Love Hacked

I huffed, growled, and kicked a pile of nearly frozen snow at the corner of the building.

“SHITZTERHOZEN!” I bellowed into the air and stomped my feet.

“Sandra?”

My head whipped around at the sound of his voice.

Yes—his voice.

Alex stood by the dumpster with two large trash bags dangling from his fists. He wore no coat and was dressed in his signature all black. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his forearms, just below his elbows. He looked, as always, mighty fine in a stalwart, dangerous, careless kind of way.

I blinked at him once, then twice. A plan formed in my head.

Alex. Sexy Alex with the heavenly voice and the broad shoulders and the zing-inducing kisses could help me sneak the package into the restaurant.

Huzzah!

“Yes, hi…it’s me—Sandra, the odious shrink.” I jogged to him and held out the package. “And I need your help.”

Alex’s eyes widened as he looked from me to the package. Then they narrowed. “What kind of help?”

I stopped maybe eighteen inches from him, perhaps a bit too close by personal space standards. “You may have noticed a large group of women in there—in the restaurant—loud, laughing, having way too much fun….”

“Yeah…I guess.”

“Good. Those are my friends, and one of us—the blonde one with curly hair, not the blonde one with straight hair—is celebrating something. You see, I have the gift here.” I held out the present. “Would you be so kind as to bring this to our table with dessert?”

He glanced from me to the package. He appeared to be wary of accepting strange packages from older women who yell German obscenities in cold, dark alleyways. “What’s inside?”

“Yarn.”

He lifted a single, disbelieving eyebrow. “Yarn?” he said sardonically, drawing out the word.

“Yes. Yarn. I’ve tracked down a very hard-to-find dye lot of a Madelinetosh worsted weight yarn. She used to have one skein, but it was stuffed in the mouth of a—never mind. Just would you please bring this to the table when the curly blonde-haired woman gets her food?”

He continued to survey me from behind his glasses, his cheeks now tinted red from standing outside in the freezing cold. After a long moment, he sighed and nodded. “Yeah…sure. Just give me a minute to get this trash into the dumpster.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you! I owe you a big one.” I hopped once on my feet and backed up so he could lift the bags. “This is great; I’m so glad I ran into you. Otherwise, I would’ve been the jerk friend who shows up late with the gift. Now, I’ll be the clever friend who sneaks the gift to the waiter.”

His mouth hitched in a crooked grin and he gave me a sidelong glare. Alex wiped his hands on towel sticking out of his pocket and reached for the gift. “Give it to me.”

I gladly handed it over and turned back to the sidewalk, but only managed a few steps before his voice stopped me. “Sandra, when can I expect payment?”

I looked over my shoulder. “Payment?”

He lifted up the wrapped skein of yarn and dipped his head, his breath emerging as a white cloud. “You owe me a big one. When do I collect?”

“Uh…I’ll leave you a big tip.”

He shook his head slowly, as a subtle yet unrepentantly wicked smile settled over his features. “Not good enough.”

My eyes widened and I glanced at the bricks lining the alley, searching for something, anything that he might want. “Um…I have Cubs tickets. They’re pretty good seats.”

He shook his head again. “Nope. That’s not what I want.”

“Well, what do you want?” As much as I loved his voice, now was not the time for a guessing game.

His eyes darkened then lowered to my mouth. It was an unmistakable movement, leisurely, pointed, and shameless. He licked his lips. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

I opened my mouth—or, rather, my mouth fell open in shock. “I….”

Suddenly and inexplicably, I felt shy. His blunt words and attention sent all my nerve endings buzzing. I wanted to hide behind something.

I contemplated the dumpster.

Before I could duck behind it, Alex’s smile widened as his eyes once again lifted to mine; he pinned me with a dark stare. “See you soon,” he said, seemingly completely at ease and quite blatantly pleased with himself.

He strolled into the back door of the restaurant and left me standing in the center of the alley, a mixture of dazed shyness and confusion.

It took me a good twelve seconds of staring dumbly at the now closed door before I gathered enough of my wits to move. I released a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and picked my way back to the sidewalk.

He makes no sense, I noted inwardly. He’s slightly hostile and completely guarded, but then he kisses me. He pushes me away, and then he flirts with me because, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, that little exchange right there in the alley by the dumpster—that was flirting.

And Alex the waiter made me feel shy. How terribly inconvenient!

***

My knitting group was seated in the center of the small restaurant, laughing and talking. Three tables had been pushed together to make room for seven seats.

Two chairs were empty.

“Sorry I’m late.” I announced, still a bit dazed as I pulled off my jacket. I claimed the seat between Janie and Fiona.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. The girl just took our drink order, and Marie isn’t even here yet.” Fiona helped me settle my jacket on the back of the chair and gave me a quick wink her elfish eyes. Despite being the smallest in stature, she was our de facto leader, mother hen, and miracle worker. I also considered her something of a soothsayer. She, at least to me, appeared to be wise beyond what was typical or possible in one lifetime. I always followed her advice—always.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Janie spoke from my left. “We ordered a bottle of wine.”

“Just one? That’s fine, but what are you going to drink?”

Janie shook her head at me, and her fiery—naturally red—curls bounced around her face, shoulders, and back. Her hair was almost cartoonish, and could only be described as prolific. “I should clarify; I ordered just one so far. Previous data suggests that we, as a group, can expect to consume between four and twelve more bottles before the night is over. But I didn’t think it prudent to order all of them at once.”

I couldn’t help but smile; Janie was a walking contradiction. She wasn’t quite on the autism spectrum and she wasn’t quite a savant, but she had a propensity for trivial facts. She also suffered from inherent emotional reclusively and detachment, she demonstrated impressive mathematical acuity, and admitted to inappropriate chatter when nervous. She also looked like a goddess, a Scottish Warrior Queen—buxom, statuesque, and voluptuous.

“I don’t care if we order the wine now or later, but if there is a delay between bottles, I might have to stab someone with my Swiss army knife.” Ashley chimed in from the other end of the table. Her deadpan, Tennessee accent always made everything sound silly and serious at the same time. She didn’t lift her blue eyes from the menu as she spoke. Instead, she surveyed the options and added, “Also, I’m starving, so I apologize in advance if my stomach starts to growl like an angry raccoon. I officially disown all my inadvertent bodily noises.”

“Didn’t you see the doughnuts in the doctor’s lounge?” Elizabeth, sitting to Ashley’s right, twisted her long, blonde braid and glanced at Ashley. Elizabeth was an interesting sort; she was a super-hot doctor lady who also happened to be a somewhat acerbic pragmatist.

Ashley smiled a reluctant smile. “I’m not going in the doctor’s lounge again without you. The last time I set foot in there, I was accosted by that blonde doctor, Ken Miles.”

“Ah. Pretty doctor Ken Miles.”

“Yes. And the horrid man wanted me to aid in a rectal exam.”

“Whose rectum did he want examined, yours or his?” I quipped.

Kat—who was sitting across from Ashley—snort-coughed into her water. She was the newest and youngest of our group present, and predictably offered a polite, “Excuse me,” through her choking fit, her brown hair heavy around her youthful features. If I could describe Kat with one word, it would be careful. She wore her expressions carefully, spoke with care, and moved with careful grace.

“Are you okay?” Fiona rubbed Kat on the back, “You know better than to drink anything while the topic of conversation is rectal exams.”

Kat nodded. “You’re right,” she rasped. “I’m just glad it wasn’t chocolate milk coming out of my nose.”

“Or red wine,” Ashely offered helpfully. “That always makes people look like they’re suffering a cranial bleed. Also, wine stains.”

“I once laughed so hard tequila came out of my nose,”.” I added, feeling more like myself.

“Oh, no!” Kat covered her nose, tried not to laugh, failed, and started coughing again.

“Don’t make her laugh; you’re only making it worse.” Fiona’s halfhearted reprimand was delivered with a clandestine smile.