A Wolf in the City

24. A Trash can with a strap.

Raven.

Kai had invited me out so suddenly on a horse riding date and because I kind of owed him for how the other one had planned out due to us coming across the psychopath, I decided that I needed to honour him and hopefully make sure that this one is better than the previous.

And that is until I we stepped into the venue and came across this same man again. It is starting to feel like sorcery at this point, its almost impossible for it to keep on being coincidental.

When the whole introduction went on, I had not paid much attention, only when he speaks with the voice dipping into smoky amusement rife with sensual memory.

The tone has the strangest effect on me, turning the greasiness of dread in my belly to warm butter laced with honey. A flush of heat rose from that same place, radiating into my breasts and turning to an embarrassed heat as I realize that I am reacting in a very s****l way to that timbre in his voice.

I never react to men. Or women. Not to anyone. Not like this. I have dated when an escort was expected— like a gala or holiday party— but I rarely allowed more than a kiss at the end because that was when my interest always dried up.

Oddly, this man, whom I am predisposed to fear and dislike, is making me wonder how his lips would feel against my own. How would they feel in the crook of my neck? His wide hands becomes a source of fascination as he briefly squeezes the back of his neck and chuckle at something the lady beside him says, causing the fabric of his shirt to strain across his well-built shoulders and thick biceps.

I have never once in my life felt my breath leave me because the beauty, my blush arrives from my chest and sweeps upward. I avert my gaze to a sculpture that could have been steel flames when he glances at me, I would rather die than be caught ogling at him.

But then it already happened because I have made a mistake of getting caught. I wanted to stay in the background this time, but I have successfully caught his full attention and it is deeply disconcerting, both because his antagonism is plain and because I am reacting to him in such an inappropriate way. Some girlish part of me is squirming, worried my hair is out of place or there is a drip of coffee on my blouse.

A shiver runs down my spine, and something invisible glides down my skin, leaving burning imprints all over it, awakening every hair on my body. With confusion traveling through me, I look away only to have my eyes land on another beauty in the room, asides the one who I had seen with Dante the previous night. And it is confusing because this one keeps flirting openly with him too and I can not help but think that the psychopath has just managed to bring two women along with him. But when I see the other lady leaning more to Micheal Lodion and laughing fakely at everything he is saying, it is more understandable, at least a little.

My eyes catch the way Dante’s fingers briefly touches the back of Karen’s neck when and it feels more titillating than I dare to acknowledge, I am not even the one being touched, ugh! This is all just wrong and crazy!

I even find myself accessing Karen and wondering if that is just his type of women, because she is in many ways similar to the other lady. Her Amazonian figure seats well on her wafer-thin body. She has a decanter shaped waist and her complexion has an impeccable, ochrous hue. Her pencil-thin eyebrows eases down gently to her black, beetle’s-leg eyelashes. A sculptor could not have fashioned her seraph’s ears and pixie’s nose any better.

When she breaks into yet another smile due to something the psychopath says, her beguiling, oyster-white teeth lights up the room. It jolts you like an electric current when that megawatt smile gave you her full attention. Filed to perfection, her Venus-red fingernails runs through her nougat-brown hair. Spools of it plungs around her photogenic face and hide a swan’s neck, elegant and smooth.

I love her nebulous, Eden-green eyes which were a-sparkle with the ‘joie de vivre’. They are like two beryl-green jewels melted onto snow. Her calamine-pink lips has the colour of rose petals and it surprises me that they are plump and botox-boosted as she has a cheerful, somewhat bratty personality. She whispers to Dante in a dulcet voice as sweet as any songbird. Her voguish clothes has an aroma redolent of cinnamon and meadow-fresh mint. It lingers in the room and her slinky horse riding fitted outfit moves with her body and reflects the light as she walks.

I can not help but feel out of place and I suddenly wish that I had known what outfits are more suitable for an outing like this instead of me showing up in a faded denim dress and flowery top, looking like an high school girl.

Kai helps me onto my horse after many more race talk goes on and I ride side by side with him while taking occasional glances at Dante and Karen, before I know it however, the horse I am on suddenly starts speeding without control, I have never ridden a horse before so I do not know what to do nor say, I do not even have the time and liberty to think of that.

Thankfully, Dante saves me, much to my surprise but he ruins his goodness at the end of it by saying I always manage to find myself in life and death situations. Kai gushes over me for the next minutes when Dante leaves and as soon as he is back, they say they want to start the race so we leave the three men to take the field and their horses while we watch and cheer them on.

The race is thrilling than I expect and when Dante starts to lead them both by an even large margin, I did not know when I start to scream and cheer for him too alongside the other ladies.

“Who on earth are you even cheering for?” Karen asks me in a demeaning tone and I smile politely at her, “uh, all of them?” I lie and continue to clap.

Soon the race finishes and Dante wins, Kai does not look that bothered but Micheal Lodion on the other hand is seething. It almost look like he will not hesitate to beat Dante up if given the chance. He is obviously such a sore looser, he disappears into the stable and we all agree that he needs to go lick his wound.

As I walk side by side with Kai down the field, while we talk, a shoulder suddenly hits me thus causing my bag to fall and the contents in it to spill. My handbag is a trash can with a strap, even I know that. Every wrapper and receipt is jammed into it along with broken lipsticks and lidless pens. With the thick black leather strap always over my shoulder, my right arm will always bulge outward just the same as if I am carrying a fresh baked loaf of bread. From deep within the straining sides always comes a faint rattle, as if I never travel without pills of some kind, and the whole thing has an odour reminiscent of tapioca pudding.

It is nothing short of embarrassing.

I find myself looking up as I hear a mocking laughter from Karen and even a snicker from the one called Adalee. A designer handbag dangles from her skinny arm, perfect cerise stitching over the finest creamy hued italian leather. The cotton trims matches both the thread and the exact shade the lipstick she is on, her mouth resting in a natural pout. A second later, her new manicure is searching its contents, the lips now drawn into a pensive scowl under increasingly arched eyebrows. It is very obvious that she is simply showing off her bag.

Heck, even I was checking it out.

Kai bends to help me pick up the spilled contents while Dante chatted away with the ladies. My embarrassing moment is thankfully cut shot when we all hear a gun shot from the stables.

We all rushed towards there on impulse and what we see is the horse that Dante had ridden lying on he floor surrounded in his own pool of blood and Micheal Lodion holding a pistol in his hand.

“What on earth have you done, Micheal?” Karen screeches while he shrugs, “its not a big deal, it is just high time that Mane rests, don’t you think?” And with that said, he bypasses us and walks out.

I am just ultimately dumbfounded, this is a new level of pettiness, one that costs a poor horse his life.

Is this even legal?