01 Summoned-Summoned (3 page)

I lean over her and wrap her body against mine. Her lips are soft but demanding as she kisses me, her hands on my shoulders. I fuck her until the intoxication takes over, and I find myself gasping into her neck.

Heart thudding, but body relaxing, I roll off and settle beside her. We are quiet for a while, staring at the ceiling fan.

Then, she looks over at me. “I'm gonna go wash up, okay?”

I nod and indicate the bathroom door, like she couldn't figure that out on her own. As soon as she's up, I stand and pull back the covers, then drop onto the sheet.

Water runs, a cabinet door opens, and a few minutes later, she re-emerges. She's naked and ruffled. I had planned for round two, but it has been a long day. She also looks ready to collapse.

With a hesitant glance at me, she starts gathering her clothes. 

My heart sinks a little. The truth is, I did something horrible today. I didn't want to, but I still did it. If she leaves, I'm going to think about it.

I hate the silence.

And she's so damn adorable.

“Hey, Syd?” 

She looks up, shirt in one hand. 

I smile and tilt my head. “Wanna nap before you hit the road?”

She pauses, then shrugs and lays her shirt over the foot board. She comes around to the other side of the bed and crawls up next to me.

We exchange uncertain, but amused, looks. Then I grab one of the water bottles from the night stand and offer it to her.

She wraps her hand around it, but doesn't take it. I don't let go either. We just study each other's faces, grinning. I'm not sure why, but I don't care. 

I lean in and kiss her before I realize what I'm doing. She buries her face in my neck. I think, for a moment, that she's ready for another go. But her head lays heavy on my shoulder. She takes a deep breath.

With a small shrug, I move her off from me and bring her face back to mine. 

I kiss her lips, her nipples in turn, and then her forehead. “You're beautiful. Thank you. Now get some rest.”

She smiles, then cuddles down under the covers and turns away to sleep.

***

I wake in the morning to a buzzing noise punctuated with thumping.

Then there's silence.

To my right, Syd says in a hoarse voice, “Hello?”

I'm lying flat on my back, naked, with one leg stuck out from under the blankets. The ceiling fan is blowing a small breeze over me. I couldn't be more relaxed even if I'd shot up some of those  benzos myself.

“Oh, God,” Syd says, in an entirely different tone than she had used last night.

I turn my head to look at her. She scrambles out from under the covers, ass naked, and begins hopping into her pants. Her phone is wedged between her head and shoulder.

“I'll be right there. I just—I, uh, I stayed over at a friend's house, but I'm heading out right now. Don't do anything. Just stay right there.” She drops the phone, zips up her pants, then grabs her shirt and pulls it over her head. “I'm sorry, Dimitri, it was great knowing you, but I got to go.”

She grabs her purse and phone and shoes, then runs, barefoot, out of the room. A moment later, the front door slams.

At least I don't have to get up to throw her out.

***

When I wake again, the afternoon sun is shining through my window. My bladder is screaming to get my lazy ass out of bed, or else. 

With a groan, I pull to my feet and stagger to the bathroom. Might as well get on with the day. That usually includes a long hot shower, food at a random restaurant, and then either frivolous hours gaming online or more serious time at the private shooting range.

After eight years, I'm a little bored of both forms of first-person shooters. Bored enough I would get a job if I could. Being summoned in the middle of the afternoon might be difficult to explain to the office manager, though. Not sure PTO covers my situation.

On the other hand, I'm not exactly a puzzles and model planes type of guy. Sometimes I request tutors, usually in combat skills or language, but I haven't had any private instructions in over two years. Not entirely sure I ever want to again, either. Those one-on-one studies get pretty intense.

My days are squandered waiting for Karl to need me. That is my full time occupation. No weekends, no vacations, and no conflicting interests. I live in this world, but I'm not a part of it. Never have been, never will be. That's just how my life is. I don't spend much time contemplating it.

Except when I'm hungover in the shower.

After I'm certain I have caused a water crisis, I towel off and dress, thinking about Syd's deliciously tight body. Too bad I have a rule against keeping in touch. She would definitely be on speed dial.

I whistle a little tune as I unlock the safe bolted to the wall in my walk-in closet. Inside the safe are dozens of wallets, each labeled with the name of the setup.

I return Leo Hartz, since no one busted him during the last assignment. Alan O'Neill is going out to eat today. I cram the wallet into my pants pocket with my phone, pluck my keys off the nightstand, and head out. 

The neighborhood is quiet, and that's how I like it to be. No one around here knows I work for Karl. No one around here knows me at all.

I unlock my Corolla and slide in as the house cleaners turn in. I pull down the sun visor and then remember I need to have someone pick up the Accord and swap out the license plate. Safety measure. That and maybe a new coat of paint. I like to keep things mixed up. Throws the proverbial dogs off the scent. I'm not worried about authorities, but if they do sniff me out, I will have to uproot. I'm kind of partial to this house, since my father raised me here and all.

Something tells me if I screw up and get people nosing around the operation, my next place will make a Medieval dungeon look like the Marriott.

My stomach growls, returning me to the task at hand. I start the engine, then decide to head to a cafe across town. Laziness has been getting the best of me lately. Time to start circling wider before I become a regular to some waitress.

Thirty minutes later, I pull into a cafe parking lot. My brain is pulsing. Damn hangover. 

Inside the cafe, the scent of hot coffee and grease greets me. I take a seat at an empty table near the door. A small check-out counter sits in front of the pass bar. Only two people are in sight, and one—an older guy—is adding up pennies. He uses a finger to jerk them aside, his mouth moving as he counts.

The woman, about the same age, spots me, grabs a menu from a rack on the side of the counter, and crosses the small room. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” She lays the menu on the table. “Coffee? Orange juice?”

“Yes, both.” I don't open the menu. “Blueberry pancakes, bacon well-done, hash browns.” I think of the cougar bartender and grin. “And eggs, over easy.”

The waitress nods, takes back the menu, and strolls away.

My pocket vibrates. I dig out my phone and touch the screen. I have a text message.

Just wanted to apologize for leaving in a rush this morning. -Syd

What the shit?

I scowl and type back.
How the hell did you get my number?

After pressing send, I realize it's not the smoothest way to handle the situation, but a terrible feeling is brewing in my stomach. And it's not just the lack of food anymore.

My phone vibrates again.

Oh. When you were freshening up, I grabbed your number off your settings. Sorry if that bothers you.

If that bothers me? Why the fuck was she snooping around my phone?

Another message comes in from her.
Sorry. I know it sounds terrible.

I reply.
It's fine.

Nothing a call to the phone company won't fix. Change of number, and goodbye Syd.

Hopefully she isn't bold enough to show up to my place uninvited, since I didn't get to be the morning-after asshole. God dammit.

The waitress brings coffee, creamer, and a glass of orange juice. She leaves without a word. I stare at my phone, trying to understand how Syd had deemed it appropriate to lift my info.

I text her again.
Why did you take my number?

A moment later, she replies.
I thought you said it was fine.

I lied.

The text messages stop coming in. I probably upset her, but I don't feel bad about it. She rifled through my shit. 

No more house guests. I knew better, but I have no idea how to explain a hotel charge to Karl. Time to figure that out.

The waitress brings the plates of food, and my attention focuses on the meal. Fluffy blueberry pancakes topped with a swirl of whip cream. Bacon cooked to a crisp. Hash browns...Well, they aren't really hash browns. Country potatoes, but it's all good with a little Tabasco.

I pick up my fork to dive in, and my phone vibrates. So Syd decided to reply after all. With an irritated sigh, I poke the screen to read the message.

I can explain it better in person. Want to meet for lunch?

No, I do not. I want her to stop ruining the fun reel of last night replaying in the back of my head.

I text without even picking up the phone,
I'm over it. Have a good life.

If she doesn't take the hint soon, I actually will have to change my phone number—and come up with an excuse to tell Karl. Dammit.

I pull my plate closer and cut into the pancakes. They really are magnificent. 

The phone vibrates again.

I drop my fork, snatch up the phone, and press the dial button. The line rings once.

“Dimitri?” Syd sounds taken aback.

“For fuck's sake, woman, what in the name of Beelzebub do you want?”

She makes an “uh” sound. Then she seems to collect herself. 

“I'm not trying to be that girl. I know it was a one-night stand. But, I do feel bad for taking your number, and—”

“So stop using it,” I snap. 

I hang up and go back to eating.

The phone vibrates with an incoming call.

I growl and answer it. “Go away, Syd.”

“Now you're just being a jerk.” She sounds angry, but her voice quivers. “A lot of shit has gone down in the last twenty-four hours, and I just wanted to apologize to you. Go to hell.”

She hangs up.

My eggs are getting cold. 

I hate cold eggs, but I hate being the bad guy more so. This is one of the few times I'm not forced to be, even though I would really like for her to get lost.

I finish my pancakes, then resign to calling her back.

She answers on the third ring. “What now?” 

She sniffles.

“Have you been crying?” My mouth slams shut.

I don't want to know. I don't want to know if she was crying, or why she made off with my phone number, or anything else about her or her life. She has taken all the fun out of our drunken shaboink. 

“Why are you calling me, Dimitri?”

“I'm going to text you the address to the cafe I'm at. You have thirty minutes to get down here if we really have to do this.” I punch the disconnect button and text her the address, 'cause I'm a man of my word.

Or whatever.

I finish my food, except the eggs. The waitress clears my plates and refills my coffee. In ten minutes, Syd is standing at the cafe entrance, staring at me.

I wave her over.

She drops into the opposite seat, purse thudding to the floor in unison. She's wearing a long t-shirt that has been cut and tied until it's not really a t-shirt anymore and skin-tight black pants. Her cheeks have this glittery dust on them, but she looks way too pissed off to be a fairy.

“Fuck you, Dimitri.”

“No do-overs,” I say. 

She lifts her arm to beckon the waitress, but keeps her eyes on me. When the waitress comes over, Syd says in a gentle tone, “Coffee, black, please.”

The waitress walks away.

Syd's voice darkens again. “You don't have to be a prick. I just wanted to explain what happened with the phone number.”

I shrug. “Explain.”

She glowers, then she leans back in her chair. “I had a one-night stand at a hotel once, and later I couldn't find the guy when I thought I was pregnant.”

“Hold up. You said you had that taken care of.”

“Well, I do, now.”

The waitress sets a coffee mug in front of Syd and leaves.

I narrow my eyes. “That thought hadn't crossed your mind?”

Syd picks up her coffee but doesn't drink any. 

“Well, if you're all responsible now,” I say, “then you didn't need my number.”

“Things happen.” She shrugs. “I try to always be prepared.”

“Pretty sure that's not what the Girl Scouts had in mind.”

“You were drunk and horny, so I figured it was easier just to grab it off your phone.” She sighs and drinks her coffee, then wrinkles her nose. “This is really bitter.”

I push the bowl of creamer toward her.

She plucks out one of the tubs and pulls back the top. “You know, there's a coffee made from monkey shit. It's like the most expensive coffee in the world or something.”

“Sounds like the high-life to me,” I reply, deadpan.

She smiles, but it only serves to emphasize the bleakness in her eyes.

I could ask why she's sad, and she would probably tell me. I do not like this idea.

She leans forward and lowers her voice. “Since we've got everything out in the open, want me to stop by this evening?”

My first inclination is to say yes, then I remember there is the off-chance Karl might summon me. Unlikely for at least a few months, though.

But I do have that rule against bringing home the same girl twice. The rule isn't usually difficult to keep. Syd, however, is terribly tempting. Even as annoyed as I am with her right now, she just might become the first exception. Something tells me she's burying her troubles, and I'm more than willing to help a good cause.

I drink my coffee, mulling over the presented opportunity. “You got a lot of guys spitting game, I'd imagine?”

She looks stunned, then her cheeks flush. “Yeah, there's a few, I guess.”

“Well, that makes things easier,” I say.

She laughs. “I'm not going to demand an engagement ring for Christmas, if that's what you're worried about.”