Page 2 of Savage Seduction

I smile at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Thirty is quickly approaching and what the hell is that? Crow’s feet? Aren’t my deep Mexican roots supposed to keep me younger-looking longer than my pale friends and the red-heads of the world? At least I still have my hair. I palm back the thick wavy mess I forgot to brush after my shower this morning. Not a single gray strand to be seen. “Nice,” I say.

I readjust the mirror and pay attention to the road. Although, my mind begins to drift to the awful flashback I had at the gun range. I shiver. While I’ve had these flashes of what happened to me ever since that horrendous encounter, something about this latest one feels different.

But why?

CHAPTER 2

Max

The next day, I fumble with my keys as I hurry out of my apartment, my school backpack filled to capacity. I slam the door behind me and shove the key into the lock when something hits my foot.

“Dammit,” I mutter, snatching up the ten-year-old Toyota Prius key fob from the ground. Much like the car, the fob has seen better days. “Great, how much will this cost to replace?” The remote entry key has broken at the base, and I can’t return it to the overly filled keychain.

Shoving the key fob into my front pocket, I take a deep breath to calm myself down. It isn’t necessary to rush; I can save time by eating some fast food on the way to work tonight—Taco Caliente it is then. After locking the deadbolt, I readjust my heavy pack of schoolbooks I’ll be studying tonight on my break at work.

My stomach growls as I hurry down the outdoor stairwell to street level, where I’ve spent more than enough hours of my life hunting for a free parking space. Lucky for me, yesterday I found one half a block away—a Christmas miracle in July. Once I reach my car, I toss my heavy pack into the passengerseat along with my satchel and slide in behind the wheel. The satchel was a gift from my Abuela when I graduated from high school, and it’s gone everywhere with me since then.

I wrinkle my nose. After the car has sat baking in the sun for hours, the overpowering stench of stale cigarettes and cat pee accosts me. The previous owner must have been fun to be around, I think.

“This isn’t working.” I flick the three pine-scented air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror. You’d think after getting my first job as a museum curator, I’d be able to afford an upgrade, but try telling that to my student loans and over-inflated apartment rent. With a shrug, I turn on the car and look at the clock. Ugh. The 110 has become a parking lot twenty minutes ago, but the pull of Taco Caliente is too great. The stomach wants what the stomach wants. Sweet Abuela would be so ashamed if she knew how many times I ate there a week… God rest her soul.

Western Avenue is exactly how it is every evening: bumper-to-bumper. Inching forward, I begin muttering under my breath. “Mona Lisa, Leonardo da Vinci, 1503. The Starry Night, Vincent van Gogh, 1889. The Scream, Edvard Munch, 1893. The Kiss, Gustav Klimt, 1907. The Girl with a Pearl Earring, Johannes Vermeer, 1665.” I blink at the red light looking down on me. Shit. I’m missing an important painting from the 14th Century. “Dammit, I’m never going to get them all by tomorrow morning.” I sigh and stare at my backpack, trying to remember if the right textbook is in there.

The light turns green, and I turn left into the Taco Caliente lot and park behind a van. I reach inside my satchel for my wallet and finger through what cash I have left. Five, six, seven—yes, enough. Barely, but enough.

The car’s air conditioner has done a great job blowing mildly cooled air during my drive, but my brow is wet with perspiration. I readjust the rearview mirror to get a better lookat myself. Fishing out a tissue from the center console, I dab myself dry. I might be twenty-eight, but I still break out if I’m not careful. “Better.”

I smile at my reflection for a split second until I see I haven’t actually remembered to wash my hair when I took a shower. Being a college student again while working full-time has really digressed my adulthood. Palming my thick mop of dark hair into place, I shrug. “I guess if this is the worst that happens to me today, I’ll be just fine.” Grabbing my satchel, I get out of the car and lock the door before hurrying into Taco Caliente. I never consider myself an overly sensitive person, but I have every intention of eating my feelings tonight.

After ordering off the value menu and utilizing the last of my cash, I haul it back to a booth in the rear of the restaurant. The nachos are piled high and covered in melted pepper jack cheese, decent amounts of ground beef, and sour cream—if I eat them fast enough, the chips might not even get soggy. After tearing open and emptying five hot sauce packets on top, I pop a chip into my mouth. The chip has the perfect amount of crunch, the meat salty and flavorful, and even the sour cream is still cold and tangy, but there’s something missing. Damn. I thought I was content to eat alone at this point. Forcing myself to chew and swallow, I wash it down with a swig of cola. Ah, the first swallow always burns a bit going down. It’s nice and takes the edge off the loneliness.

“Is anyone sitting here?” a man asks as he walks up carrying a tray of food.

I look around at all the empty seats the cute white guy with precious dimples and curly thick hair could have chosen and smile. “Nope.” He is clearly not dressed for a fast-food restaurant, wearing a nice buttoned-up dress shirt and stylish black pants. Those Italian leather shoes aren’t made for stability on the grease-slicked tile floor at Taco Caliente, that’sfor sure. His top button is undone, but there’s a tie no doubt lying in the front seat of his car.

He sits down and squares up on the meal before him. “I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” Despite his large hands, he has to double-fist the burrito to handle the girth.

I laugh. “People don’t usually say that until they’ve tried to eat it all and failed.”

He nods. “You’ve got me there.” Unwrapping the burrito, he shrugs his shoulders. “Here goes nothing.” The flour tortilla is barely able to contain the bursting mess of fillings—lettuce, pico, taco seasoned ground beef, cheese, and sour cream. The number eleven, my second favorite.

As he moves the burrito around in his hand, trying to figure out the best way to eat the massive thing, I can’t help but stare. The tortilla is starting to tear, and I can see the taco meat already oozing out between his fingers. Either this guy has never eaten here or doesn’t care about his clothes. I recoil and scrunch my nose when I see the size of this guy’s monstrous bite—rookie mistake. As he closes his jaw, the pressure sends hot grease erupting from the tortilla. Ground meat plops to the tray below while taco juice squirts onto both of his cheeks and now drips from his chin onto his neatly pressed dress shirt.

“Shit,” he says around the mouthful.

I hand him a fistful of napkins. “Don’t feel bad… we’ve all made that mistake.”

The man wipes his chin and cheeks clean and blots at the now darkening stain on his blue shirt. “It’s that obvious?”

I laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but yeah… it’s obvious.”

He tosses the burrito down on the tray and wipes his hands clean. “Clearly this isn’t how I thought my evening would start.”

I nod. “Trust me, I know how that goes. I’m Max, by the way.”

“I’m Ben.” He smiles.

There is still a tiny bit of sour cream on his bottom lip. I grab up the remaining clean napkins. “You’ve got some… right there.” I point to my own lip and smile. “Here.” I go to hand Ben the napkins, but knock my bag off the table instead. My loose change, driver’s license, wallet, receipts, and a school ID slide across the floor between us. “Shit.”

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