Drew
Carlson is a lifeguard with a terrible love life. Every woman he's
ever dated has ended up married to one of his friends instead. Then
he meets Magda Yarkowsky, a Georgian from Georgia (The country near
Russia and a state just to the north of Florida) His life changes
from somewhat routine to far more exciting. After the comedy club,
Magda drags Drew to the deck behind the restaurant where a band is
play, insisiting that he dance with her.
Drew's
body sang the haunting chorus as they danced together. Her closeness
made him vibrate with sublimated passion. Their hips were
tantalizingly close together on the crowded dance floor. The music
was slow and seductive, tingling his spine. Magda pulled his face to
hers, almost touching. Her breath tickled his lips as she licked
hers, her tongue agonizingly close. Despite his hunger for her, he
was still irritated. Her none too subtle barbs about his intelligence
and performance rankled. She might think he was a dumb blond, but now
she was treating him like a boy-toy, too.
"What
are you doing?" His voice was muffled, his words slurred, but
his irritation was obvious.
"Dumb
question. What does it look like?" Her thick, exotic accent
flavored the remark. Like honey, it clung to the words.
Drew
dragged her angrily from the dance floor once more, out to the grass
by the small lake that bordered the restaurant property. "Why
are you doing this, Magda? Why the whole seduction routine?"
She
jerked her wrist out of his grasp, shoving him away. "You saved
my life. Am I not allowed to thank you?"
"Most
people send thank you notes or fruit baskets."
"Insufferable
man! You have wanted to kiss me since you pulled me from the foam.
Like a baby, I was reborn in your arms. Now I thank you for my life.
Is simple, no?"
"Is
not simple," he copied her accent fairly well. "Is
complicated."
"How
is complicated? Because of this Tina person?"
"Tammy.
And yes."
"She
doesn't love you."
"So
you're an expert on my love life now?"
"Am
an expert on women." She stalked away from him. "But you
don't deny you tried to kiss me? I could feel your passion course
through your body! Your lips caressed mine."
"It's
called mouth to mouth resuscitation. You weren't breathing."
"My
breath caught in my throat at the sight of you!"
"I
was doing my job, Magda. Nothing more."
"You
lying bastard! You so wanted to kiss me! Even in my semi-conscious
state, I could feel your passion hard against my thigh!"
He
burst out laughing, his anger totally forgotten.
"That
was the rescue float, Magda. You thought that was me? I'm flattered.
No wonder you wanted in my pants so badly."
"What
am I supposed to think when my rescuer tries to kiss me and starts
groping me?"
"It's
called making an assessment. I was checking your pulse."
"Down
there?" She gestured toward her inner thigh. "Where I am
from, that is groping."
"Your
femoral pulse is there."
"I
have neck and wrist...!" She pointed to each, gesturing with her
left hand in the air.
"The
pulse is stronger there. Besides, you had a head injury, possibly a
neck injury too. I'm not using that area."
She
mutely held up her wrists, shaking them at him.
"Femoral
is stronger than radial, easier to find. I was doing my job." He
defended himself quietly, hands deep in his pockets.
"And
the kiss?"
"I
told you already."
"And
when it was obvious I breathed on my own?"
Drew
blushed, the blood rushing from his neck to his ears turning his
bronze tan to copper. He had wanted to kiss her. Even wet and
disheveled, she was beautiful, voluptuous, radiating sex.
"You
admit, then. You wanted to kiss me."
"Magda,
you were almost killed yesterday. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"It's
not the first time," she murmured, facing away from him.
"What?
You're in the habit of having near death experiences?"
"It
is who I am, Drew. Is not a problem—"
"Not
a problem?" He laughed, gesturing wide with his left arm. He
placed his right hand on her shoulder. "Magda, for some people,
that would be a huge problem."
"You
deal with death too. Always. Whenever you go in the water for
someone, it is a battle for life over death."
He
hadn't thought of it. Shrugging, he dropped his hands to his sides,
shoulders slumped. "It's what I do."
"You
are also—what did you call it? Paramedic?"
"Yes.
I work part time with the E.M.S."
"So,
an ambulance driver." She scoffed, wanting to make light of his
training.
"No.
I don't drive the ambulance. I'm the guy starting the IV and making
sure the patient doesn't die on the way to the hospital. You want to
dis someone else's profession for awhile, Magda? Just because I work
on the beach and sport a great tan doesn't make me an idiot. You may
not want to believe it, but we aren't like the guys on Baywatch
who flex our muscles and pick up hot chicks with fake tits and a
spray tan. I saved your life and practically all you've done since is
make dumb blond jokes, sex me up and argue with me. Thanks for
dinner. I'm going home."
©
2017 Dellani Oakes
No comments:
Post a Comment