Page 7 of Strike Zone

Why do I find her behavior so intriguing? That is a question to dissect another day.

Wren stops short, causing me to slam into her back. I grasp at her waist to keep her from falling on her face. I might not like the girl, but I’m not an asshole.

My fingertips sink into the slinky fabric of her pants. As usual Wren is dressed to command a boardroom rather than sit through a college lecture. She straightens her body and ends up flush against mine with her head tucked neatly under my chin.

I have to tilt my head toward the ceiling to keep from inhaling her sweet scent. Damn she smells good. Is it her perfume or her body wash? Because if her whole body smells like this…no. If her body smells like this, it doesn’t matter. It’s Wren for Pete’s sake.

“Do you mind?” She looks up at me. If she were anyone else, I might be tempted to kiss her. She’s that close.

I glance at her lips. Not bad. Pink and plush. Perfect little cupid’s bow. I’m sure she could find someone who could stomach a few minutes of tonsil hockey with her. Ain’t gonna be me.

Her hands cover mine on her hips. I grip her tighter. Not sure why. Instinct? Habit? My hands seem to be functioning as a separate entity from my body.

“Will you stop manhandling me?” She squirms attempting to break my hold.

“I’m not. I was helping you. Next time I’ll let you kiss the linoleum.”

“I wouldn’t need your help if you would watch where you’re going. You’re like a bull in a china shop.” She pulls hard on my hands and breaks free, then turns to face me. Somehow our fingers get twisted together. She raises our hands, shaking herself loose with a huff.

Stepping closer, I get in her face. “I wouldn’t have rear-ended you if you didn’t break for sticky notes.” I wave a hand in front of the rows of neon and pastel squares.

She lifts her chin and glares at me. “Why are you even here? Don’t you have something better to do?” I would have someone better to do if she would be a decent human being and help me out.

“Don’t you? It’s Friday night. Let me guess. After your wild shopping spree, you are going to go home and cuddle with your cats.”

“We can’t have pets in the dorm.” Her deadpan delivery almost makes me grin.

“I was joking. You probably have at least another twenty years before cats are your only companions.”

Her face turns a nice shade of red. Is it beet or tomato? I tilt my head, studying the way her cheeks and neck are changing colors.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

I tilt my head from side to side. “I’m trying to figure something out. Give me a minute will ya?”

Her ears are kind of purple. Probably more of a beet red when she’s angry and a tomato when she’s embarrassed.

“Are you finished gawking yet?” Damn, she’s fun to rile up.

“I reckon.” Where were we? Ah, her impending cat collection. I glance at her full shopping basket. “Maybe,” I point a finger at the box of condoms sitting on top, “you have a hot date later. Do you have a boyfriend, Wren?”

“No boyfriend. No date. I’m making balloon animals,” she says without cracking a smile. She can’t be serious, but that actually makes more sense.

“Is it a side gig or something? Do you moonlight as a clown at kid’s birthday parties? I’m not a fan of clowns. They give me the creeps.” I shiver at the thought of being face to face with a crazed clown.

Wren stares at me. Her eyes wide, mouth pinched tight. Is she trying to decide where to punch me or figure out if I’m playing with her?

“Is it really more logical to you that I would spend my weekends as a clown instead of being able to find a man to sleep with me?”

I shrug. “It doesn’t sound illogical.”

She winces as if she’s in pain before quickly recovering, ready to rip me a new one. “Just because you don’t find me worthy of having intercourse with doesn’t mean other men feel the same. You’re not exactly everyone’s type either.”

“What are you talking about? I am most definitely everyone’s type,” I say smugly.

“Your dick is everyone’s type. Trust me. You are not.” Wren speaks this revelation like it’s the Gospel truth, then goes back to her shopping.

I do have a nice cock, but I’m insulted she thinks people don’t actually like me for my personality. “At least I know how to have fun.”

---