Dead Over Heels

“It’s our first date, Geoff, you ass! Jeez, I’m gonna have a friction burn on my neck from the seat belt.”

“You’ll heal,” he snapped, then snatched at her again, this time shoving his tongue into her mouth. Her back slammed against the steering wheel and there was a sonorous honk. His hands groped, reached, grabbed, and she could feel him yanking at her bra.

She fumbled for the driver’s side door handle and, when the door swung open, tumbled out and hit the pavement with a teeth-rattling thud.

He jumped out, his legs landing on either side of her back, and she scrambled to get away from him. He caught the back of her T-shirt and she wrenched away, hearing the fabric tear.

“Cut the shit!” she yelled, only to hit the side of the Lexus with a bang when the back of his hand caught her full across the jaw. God, he was fast! She hadn’t even seen his arm move. “Geoff, stop it!”

“You stop it, you fucking cocktease.”

Well, at least now she could put her finger on what was wrong with number seven.

For the thousandth time she blessed her size, as she slithered down the side of the car and scooted underneath, out of reach of his grasping hands. She scrambled across the tarmac and emerged on the other side of the car. Saul’s front door was only twenty feet away.

She’d only gotten five steps when he tackled her from behind. Her face banged into the lawn and she felt blood start to trickle from her nose. He flipped her over—and caught her fist on the point of his chin. In return he gave her an eye-watering slap. So she reached down, groping for his crotch.

“Now you’re getting with the program,” he grunted. “That’s—eeeeeeeee-yowwwwww!” She’d found his balls, and squeezed so hard she felt the veins pop up on her forearm.

Then, suddenly, he was yanked off her, and Saul, oh thank God, Saul was there, holding the guy by the scruff of his neck like a puppy.

“Oh, Christ, my balls, oh my fucking balls, Jesus, I gotta get to a hospital, agh, my balls!” Geoff writhed and moaned at the end of Saul’s arm.

“Then let m-me assist y-you to your car,” Saul said, and threw Geoff into the side of the Lexus. The car door actually dented and Geoff flopped to the pavement, unconscious.

“Are y-you okay, C-cain?”

She sat up and spat to get the blood out of her mouth. “Wow,” she said. “Saul. Jeez. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Then she burst into tears.

Chapter 8

Cain woke up the next morning in her room.

Well, not her room, the room at Saul’s she always stayed in when she slept over. She’d been having sleepovers in this house for twenty-five years.

Saul must have heard her stirring—he had ears like a lynx—because there was a gentle rap at the door.

“C’mon in,” she yawned, stretched. She had slept in one of Saul’s old shirts and her underpants; her T- shirt, of course, had been ruined.

He poked his head in. “Sleep okay?”

“Like a rock.”

“Christ!”

“What?”

He crossed the room and put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up. “You’ve already got a shiner. That fucker.” For Saul, that was big talk. “Should have kicked in his ribs, too.”

“I’m pretty sure I ruptured his sack,” she said, gingerly feeling her left eye and wincing. Yep. Puffy, swollen, and probably a lovely purple black. “And I’m pretty sure you fractured his skull. Trust me, he’s hurting way worse this morning. My bruises will heal up in a day or two.”

He sat down on the edge of her bed. “I don’t think you should do this anymore,” he said abruptly, squinting at her.

“Granted, it hasn’t been going well,” she said dryly.

“You know how I said word was getting around that you wanted a mate? I think some guys are interpreting that as you want to get laid. Case in point: Geoff the asshole.”

She smirked. “Is that his family name?”

“Cain. I’m being serious.”

“I’m not letting Geoff the asshole scare me off the dating scene. It was a temporary setback at best.”

“Temporary setback?” Saul practically yelled. “Y-you almost got r-raped!”

“Calm down, you’re going to give yourself a stroke. Besides, you swung to the rescue like—like frickin’ Tarzan or something. I must admit, Saul, I didn’t think you could surprise me anymore.”

“You never think that,” he grumbled.

She yawned again. “So what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

“You’re taking tonight off,” he said firmly.

“Spoilsport.”

“Damn right.”

“Saul, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t l-look fine last n-night.”

She thought about it. Screaming, punching, and, finally, crying. The overwhelming strength of Geoff, how he wouldn’t listen, how she had been fairly powerless against him. The hits. The things he had said.

Yeah. Saul had a point.

“But I had you to come to the rescue,” she teased, putting her hand on his. “I’m the one usually saving your ass.”

“So. I owed you one.”

“Actually, if we’re gonna go back to kindergarten, you owe me about fifty.”

“Well, I sure as shit don’t want to even up!” he yelled, face reddening.

“You’ve really got to take a vacation. You’re so stressed!”

“Is it any fucking wonder? Your social life is killing me.”

“Stop exaggerating. What’s for breakfast?”

He collapsed next to her. “I hate you.”

“Aw, you know you can’t resist me. Breakfast?”

“More than life itself, I hate you.”

“Pancakes and bacon?” she asked hopefully. “And eggs? And maybe a pork chop?”

“You know, most women, after being assaulted, would be, I don’t know, traumatized? Not looking for a damned pork chop!”

“Well,” she said reasonably, “if you don’t have one, we can always heat up the leftover steak.”

Chapter 9

As usual, she had a ton more fun with Saul than all her other dates put together, multiplied by ten. They had a terrific dinner, most of which he made on the patio grill, chased with several ice-cold Coronas. Then they watched Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and 300—300 being her favorite movie of all time.

“My God,” Saul commented, munching popcorn. They were sitting together on the couch in front of the TV. “This movie is made for women and gay men. Look at the abs on all those guys.”

“You have abs like that.”