The granite of the metro bench was a welcoming cool from the sweltering D.C. heat. Cheri leaned back against it, enjoying the chill as the summer heat drained from her body. Her cotton sweater was wadded up in her backpack. It was ridiculous she even had to wear it in the office at this time of year, but her slip dress was a dress- code violation without it. Sleeveless attire was deemed too hot by the higher-ups, and temperature had nothing to do with it. Rather, management was afraid the high-earning nerds and computer geeks would have trouble focusing on their data entry and IT problems if Cheri and the other girls in the office dressed too comfortably.
Her train was late. The transit system for the nation’s capital was going through a major makeover, and the schedule was beyond unpredictable. This time it left her waiting at Forest Glen, the deepest metro station in the system.
Something about being alone and waiting nineteen stories underground made her feel vulnerable, so she remained vigilant. Every little scuff on the pavers that gridded the metro deck made her jump a little. After the first few false starts, though, she became desensitized to the potential danger and stopped paying the noise any mind.
Unfortunately, she let her guard down a bit too soon; the one time she should have paid attention, she only looked too late. She didn’t know if she felt him first or saw him first, but eventually she was doing both simultaneously. The next thing she knew she was looking up into the barrel of a gun, held in the shaky hand of a very tense man.
“Gimme your purse,” he demanded in a growl. He was dripping with sweat, and dark patches of wetness blotched his shirt. His face was shiny with oil, and his hair matted. He was a disgusting example of humanity, filthy and smelly from head to toe, rotten from the inside out. His breath reeked of liquor and desperation and she didn’t want him to touch anything of hers, not even so much as the strap of her bag.
Fear made everything move in slow motion, paralyzing her for too long. Apparently, she didn’t move quickly enough to comply with his orders, because before she could even pull the strap off her shoulder he cold-cocked her upside the head with his free hand.
Incapacitated she froze, hunched over, helpless. At that point he could have taken anything he wanted, as all her belongings were easily within his reach, but she was horrified to discover that there was more to his criminal agenda than that.
“On your back,” he said, licking his lips.
Before the meaning behind that nasty command even registered in her terrified mind, Cheri heard another voice.
“On your knees!” the order came in a baritone that was soothing and insistent at the same time.
Cheri had no idea who it was or what was going on, but she dared not look. She kept her eyes on her feet, right beside the feet of the would-be savior. Boots? In this heat? Cowboy shit-kickers, in the D.C. metro, of all places… She then felt a tinge of courage and stole a peek at the wearer of those boots, just in time to see who was coming to her rescue.
Like an archangel rising from vapor of the train, there he was, holding a weapon of his own on the gunman.
“I-I didn’t take nothing,” the terrified robber stuttered, gawking at the firearm that was much larger than his. “You can put that away, mister.”
The cowboy chuckled, and even his laugh sounded like that of a professional narrator, like someone who was someday going to put Morgan Freeman out of business, a voice and a laugh that wrapped around Cheri like a cozy blanket. “Drop it now, pal, or I’ll shoot it away from you. The shot’ll take your hand with it.”
Cheri didn’t know if the gunman believed him, but she sure did. In fact, she had all the confidence in the world that she was as good as saved and the gunman good as dead.
“You know I can’t do that,” panicked the gunman. “I’m fucked if I do.”
“You’ve already fucked yourself either way,” the booted man said. “Now, it’s up to you whether you wanna take it in all orifices.”
“What’s so wrong about that?” she wondered, still in such a panic that she didn’t even realize she’d muttered the dirty remark aloud. She only had an inclination of that little faux pas when both men looked down at her, their mouths hanging open.
It was just the distraction the Lone Ranger needed to elbow the perpetrator in the ribs and snatch his gun away. He then wrenched the man’s arm behind his back and roughly pinned him against the wall. While the captive groaned, complained, and sputtered more curse words than a person with Tourette’s, the good guy reached around and produced a pair of handcuffs from some mystery location.
A cop? Cheri stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. Damn, he can protect and serve me anytime. Wait. I’m scared, yet I can let that thought pass through my head?
“Gimme the gun back! It’s mine!” The criminal fought against the restraints.
“Not anymore,” the cowboy replied. He then turned to look at Cheri. “I’ve gotta get outta here. Wait ten minutes, then call the cops. Not a minute before.”
At the mention of the police, the gunman flipped out. He yanked his arm violently, nearly tearing his shoulder out of its socket as he tried to break free of the railing he was chained to. “You stupid bitch! I’m gonna kill you when I get out of this!”
With one harsh glare, the man in the boots subdued him.
Cheri stood, now a quivering mess. The full weight of the incident engulfed her, to the point where she found herself unable to focus, almost unable to remain conscious. It was like some scene out of a horrible action movie, and she didn’t want the role she’d been given to play.
Super-cowboy-without-a-cape pulled her to her feet while she fought the wave of nausea building inside of her. He walked her around the corner of the still-vacant metro platform, trying to get her to snap out of it. His deep, penetrating gaze had worked well on the gunman, but it didn’t work any wonders for her in that moment, not that she minded him trying. As much as she wanted to regain her composure and her senses, she simply couldn’t, and all he could think to do was take drastic measures.
In a blur, her rescuing stranger grasped her by the shoulders and held her in place as he lowered his smooth-talking mouth to hers. Cheri wasn’t in the habit of letting strangers even touch her, let alone kiss her, but it seemed inevitable; truly, she was powerless to stop it, and she didn’t want to anyway. As she gazed up into those incredible hazel eyes, fringed with thick lashes, inset in that perfect face framed with slightly long hair, she was a goner. An electric rush pushed through her, like the rush of a slamming tidal wave that no one could control.
She staggered from the force of the touch of his lips, and tingles washed through her limbs, up her neck and to the very tips of her nipples. She had to break the kiss just to catch her breath, which was also storming like the sea. She stepped back and collected herself, then took a deep breath and stared at him for an exaggerated and awkward but wonderful moment. The second time they came together was all her doing.
Cheri was completely focused, present in the moment, and everything she did from that moment forward was on purpose. She gently wriggled her head this way and that while pressing on his soft lips. He boldly penetrated her mouth with his tongue, but they both realized it was too much too fast. Momentarily, they both paused, but neither wanted to relinquish the charge electrifying them.
Intoxicating chemistry left Cheri feeling all doped up. With the gunman as their witness she swept her tongue greedily, exploring the wet heat of his mouth. The scent of him, somewhere between the deep woods and succulent steak, filled her nostrils, an aroma she would never forget. She moaned as he filled her nostrils, filled her mouth with his tongue, and filled her senses with just his presence.
Then they were simultaneously struck with a moment of clarity that they were getting carried away, and they broke apart from each other abruptly.
“You…kissed me,” Cheri announced, batting her eyelashes at him as if she was taken aback.
“I’m aware,” he murmured. “It was strictly for medicinal purposes.”
“Are you a doctor?” she asked.
“No. I’m just…a humanitarian,” he replied.
“Hmm. Well, you’re the hottest humanitarian I’ve ever seen, Cowboy Boots.” She laughed.
“What did you call me?” he asked, as if he was deeply offended.
“Um, Cowboy Boots,” she murmured, a bit embarrassed about the inadvertent insult.
“Oh, that. Well, if it’s any consolation, I hate these fuckin’ things,” he cursed, scuffing the heels around on the asphalt.
For a man she didn’t know Cheri felt like she could read him well, and she could tell he was frustrated by something far worse than inappropriate footwear. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Not your fault,” he said. “Look, you’ll be okay now. That asshole can’t get free, but I just need to… I can’t be here when the cops come to haul this garbage downtown, and people are coming down the escalator,” he said, looking around nervously.
“At least tell me your name,” she begged hurriedly.
He turned on his heel and sauntered off, completely ignoring the request.
“Please!” she shouted, but that seemed to make him walk even faster.
A crowd quickly gathered around the trapped gunman, and he did his best to convince them that he had been victimized. He was a good liar, and his false side of the story was not difficult to believe since there was no gun in sight.
A few minutes later, some officers parted the crowd and began taking statements. They freed the man from the railing, and one gave Cheri a stern look. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
“You should keep him cuffed, Officer. I was waiting for the train and he pulled a gun on me,” she said.
“I did no such thing!” the vile man spat then started sobbing, garnering sympathy from the onlookers, some of whom were busy recording the whole thing for YouTube.
“Miss, are you sure it wasn’t you who—”
Cheri stomped her foot and interrupted, “Seriously? Look at me and look at him,” she demanded.
“She has a point,” one of the officers said to the other, and they agreed it was unlikely she could have gotten the jump on him, as petite as she was, while he was built like an action figure.
Just as they were about to take Cheri and the man downtown for questioning, another officer approached. “Metro cameras didn’t catch any footage,” he said. “Guess it’s he said, she said.”
The sergeant sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss,” he said, “but without any evidence or a weapon at the scene… Well, we’ve gotta let you both walk.”
“What?! But he—”
“It’s really your word against his,” the police officer said, more firmly this time, “and since we don’t have any evidence as to a crime being committed—or even who handcuffed him to that rail—we have no charges to file against anyone. You didn’t see any witnesses, did you?”
“No!” the gunman shouted. “There were no witnesses because she wanted to rob me while no one else was around!”
“Sir, I was asking her,” the officer said, scowling at the filthy stranger. “With all due respect, I don’t see anything you’ve got that she’d want, but we’re gonna have to drop it either way with no witnesses or evidence.”
Cheri stared at the man and the police officers with disbelief in her eyes. She knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on, so to speak, because there was no one to vouch for her. No one but…Cowboy Boots. He was the only witness, not to mention the most magnificent kisser she had ever met, but he had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. For a moment she almost wondered if he was a figment of her imagination, but he’d left his handcuffs and his kiss behind. He was long gone, but his heroic gesture and that smoldering kiss would never be forgotten.