Tease Me. Dawn Atkins

by a man with a breast fetish and a pile of old nachos molding on the arm of his sofa. She turned to glance out the door. Shouldn’t she be able to see her car? Maybe she’d parked farther down….

      “Deirdre and your money are long gone. If you want to call Apartment Hunters or something, help yourself.” He gestured further inside. “I’ll make some coffee.”

      “No, thank you. I’ll just…I have to…figure out…this.” She backed toward the door, not wanting Jackson to see her freak. Her joy had snapped like a dry ficus stem and her brain seemed about to explode. She still held Deirdre’s candy. Deirdre, that duplicitous…The word bitch formed in her mind, but that was too vicious. That dishonest person.

      On the porch, she grabbed her tree and staggered down the porch stairs.

      “Sure you don’t want coffee?” Jackson called to her from the doorway. “Hell, you deserve a beer. Apartment hunting is thirsty work.”

      She turned to him, considering the possibility of at least taking some coffee. Then she saw his face, soft with sympathy. He felt sorry for her. She seemed pitiful. That would never do. She was on her own, for better or worse, for richer, poorer and, it seemed, homelessness. She’d made it this far. She was not about to fold at the first crisis.

      “Thanks anyway.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel, shifted the tree to her hip and turned on her earth-shoe heel, desperate to get inside her new car where she could panic for a few moments before she figured out what to do.

      Except…where was her car? The street was bare of her shiny new Outback. In fact, the block that had been busy with ballplayers was now as eerily quiet as Home Depot on Super Bowl Sunday.

      Heidi’s stomach dropped like the first plunge on a roller coaster and her heart flew into her throat. She spun to check both directions. No glory of chrome and steel anywhere. It was gone. Into thin air.

      “Oh, my God!”

      “What’s wrong?” Jackson took the stairs to the sidewalk, headed her way.

      “My car’s gone.” Could it have possibly rolled downhill as she’d feared? She set down the heavy plant, dropped the candy sack and ran a few yards down the sidewalk, peering as hard as she could toward the far intersection, desperate for a glimpse of her vehicle.

      Then she remembered something awful. She’d left the keys in the ignition. A common habit in tiny Copper Corners, where people often left even their houses unlocked. She’d planned to zip into the garage as soon as Deirdre let her in to unload.

      If only Heidi could take back those two short minutes. Get a do-over. Grab her keys like the sensible person she was.

      “What kind of car?” Jackson asked, dragging her back to the terrible present.

      “Subaru Outback. Silver. New. With the keys inside,” she added wretchedly. “How could a car get stolen in broad daylight in two minutes?”

      “No place in the city is safe enough to dangle your keys in people’s faces.”

      “I was going to pull right into the garage.” With a jolt, she realized what else she’d left in the car. Her purse. Not only did the thieves have her new car and everything she owned, they also had her driver’s license, her only credit card and, worst of all, the cashier’s check for every cent she owned. Yeah, it was a big check, but she was careful. Cashier’s checks were stolen everyday. The clerk had warned her….

      Fresh icebergs broke off into her bloodstream.

      She struggled against the numbing chill. She had to figure this out and fix it. Fast. “There were guys here…playing basketball.” Her gaze shot to the hoop a half block down. “They must have seen what happened.” She started across the street.

      “Hang on.” Jackson caught her arm. “I don’t know those guys, but they have a lot of late-night visitors—in and out and I don’t think they’re selling baseball cards. We’ll call the police.”

      “But I’m sure they saw. They watched me arrive. I waved at them even.”

      “They were probably casing your car. Come on. We’ll call the police.” He reminded her of her brothers, jumping in to take care of things for her.

      She had to act for herself, so she took her phone from her pocket and pressed 9-1-1—her first-ever emergency call and due to her own stupidity.

      Standing on the sidewalk in the pounding sun, under Jackson McCall’s watchful eye, Heidi explained to the dispatcher what had happened, fighting the wobble in her voice. When she revealed that the car held her purse and her money, Jackson grimaced. He thought she was an idiot.

      She was an idiot.

      The dispatcher told her to wait where she was for the detectives to arrive. She clicked off the phone and slid it in her pocket, her chest tight and her brain racing. “I’m used to a small town,” she explained to mitigate Jackson’s impression of her. “I expected Deirdre to let me into the garage. It would have worked fine, except that Deirdre wasn’t…and you were…and I was—never mind. I’m an idiot.”

      “Forget it. Come inside. You have calls to make.”

      She did. She had to cancel her credit card and find out if she could void that cashier’s check. There was no point calling about car insurance. She’d bought only the required liability policy, fibbing to her brothers that she’d paid for comprehensive because she didn’t want them paying her way. She planned to increase her policy when she could afford it.

      That had been shortsighted, she saw now. But maybe she’d get back the car. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.

      She felt numb, stripped of everything, even her purpose in being here. She forced herself to move, but stumbled on her first step.

      Jackson caught her, supporting her with a hand against her back. His fingers pressed into the bare skin exposed by Celia’s top. She should stand on her own two feet, she knew, but she was freaked and her legs weren’t working so well, so she let Jackson guide her with his big hand.

      He picked up the sweets sack and extended it.

      “For you,” she said, trying to smile. “My thank-you gift. Prickly pear candy—my town’s famous for it.”

      “Prickly pear and beer. Sounds like lunch. Come on and I’ll serve it up.” He seemed to be trying to cheer her.

      She wanted to respond, but reentering the boob-adorned hovel that was supposed to have been her glorious new home made her heart sink like a stone into the neighbor’s grass-flecked kiddie pool.

      Jackson hefted her plant effortlessly and guided her inside, pulling out a kitchen chair for her. He stuck the tree in a corner and tossed the candy on the table.

      Heidi sat, noticing the clock on the wall was part of a bar ad for a German beer. “If you’ve got the time,” was written beneath a barmaid with, of course, huge boobs. Heidi had the time, all right. It was only eleven and she’d lost everything.

      She noticed a lump under her butt and extracted a pair of plaid boxer briefs.

      Jackson nonchalantly tossed them into the hall. Toward the hamper? She could only hope. The man must have stripped in the kitchen. Did he cook in the buff? Obviously he didn’t clean—dressed or naked. The sink and counters were heaped with dirty dishes. Empty cans of ravioli and Hungry-Man soup, lids bent jauntily, kept company with empty TV dinner containers on every surface. If this was his diet, she hoped Jackson took a daily vitamin.

      “Beer, soda or coffee?” He opened the fridge door. The pleasant smell of ripe fruit—peaches?—was quickly swamped by rotting greens. “Whew. Something died in here.” He squatted, then lifted out a plastic sack of mossy lettuce. “Looks like a Chia Pet.” He carried it by finger and thumb to the overflowing under-sink trash. Beer cans and paper plates slid to the floor. He swore and shoved the cupboard door shut on the mess.

      “I’ve disrupted