to help her carry the heavy boxes to the appropriate aisles. "I told you to stop lugging those heavy boxes around. That's why you hired me, right?" I chastised.

  "Oh, sugar, I've been lugging boxes around before you were ever thought of. I hired you so I'd stop being the crazy old woman who talks to herself all day."

  "You're so full of it. I know for a fact that Mr. James from the hardware store comes in here daily just to see you."

  "He just likes the jerky I keep in stock," she smirked, pulling a box-cutter out of the pocket of her apron and carefully slicing the clear tape that sealed the carton.

  "I believe you. Not. He comes in here because he wants to ride the Fran train," I retorted, tongue-in-cheek.

  "Bite your tongue, young lady," Fran admonished me. She acted scandalized, but I knew better. Fran was a reality TV junkie, especially The Real Housewives. She claimed they were better than soap operas any day. "I should wash your mouth out," she threatened.

  "Don't deny it. I've seen the way he checks you out when he's here. Just like I've seen you admiring his backside," I added, wagging my eyebrows at her.

  "Honey, at our age, our asses are either boney as hell or a saggy mess of flesh. There's a reason our eyesight goes the older we get."

  I snorted with laughter at her bluntness. That's why I enjoyed working with her so much, she always kept it real.

  The tinkling of the bell over the door stalled any further comments. Fran shuffled off to the stockroom to deposit the empty boxes while I continued stocking the shelves. I could hear the customer in the next aisle and didn't bother to look up, figuring it was Mr. James to see Fran again. A moment later though, a shadow fell over me and I stiffened momentarily when the heavy cologne the individual was wearing swirled around me. It was a scent that was already imprinted in my memor
y bank. I whirled around with dread, knowing exactly who towered over me. My precarious stance and the fact that my head wasn't a hundred percent back to normal worked against me as I lost my balance and landed hard on my butt. The momentum of my fall sent me crashing into the pyramid of cans I had just assembled, making them fly in every direction.

  "Well, shit," I grumbled when I found myself flat on my back at his feet. Would there be no end to embarrassing myself in front of him?

  "Here, let me help you up," he said chivalrously in the same sexy voice from the night before. If I'd had any thoughts that his voice only sounded sinful the night before because of the amount of alcohol I had consumed, I was delusional.

  "I got it," I said, hoisting myself up with as much dignity as I could summon. Once I got myself upright, I finally spared a glance at him. To my dismay, he was studying me in the same bemused manor he'd done the previous evening. Without whiskey clouding my brain, I didn't find it as cute to be the object of his amusement. "What are you doing here?" I sniped.

  "Is the store closed?" he asked, looking around.

  "Not 'in the store, here.' I mean, what are you still doing in town? I thought you were just passing through."