by Lotta Smith
“One question,” I said.
“Don’t worry, you’re not getting pregnant,” he shrugged. “Did I mention my leg’s still throbbing?”
“That’s not the one in my mind, but do you want one more pain pill?”
“Can I have it mouth to mouth?” he grinned playfully.
“Well, it sounds like you don’t need it,” I commented, lightly punching his arm.
“Hey, don’t forget I’m injured. Just because I don’t need another pain meds right now doesn’t mean I’m unscathed.” He chuckled. “So, go ahead, ask your question.”
“Have you ever been romantically involved with my mother?”
“No. Never,” he snorted out laughing and flinched. “Hey, don’t make me laugh. I’ve met her only once or twice, and she was dating an associate of my uncle’s. We talked about many things, like Korin Ogata’s screens, Rinpa school paintings, and the current trends in Far East art scene. Anyway, it was great meeting her.”
“Good, excellent,” I snuggled in his bed. “I was just asking. It’s my motto not to sleep on the same bed with a guy whom my mother has slept with.”
“I see,” he said, fumbling with the remote on the night stand, killing the light. “Good night.”
Soon, Archangel’s soft breathing filled the dark and I started to doze off as well, then my phone started beeping on the chair I left it on.
“What’s that?” Archangel groaned.
“My phone, sorry, I’m switching it off,” I apologized.
“No, don’t just switch it off. Take the call,” he told me. “Unless it’s from Henderson. If it’s him, just ignore it. He’ll get all antsy but he’ll have to wait.”
I flipped open the phone to see a caller ID starting with 4420, a London number. “Hello?” I answered.
“Hello, darling, it’s me,” on the other side, an elderly man said in a chipper tone. Silently, I sucked in air.
“Who is it?” I said with the warmth of absolute zero temperature to Warren Bernadoff Estevez.
I felt my already tense body got stiffen up even more to the point I started wondering if I was having a heart attack.
“It’s Warren, gosh, it hurts when you don’t recognize me, luv,” he started without any signs of shame, or common sense.
“Warren who?” I said innocently.
Soft light spilled into the darkness, Archangel mouthed if I wanted him to talk. I shook my head and snapped to the person at the other end. “Stop luv-ing on me.”
“Don’t be cruel to your husband, luv,” he said in his signature soft-convincing tone. “It’s suddenly occurred to me that you are the one I needed. You’re the one and only who can help me out of the hellhole.”
“No, that’s so wrong,” I declared. “I will not help you out of whatever place you are, and no can help you. After all, you have lied to, deceived, and defrauded every single person with a pulse, including but not limited to yours truly. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that I know you’re happily remarried to a lawyer yet? How naïve do you think I am? You need someone to talk to, then call your lawyer wife, not me. Understood?”
“Oh Kelly, I was not thinking clearly when I had left you. So, please take me back,” he begged.
“In your dreams,” I told him. “I’ve moved on, just like you had suggested. After all, we’re not married anymore. You made that clear years ago.”
Carrying the phone away from my face, I giggled in my best sultry voice. “No, darling… it’s just some loser playing a random prank. Ooh… of course, I love you too…” I made a kissy noise just to annoy the hell out of the lying, cheating bastard who’s got to spend centuries in prison just to rot.
And the next thing, I stopped breathing.
My lips were locked with Archangel’s lips.
Michael Archangel was kissing me.
Not just a soft, gentle smooch on the cheek, but a hot-n’-wet real deep kiss. With lots of tongues. Just-shuddup-and-kiss kiss. His lips were soft and slightly feverish, and he was holding me tight…Omigod, he was a good kisser.
Many things flashed in my mind and then went through. For the first time in my life, I knew what it meant to have a little slice of heaven. Tightly, I held back onto him and kissed back.
CRASH!—echoed a sound in the room. But I didn’t care. I was busy. Suppose some major natural disaster or nuclear missile attack was taking a place, I would have just let it go and went on with my current task.
Time had passed in slow motion.
“Sorry,” Archangel whispered when our lips had finally detached. He was breathing fast. “I thought a little sound effect would come handy to put an emphasis on your statement.” He loosened his embrace on me.
“Stop apologizing, or I’ll start crying again,” I told him. I was breathless, lightheaded and panting. “I liked it. No, I loved it, seriously.” I didn’t tell him I would have jumped his bones if he wasn’t injured and running a fever.
“That’s not what I meant, I said I was sorry about your phone,” with his hand, he pointed to the floor on my side. “I’m afraid it’s broken, sounded worse than the moment my ankle got snapped.”
“My phone?” I took a glance at the floor. The old cellphone from stone-age that I had been clinging to all those years was shattered into bits and pieces on the hardwood. A total demolition.
I glanced at the dismembered phone and then at Michael Archangel by my side, hoisting his upper body on one arm, looking into my face with his deep blues.
“Good,” I said. “I was planning to replace it anyway, with a new phone number and everything.” Then I cuddled onto him. It seemed as if the destruction of the ancient phone symbolized the beginning of a new phase of my life. “I’m moving on.”
“Kelly, aren’t you going to clean up the mess?” Archangel asked. He tends to get a little control-freakish sometimes.
“Try switching off the light,” I suggested. “If it doesn’t work, then close your eyes.”
“Hey, come on, killing the light, shutting my eyes don’t work, I still know I’ve got a mess on my floor.”
“Alright,” I gave a resigned sigh, got out of the bed and cleaned the mess by picking up relatively large fragments and tossing them into the dustbin. I knew it was easier than persuading him. “Happy?”
“You could use more thoroughness but tonight, I’ll pretend that I don’t feel the mess.”
“Thank you very much,” I said, snuggling back into the bed. “Considering you’ve twisted my arm to clean the floor, that’s very generous of you.”
“At least you didn’t twist an ankle. Lucky you.” He retorted but I sensed an ear-to-ear grin in his voice. Also, he gave a quick peck on my ear.
I started to smile.
That was the night my phone had died.
Table of Contents
THE CATCHER IN THE EYE
By Lotta Smith
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
