That ass is mine #excerpt #fiction

Yikes! She was a simmering pot of frustration, but there had to be some mistake. I couldn’t be the fuel to her irritation. I couldn’t understand why I would be an outlet for her hostility. The tone didn’t bother me as much as the wording.

Regardless of how much she said and its emphasis, all I heard was “challenge.” I replied defensively, “excuse me?”

                “I’m not trying to offend,” Maria defended. Trying to smooth over the rough conversation she added, “It is my hope to one day by like you, equally skilled and dedicated. I’m simply trying to understand what it is that led you here.”

                Bullshit. She was just gunning for me. Now she’s an admirer?

                None the less, I responded, “I worked hard. I sacrificed. That’s what got me here.” The matter-of-fact declaration was laced with self-assurance. Unlike most, I worked very hard to achieve my success. There were no handouts. 

                “What did you have to sacrifice?”

                “Everything.” I stated crisply.

                “Could you unfold that?”

I sighed, “Relationships, family, social life…”

                “Sex?” She questioned.

                “At times,” I admitted.

Despite my candid reply, my forwardness surprised me. I was glad for the moment to organize my thoughts while she reflected on her subsequent question.

                “What is the most challenging obstacle for you?”

                Again she was prying, each question becoming more invasive than its predecessor. My conscious rebuked her, we weren’t old friends drinking wine and indulging in outspoken conversations! How did I allow her to violate my thoughts? Was she my weakness?

I could still feel the impression she left on my ass, yet again I replied with candidness, “The more I fix the problems of my client’s, the less I’m able to repair my own.”

                “Why do you think that is?”

I laughed. She was really sounding like a psychiatrist. My humor didn’t weaken her expression, she was peculiarly concentrated. I readjusted my expression to reflect hers, “I’m not sure. Being stretched too thin maybe?”

                “Maybe you should take a vacation.” Her lip lifted at the seam and she added, “A nice beach with white sand and crabs that bite you on the ass.”

The ass comment pulled a smile from my taut expression, “Maybe one day.”

                She reclined, replacing her intensity with a casual and relaxed disposition. She stretched, extending her arms in the air, then clasped her hands behind her head while simultaneously framing her legs outside of mine.  “When was your last vacation?”

                Her legs grazed the outside of mine as she continued to stretch.

I replied unperturbed, “I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”

She hissed, “Ms. Kelly we have got to get you out of this city.”

Her immediate exit from the booth left me deliberating whether she meant leaving promptly or if she was simply excusing herself. She stood as I stared dumbfounded.

She stated, “Excuse me; I just need to visit the restroom.”

Turning towards the back of the restaurant she searched for the restroom sign, but before she paced away from me she questioned, “Do you not need to wash your hands?”

The question wasn’t an aim at cleanly awareness, she was baiting me.