Broken Lion (5 page)

She snorted, “He won’t let me suck his dick. Don’t know what he’s missing.”

“Oh. Right.” I smiled, but found myself wondering if I had the blowjob skills to keep a man like Lion from straying. No, I really just wanted to think about giving him a blowjob. I did like giving them and I did swallow. But Lion’s cock was much larger than my ex-husband’s. Could I manage a man that large? I repressed a shiver and hoped Candy didn’t notice. “Why won’t Lion let you give him head?”

“He’s probably gay.”

“He didn’t seem gay to me.”

“Did he let you suck his dick?”

“No,” I laughed.
But he wanted me to.

“He’s gay. Unless he’s in love with somebody else.” She gave me a pointed look.

I didn’t know how Lion could be in love with me after two hours of knowing me.

She shrugged. “Probably that fucking fiancée of his.”

“He’s engaged?”

She sniffed in the affirmative.

That explained it. It made perfect sense.

Lion Maxwell was trash. The poster boy for manwhores around the world.

I had been right all along.

Chapter 3

BRIGID

“Good afternoon, Tisha.” I was breathless, having just jogged from the staff parking structure to the ECU two days later. Like always, I was barely on time. Traffic between here and Burbank was terrible.

“Hey, Bridge. How was your weekend?”

“Great.”

“Go on any dates?”

I scoffed. “No.”

“You sure?” She grinned.

“Yes I’m sure.”

“That’s funny because someone brought something in for you.” From under the counter of the nurses station she pulled out a shiny gold box with a black satin bow.

“What is it?”

“You tell me.”

“I have no idea.” I looked at the card. “It says Dr. Flanagan. Did you see who brought it?”

“Just some delivery guy, I think.”

I held the box to my ear.

“What you doing, Bridge?”

“Listening for ticking.”

“What, like a bomb?” She looked doubtful.

“Yes.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Girl, you been watching too many old movies. Nobody uses wind-up alarm clocks anymore. It’s all electronic these days. You know, ‘Don’t cut the red wire!’ That kind of thing.”

“What do you know about defusing bombs?”

“I saw The Hurt Locker,” she said confidently.

“I saw Superman but it doesn’t mean I can fly.”

“Good point.”

I shook the box.

“Don’t shake it! You might blow up the both of us!” She half meant it.

“This is silly. Who would send me a bomb? My patients love me, right?” Over the years, I had received gifts from patients but it was usually a card or a children’s crayon drawing or a plate of cookies or a bouquet of flowers. Not a mysterious gold box. “Maybe it’s chocolates? Something fancy like Godiva?”

“They can put bombs in chocolates, you know.”

I smirked at her. “
In
the chocolates?”

“You heard a cherry bombs, right? Maybe these are chocolate bombs.”

“With or without cherries?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just sayin’.”

“Who would send me chocolates?”

“Maybe you got a secret admirer.”

“Who?”

“Maybe that jungle man from the other night, Lion what’s-his-name.”

“I doubt it.” I carefully untied the black bow. Tisha winced in anticipation. No boom. The lid was on pretty tight, so I had to cradle it in my arms to peel it off. I angled it away from my face, just in case.

“Don’t point that thing at me!”

“Sorry. Here goes nothing.” When I finally had the lid off the box, I set both on the counter top.

She leaned forward to look. “I don’t see any chocolate.”

“Me neither.” I dug through the gold tissue paper inside and lifted out a sculpture of a lion. It was minty green with swirls of various pastel greens running through it.

“Is that jade?”

“I don’t think so. It’s too light. It feels like…”

“What?”

I held the lion up to my nose. “It smells like… Irish Spring.”

“You mean like the soap?”

I rubbed my thumb against it. “I think so. Feels like it. Like someone carved a lion out of a bar of Irish Spring. It’s about the right size.”

“It’s really good. Looks like a real lion and everything. Lemme see.”

“Wait. I’m not done admiring it. Whoever made this really knows how to carve soap.”

“Whoever?” She said sarcastically. “The man’s name was Lion. You holding a soap lion in your hands. Please tell me you can connect them two dots.”

“Do you really think a man like that knows how to make soap carvings?”

“So he had a friend do it. Or paid somebody. Anything else in the box?”

“There’s a card.”

“What it say?”

I read it to myself first. I blushed and held the card against my chest.

“Read it to me, girl.”

“I can’t. It’s too dirty.”

“Don’t make me fight you for it.”

I handed the card to her while I continued admiring the detailed sculpture. Even the lion’s mane had flowing hair. You could almost see the individual strands.

Latisha started reading out loud. “This pussy smells like Irish Spring. I bet yours smells even better.” She snorted a laugh. “He crazy, girl. Now I’m blushing.”

I reached for the card. I didn’t want her reading any more out loud. “Give me that!”

“Let me finish. It says: In case you want to wash your hands of me forever, rub your hands all over this lion. In case you don’t, call me and you can rub your hands all over me.” She laughed. “Oh, Lord. That boy is nuts.” She turned the card over and frowned. “There’s no number.”

I frantically searched through the box, checking the underside of the lid, the ribbon, the tissue paper. “I don’t see a number anywhere.”

Latisha grabbed the sculpture from where I’d set it on the counter.

“Give that back!” Yes, I sounded like a desperate teenager. Yes, Lion’s message was crass. But the sculpture was incredible and I was a little bit giddy that he went to the trouble. I wondered if he sculpted it himself? It didn’t matter. I was flattered. Nobody had ever carved a sculpture for me. Or had one carved. Either way worked.

“Hold up.” She flipped the sculpture over and looked at the bottom. “Here it is. I need a pen so I can write it down.”

“Be my guest.” I said it sincerely because that was the exact moment I remembered Lion had a fiancée. People said it was the thought that counted, but what good was it when it came from a lying two-timing piece of trash?

“I thought you wanted him all to yourself?”

I sighed, “He has a fiancée.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“No. One of his groupies told me.”

“You mean one of them ratchet hoochies from the other night?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t trust what them girls say.”

“It doesn’t matter because I’m not going to date a patient.” I motioned toward the rack of patient records. “Anybody I need to see?”

“There’s a man in 106 who took a tumble down a flight of stairs. Possible fracture to the left radius and ulna.” She handed me the man’s chart.

I turned toward 106.

“Don’t forget your lion.” She held up the box.

I grimaced. “I don’t want it.”

“Then it’s going in the garbage.”

“No!”

“That’s what I thought.” She smiled and handed me the box.

“I hate you.”

“You can thank me later.”

One thought hounded me the rest of the day.

Should I or shouldn’t I call Lion?

At the very least, I needed to thank him. Then I needed to tell him I wasn’t interested.

Chapter 4

LION

“The grand opening of the new dojo is only a few weeks out. Will you be ready to make an appearance by then?” The woman asking was Rhonda Chavez, one of my business partners. She oversaw our chain of dojos. We had six in LA. In a few weeks we were opening a seventh in Burbank and had plans for an eighth in West Covina.

I sat in a lounger beside my pool, my knee up and iced while I worked on my tan. Rhonda sat in a chair under a sun umbrella and looked incredible with her dark skin and her naturally plump lips and long black hair pulled back. In her black fitted business suit and red silk top, she was a knockout.

My short haired black Bombay cat Guenhwyvar was circling her ankles, brushing her tail against Rhonda’s calves, trying to get her attention.

Rhonda reached down and scratched the back of Guenhwyvar’s head.

“Be careful,” I said. “She’ll jump in your lap and shed all over your suit if you keep petting her. She thinks you’re her mom.”

Rhonda smiled. “Since I’m wearing black already, no one will notice.” She cooed at Guenhwyvar, “Isn’t that right, princess?” She loved my cats. “Where is Tigger?”

Tigger was my insane Savannah cat. He looked like a miniature leopard and could jump like one too. I’d seen him leap eight feet straight up trying to snatch a bird out of the air many times. The birds tended to avoid our yard, but not all of them knew about Tigg. “He’s probably busy hunting anything that moves.” My backyard was huge and full of trees and bushes and a big lawn that surrounded the pool. Tigger often disappeared into the jungle first thing in the morning and didn’t come out until dinner time.

Just then, Aslan, my long-haired Maine Coon came strutting across the pool deck in slow motion.

I smirked, “Someone’s jealous. But he won’t admit it.”

Aslan stopped ten feet away from me and Rhonda. He looked the other way like he wasn’t interested in what we were doing. His tail flicked lazily against the cement.
I’m over here, idiots.

“Aslan! Come here, buddy.” I slapped the leg of my lounger.

He stared at me and blinked.
Did you say something, idiot? I’m here, you’re there. Get up off your ass and come pet me.

Rhonda giggled when Guenhwyvar jumped into her lap and settled in.

“I’ve got a lint roller inside if you need one.”

“Thanks. I probably will. So, now that your knee is injured, what are we going to do about the grand opening in Burbank?

“No prob. I’ll be there even if I’m in a wheelchair. I’ll even teach a demo class.”

“In a wheelchair?”

“Hell yeah from a wheelchair. I know a guy with no legs who will kick your ass from his wheelchair. As long as you don’t tip him over like a turtle, he’s lethal on wheels.”

“Why wouldn’t someone just tip him over?”

“I’ve tried. I can’t get close enough. Hey, you want anything cold to drink? I’m sweating my ass off out here.”

“No thanks. I need to run. I have to get over to City Hall in Pasadena. Apparently there’s some road closures coming up because of street construction and they want to close off street access to our parking lot.”

“Please tell me you’ll handle it. That’s the last thing I want to think about right now.”

“I’ll take care of it.” She smiled confidently. Rhonda could cut through red tape like a samurai warrior. “If worse comes to worst, we still have alley access to the lot and I can make warning fliers to pin up and hand out at the dojo so everyone knows.” She stood to go.

“You’re an angel. By the way, how’re Renaldo and the kids?”

“They’re good. Just worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine. Say hi to them for me.”

“I will. We should have you over for dinner once your knee heals.”

“Why wait? You guys can come over here. I know your kids love the pool.”

She smiled. “They do. Maybe next weekend?”

I nodded at my knee. “I got nothing going on.”

My phone chimed on the table beside my lounger.

“I should go,” Rhonda whispered and grabbed her purse from the table.

“Laters. Oh, hey. The lint roller is in the kitchen in the top drawer beneath the microwave. Let me get it for you.” I grabbed my crutches.

“Don’t get up. I’ll find it.” Her heels clicked across the poolside cement as she walked toward the open french doors at the back of the house.

Aslan watched her as she went.
Are you blind? I’m right here. Pet me already!

My phone chimed again and I picked it up.

Two texts from an unknown number.

Unknown ID: Thank you for the sculpture.

Unknown ID: It’s beautiful.

No fucking way.
I was starting to think Brigid never got it. I had it delivered days ago.
I wanted to bang out a text but I couldn’t think of anything to say and suddenly my palms were damp and my heart was pounding.
I can’t believe she’s texting me.

Unknown ID: Can I ask a favor?

I took a second to think before responding.

Me: Anything for you, Irish.

Unknown ID: Cute.

Shit. Did I piss her off by calling her Irish?

Unknown ID: Can I ask that you not send me any more gifts at the hospital?

Aw, shit. I did piss her off.

Me: Sorry about that. Won’t happen again.

I was back pedaling. I never backpedaled with anybody, not even women. I wanted to throw my phone in the pool out of frustration, but I didn’t want to miss another text from her. Think fast. I needed to say something that didn’t make me look like a desperate douche.

Me: Tell me where to send things next time.

Unknown ID: Next time?

Me: Yes.

Unknown ID: I think it’s better if you don’t send me anything else.

Me: Did you not like the surprise?

Unknown ID: I just think it’s better if you don’t.

Me: Come on. Who doesn’t like surprises? You’re gonna love what I’m working on now.

Unknown ID: I just realized I made a mistake the night I met you.

Shit. What now?

Unknown ID: I should have given you a CT scan to check for any signs of concussion. Your inflated ego has obviously swollen your head to dangerous proportions.

She was flirting. Now it was on.

Me: Funny you say that. My head is swollen right now. And every time I think about you. I think it’s ready to pop.

I took a moment to put her name in my list of contacts. She didn’t respond for several minutes. I must’ve pissed her off. Maybe she was more sensitive than I realized. Or not. She started typing.