by thriLLL

The low feral rumble of the motorcycle broke my concentration. I peered over the computer monitor, my chin almost resting on the top of it. Out the almost-sheer draperies in the office’s front windows, I saw what I was hoping to see—another glimpse of that gorgeous hunk of flesh who’d been parking in front of my store-front office on a regular basis as of late.

This was my first office outside of an upstairs bedroom at my home. Although it was small—no larger than 30 by 15 feet, I was feeling pretty cocky about finally having my own office/studio space. It was part of a 50’s version of the strip mall. Doors, windows, sidewalk and Durango Street, just south of downtown bordering the fabled King William District of San Antonio. Cheap, but close to money.

My recent successes in the sales of some of my art pieces and commissions for illustration lent me an extra feeling of confidence, invincibility. It also had the strange affect of boosting my interest in the opposite sex---I didn’t know how long this side effect would last, but it was inspiring at the moment.

Thus the added anticipation of hung-watching when I heard the distinctive sound of the stranger’s bike.

It was mid-afternoon, so the bright Texas sun kept the relative darkness inside the office from revealing my dreamy stares. Who in the heck was that guy anyway? He had a long ponytail. Artist? The tattoos decorating his muscular upper arm made him look more than a little dangerous … and interesting. No ties, just tight t-shirts high cheekbones and beautiful big dark eyes. I sighed as I watched his graceful dismount.

And what was the business being conducted next door, anyway? Oh, yeah, a dealer in security devices. A scammer, I’d figured. Someone trying to cash in on the paranoia of those who had already fled to the ‘burbs. Even those, who, self-conscious in their eagerness to brave neighboring projects, stayed to populate the prestigious inner-city neighborhood made furtive visits to my neighbor.

Well, I could see right away that this appealing colleague of the scammers was their best product. A man like that could make ME feel safe. I wonder what it would cost to have him installed as my personal security device.

“Get back to work, Linda, you’ve got a deadline,” I scolded myself/”

Hours later I’d about finished the project. The rest would be easy. It might be a good time to take off and grab myself s quick drink down on the Riverwalk (get some tourist-watching in). But on second thought, I’d go straight home and to bed. I was really kind of tired.

Stretching, waving my arms and jumping around to get my blood flowing after hours at the computer, I noticed it was now darker outside than inside, so the advantage of visibility was in my favor—or rather that of the voyeur on the sidewalk.

But wait a minute. That wasn’t a voyeur, it was the safety guy with the motorcycle. Standing still, holding his bike and watching me. His mouth pressed to the side in amusement, eyes bright with concentration.

Now, I’ve never been one to worry too much about what others thought of my actions and rather enjoyed calling myself and eccentric old lady even if I wasn’t really all that old, but at that very moment, I could feel the heat of humiliation burning my cheeks.

I quickly spun around and with businesslike efficiency, turned off the electronic devices around me, grabbed my belongings and marched to the exit without looking up. I exited and locked the door.

“Hey, what are you doing working so late?” a deadly bass voice with edges of velvet turned this simple inquiry into something that could have melted my knees on the spot. But, hey, I was strong—and good at faking it.

“Uh, hi, who are you?” when nervous I tend to get straight to the point.

“Tony,” he said, “Tony Ramirez.” His accent was not readily recognizable to me.

“Where are you from?” I asked, “You don’t sound like you’re from here.”

“Puerto Rico”

“Interesting….” Now how do I prolong this conversation a little longer? I and really wanted to look—er, talk—to him some more.

“So, uh, what are you doing here?” good question, Linda.

“Well, I work next door. I sell things to help people feel safe.” He replied.

“You don’t look too safe, to me,” I said, then laughed a little nervous laugh.

“Well, I am. I am very safe,” Tony said.

“Oh.”

There was a pause. I peered into those eyes. I almost got lost when his gaze met mine, question for question, spark for spark. He won, I looked down and remembered to breathe.

“So, where ya going?” I said. If you don’t ask, well, you’ll never know.

“Wherever you are going.” Oh, my god---he gave the perfect answer.

“Park that thing and follow me!” I said, making the decision before I even realized I’d had an alternative.

I turned around and walked across the street. A gust of cold air whipped my long skirt around my ankles and the tops of my high-topped canvas shoes. It had been so still all day. The kind of still that tells us south Texans a norther’s coming. And here it was, the wind blowing colder already. It felt good on my flushed cheeks.

As I stepped up onto the opposite curb, Ramirez’s hand grabbed my wrist.

“Hey, wait for me!” he said laughing.

“Sorry, I just got a great idea of where to go,” I said.

He stepped in front of me turning to face me. Still holding onto my wrist—firm, but secure—he looked straight into my eyes. He was not much taller than I was. His eyes were light brown. A stray curl, dark and saucily perched on his left eyebrow locked in my attention.

“What?” I said.

He started laughing and still holding me with eyes and hand, he said, “Who are you is the question. You may think those so-called curtains of yours shield you from prying eyes during the day, but I’ve been watching you. You always look like you’re having fun. I almost walked right in the other day when your blond friend was there.”

“Uh, well, why didn’t you just come on in, Mr. Ramirez? … And I’m Linda.”

“Next time, I sure will,” he replied. “I’ve been watching you.

“Me?”

“Yeah! You dress like a kid who stole her grandmother’s earrings. You drive that red car decorated like a parade float. But your face is the face of an intelligent and beautiful woman.”

I giggled. I giggled?

“I find the contrasts in you very attractive. And call me Tony, I’ll call you Linda.”

“You are way too charming, Tony,” I said, “What’s a woman to do with a young man like you?”

He didn’t answer, just turned to walk beside me, shifting his fingers from my wrist to my hand. Well, I could certainly think of a few things a woman could do with a young man like him. But if I thought those thoughts, I’d faint.

As we walked briskly down toward the bright lights of Alamo Plaza and the Riverwalk. I could feel a flaming lump that used to an internal organ somewhere near my middle, melt everything near it. This caused a great deal of sloshing of my insides. I am sure that was the reason for the weakness in my knees. I had to say something. Inject some humor. Sexual tension or the internal ravings of a middle-aged woman—something was making my brain spin like a top.

“So, like, uh, Tony, how long have you been in San Antonio? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been here for a little while. And the reason I’m here, seems to be to make friends with you.”

YEEOWWW! My legs were becoming positively rubbery.

Holding my breath, I looked ahead.

“There’s the way down to the Riverwalk,” I said.

“Looks dark down there.”

“It’s only a little dark down here, the restaurants mostly start right over there,” I said pointing toward the light of the many restaurants lining San Antonio’s number one tourist attraction.

When we got to the stairs, I took my hand back and quickly sailed down the winding cement steps. Tony stayed right behind me. He was close enough for me to hear his breathing. I was sure I could feel it on my neck as we descended to the beautiful narrow garden filled mostly by a small river, more of a creek really.

This was my favorite part of the Riverwalk. It was quiet. It was dark, and I remembered playing there as a child.

“I haven’t been in this part of the river,” he commented. “What’s that?”

“Well, that’s the old library and dock for the barges, and that’s the old library, and that’s the island I used to play on when I was a kid and …”

Tony was in front of me again. Just smiling. Smiling really big.

“Linda, I think I want to kiss you.”

Well, that certainly stopped my stream of words. I looked at his beautiful face. At eyes that sucked me right in. At a smile so infectious I was grinning like a maniac.

“Let’s compare tattoos.” I said.

“We will,” he said, “but later.”

His hands were on my face, one on each side, keeping my eyes on his, holding my unruly red hair away from my eyes. I had to look back. Whoa, what kissable lips. And they were coming closer to mine.

They came so slowly, too slow. But I waited. What else could I do? I’m a smart woman. I knew something really nice was coming my way. First a feather soft touch.. Then both of his lips softly pulling at it my bottom lip.

I leaned forward. He was a magnet; I was a missing link on the sidewalk--helpless in the face of that powerful pull. He’d grasped my wrist again. He grabbed the other one and slid his hands up my arms. Stopping just above my elbows. His face drew back, leaving me, slack-mouthed and almost drooling in front of him.

All at once, his mouth was on mine. Lip to lip to lip to lip, pressing, moist and warm. His tongue slid along the inside edge of my lips—all around them both—then dove in. My response was, well, what would YOU do? I kissed him back. And kissed him back again.

His bare arms slid around me. Their warmth shielding me from the cold air catching us here in the little man-made canyon created for tourist.

Pulling back only far enough to move his lips to speak, Tony said, “Now, where was it that you were going?”

“Uh, I thought you were going somewhere, no wait, I was going somewhere and you were going with me. Now where was I going to?” Babbling nonsense, I thought better of continuing with the voice thing and boldly pressed my lips to his with the instant reward of his smooth, warm and vigorous tongue responding with enthusiasm.

“I’ve got a bottle of wine back there on my bike,” he whispered, lips still touching mine. “You’ve got an office with curtains. What do you say?”

Now, what was it that I said that night?

I don’t really remember, but it seemed to be the right thing.

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