The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind (2 page)

The final new message came
from sweetthang666@hotmail. She grinned at the obvious nod to her
repeatedly calling Fletcher "
Officer
Candy
," instead of his real last
name,
Canby
.

"So, what's happening in
your new world, sweet thang?" she murmured, tapping the open
button. She'd only managed to skim the first few lines of
Fletcher's message when the sound of the door opening made her look
up.

A tall, lean man in a dark
gray suit stepped across the threshold and looked around. His
patrician posture and thick wavy silver hair brought instantaneous
recognition.
The judge. Fletcher's
dad.
Holy shit.

Judy fumbled her phone,
nearly dropping it.

His gaze zeroed in on her
and he walked toward the desk with the confidence and
self-possession of someone about to accept an Oscar.

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,
it's him. Judge Canby.
She shoved the phone
into her purse and jumped to her feet.
Now, what?

"Hello...again."

That voice. Deep and
cultured. Sean Connery without the accent.
Wait. Did that even make any sense?
Probably not. Sean Connery without an accent would be that
lean cowboy actor with the handlebar mustache whose name she
couldn't remember.

"If you're looking for
Fletcher, he isn't here."

"I didn't presume he would
be."

Presume? Who the f-ing
hell presumes?
Was his word choice a clever
ploy to make her feel dumber than dirt? Guess what? It
worked.
Well played, Judge Wilson
Canby.

He stopped a few feet from
the desk. Well outside cootie-range, she figured. He couldn't have
looked more out of place if he were dressed in drag. The fit of his
suit hinted that it cost more than her monthly house payment. The
material--a wool blend, she
presumed
--invited touch. She bunched
her fingers around her faux leather purse and focused instead on
his pale blue shirt and red, gold and navy striped tie.

Tasteful but
boring.
The thought actually released a
tiny bit of tension from her shoulders. The man might look like
Zeus's go-to-guy on Earth, but the mortal wasn't perfect. He
couldn't pick a tie for shit.

"The place hasn't changed
much," he said, looking around. "I used to come here before
Fletcher was born. It had a boxing ring in the far corner...until
the owner got busted for taking bets."

His completely off-the-wall
comment left Judy momentarily speechless. Granted her only
encounter with this man had lasted under sixty seconds...under the
most awkward circumstances imaginable after he burst into a hotel
room occupied by four fairly naked people--his son and Judy among
them, but she never would have pegged him as a gym rat. Not that he
didn't look trim and fit for a man who spent his days sitting on a
bench. Or behind it. Or whatever judges did.

He took a step closer. The
horrible unflattering overhead lights should have made his skin
tone sallow, as it did Judy's and everyone else, but no. His
healthy tanned glow made her wonder if he kept a yacht docked at
the pond in City Park.

And why did he seem taller
than she remembered? The guy had been in her dreams every night for
two weeks and
now
she figures out he's got four inches on her?

Pru's shoes.
Of course. The rhinestone-accented f-me platforms
Judy had been wearing that night had leveled the playing field when
they faced each other eye-to-eye--except when he was staring at her
ginormous naked boobs.

She unconsciously pulled
back her shoulders and inhaled deeply. As if caught in a tractor
beam, his gaze dropped. Even compressed and hermetically sealed
into an extra-large sports bra, her Double-Ds could activate a
Level Green testosterone alert. "How can I help you, Judge Canby?
We're running a special this month. Second membership is half price
for you and that special someone."

Was there a special
someone? She'd have to ask Fletcher. Texts and emails didn't make
for the best gossip. And Fletcher had an uncanny way of avoiding
topics he didn't want to discuss. Judy didn't have a problem with
that. They were friends, not confidants, lovers or related. Thank,
God. They'd been naked together in the same room...on the same bed.
And while she and Fletcher hadn't had sex, close scrutiny of the
evening carried a high
eiouw
factor given their ages and the number of sex toys
scattered about them.

The judge looked up and
their gazes locked.
Oh, shit. His eyes are
bluer than I remembered. Why? Why? Why does he have to be a
walking, talking wet dream? Can't I get a break just
once?

Although it made no sense
at all, Judy couldn't suppress the sudden anger that bubbled up
like molten lava. Those electric blues had been an integral part of
her dreams for two full weeks. She'd manufactured a fantasy lover
around those eyes. Wise, humble, caring, attentive to her every
need. A man who got her jokes. A lover beyond compare--even taking
into account the mind-blowing sex she'd had recently. He'd become
her Dream Man who just happened to look like Judge Wilson Canby...
Damn. She wasn't ready for that particular fantasy to become
squashed beneath six-feet and a hundred and eighty pounds of harsh
reality.

She glanced at her
non-existent watch. "Oh, dear. Gotta run."

When she opened her purse
to search for her keys, she knocked over her ridiculously oversized
water bottle. "You need to drink half your body weight in ounces
every day," she said, grabbing the handle before water spurted all
over the floor. She'd gotten into the habit of repeating Kelly's
mantra even though Judy doubted even a parched camel could drink
half of
her
body
weight in ounces. Judy'd never come close.

"I came here to
apologize."

She double clutched the
water bottle, pulling it to her chest. "To me?"

He nodded. His silver hair
looked like freshly minted dimes. Thicker and sexier than men half
his age. Which, thanks to a website that listed a gazillion facts
about sitting judges, she knew to be fifty-five.

"My son is an adult. His
partner...ex-partner, Clarice, convinced me Fletcher was in
trouble. That he'd been coerced into a compromising position by
someone who would blackmail him, to get to me."

Blackmail.
The word had come up that night but not with
Fletcher's name attached to it. Hell, he hadn't even appeared in
any of Judy's best- or worst-case scenarios until he showed up in
Lewis's hotel room with a pair of handcuffs and a gleam of lust in
his eyes. "If that someone was me, I didn't know Fletcher's father
was a judge," she stated truthfully.

His unblinking stare seemed
to penetrate to the deepest corner of her soul.
Judge not lest you be judged.
Her
father's words. Too bad Cecil Banger died before he could teach
Judy's mother that motto. Mom was by far Judy's harshest
critic.

Wilson Canby probably saw
the best--and the worst--in people every day. She didn't want him
looking at her soul, comparing it to the scoundrels and
troublemakers who frequented his court. She tried to look away but
couldn't. Her heart rate shot up to the dangerous range.

"Judy," a familiar voice
cried. "Guess what? I'm perfect."

Pru skidded to a stop a few
inches from Fletcher's father. In a under a millisecond, her wide
smile switched from "Well, hello, handsome" to "Holy fuck, it's the
judge."

"I've been telling you that
for years, Pru," Judy said, relieved to be released from the man's
powerful hold.

Pru shot her a black
look--probably because Judy used her name in front of the
judge.

"Gotta dash. Iceland
awaits. I'll send you some reindeer jerky. 'Bye."

Judy put out her hand,
remembering too late that the reason she couldn't find her keys was
because Pru drove that morning. "But...I rode with you. Wait...."
The door closed with a morose sigh.

"Shit," she muttered,
forgetting she had an audience.

The walk wouldn't kill her,
but her feet might. Her toes had barely recovered from the
excruciating ordeal she’d put them through in a pair of borrowed,
designer f-me shoes.

"I'd be happy to give you a
lift since...it appears your ride has abandoned you."

Because of you.
She bit the inside of her lip to contain her
frustration. Pru had fretted and paced for days following what she
called their "semi-orgy," certain they'd both be served with papers
for breaking some kind of law.

"Four consenting adults are
allowed to have sex--in any combination," Judy had insisted. "Now,
if you could go to jail for degrees of embarrassment, then I'd be
in for life. Relax, Pru. You're a healthy, beautiful, dynamic woman
of a certain age. You're entitled to have sex."

"Screw this," Judy muttered
plopping her purse on the counter. She smashed the water bottle
into the open compartment then gestured with her hands. "Can we get
to the elephant, please?"

"The elephant?"

"You know...the elephant in
the room. The real reason you're here. You want me to rat out
Fletcher."

"Rat out?"

She crossed her arms. "Are
you making fun of me by pretending to be confused?"

"No. I'm genuinely
confused. What did Fletcher do that requires ratting
out?"

"I meant that figuratively.
Listen. I'm sweaty and hungry and I might have a job interview this
afternoon."
One can hope.
"So, just tell me why you're here. And don't say
you want to apologize because we both know I'm a gnat on the
elephant's butt."

He looked surprised--and a
little put off by her directness. Tough. Her stomach was about to
start rumbling like a beast in some horror movie.

"Could I buy you a cup of
coffee?"

Her stomach answered.
Ferociously.

He looked at her gut. "And
a muffin?"

She wasn't sure why his
offer offended her--did he assume because she was chubby she
scarfed down any ol' food tossed her way? She grabbed her purse and
stalked to the door. "No. I'm on a diet." A lie. She'd been on a
million of them and not a single one worked. "And like I said, I
might have to go to a job interview this afternoon. I'll
walk."

He followed her outside.
"Home? That's two miles. Or more."

She stopped so abruptly he
plowed into her, nearly knocking her off her feet. He grabbed one
elbow to keep her from stumbling. She shook off his hand, ignoring
the instant tingle of awareness that shot through her body like an
adrenalin rush. "You know where I live? You checked me out? Is that
even legal?"

He blinked twice then let
out a rusty sounding laugh. "I looked up your name in the phone
book. I know that sounds old-fashioned, but I'm not big on
computers. And, believe it or not, the police force is not at my
investigative disposal."

His smile lingered. A
really nice smile. It reminded her of the quality she'd instantly
liked about his son--his genuine heart. But she didn't want to like
this man. To really like him would require her to get to know him.
Reality would obliterate her fantasy. Upper crust never mixed well
with trailer trash. Ask anybody. Hearts had been broken for
less.

But she could use a little
nourishment before her long walk.

"Plain coffee. Yogurt with
fruit."

"Excellent." Could that
possibly be a hint of hunger in his eyes? For her? No. Impossible.
Maybe he loved fruit.

Her stomach growled again.
"And a slice of zucchini bread," she added, giving in to her
desires--like always.
So much for good
intentions.
She marched toward the coffee
shop next door to the gym without looking back to see if he
followed.

Wiley employed his best
judge skills to keep from showing his elation--just in case Judy
Banger looked over her shoulder. He'd planned this meeting for
days. And despite what he told her, he had called a friend on the
force--Fletcher's ex-commander, in fact--to pick his brain about
Judy Banger. The man's response had been...political. A few facts
mixed with hedged speculation. Obviously, he didn't want to be
anyone's named source--or get in the middle of father-son
issues.

"Ms. Banger doesn't have a
record, if that's what you're asking. She's no pro--despite what
your son's ex-partner wants people to believe. Clarice has a real
hard-on for this woman--and I don't mean that in a sexual way. She
blames Judy Banger for fucking up Fletcher's life. I assume that's
why you're calling?"

"No. In fact, I'm prepared
to take full credit for that myself. I have reason to believe this
woman might be the only person in town still in contact with
Fletcher. I need to make sure he's okay."

A lie. Wiley had no doubt
Fletcher was doing exactly what Fletcher wanted--and was doing it
with panache. His son had been a strong, wholly formed personality
practically since the day he popped out of Eva's womb. After Eva
passed away, their four-year old son's independence--or lack of
dependence on his father or anyone else--had contributed to Wiley's
decision to remarry. Was anyone less cut out to be a parent--let
alone a
single
parent? Apparently, not. So, he snapped up the first young
intern who showed an interest: Julie. Late wife number two. Game
over.