She didn’t seem to know what to say about it. She was rescued by the bartender, who finally managed to lumber out from behind the bar and came to where they were standing over the prone figure.
“What’dja do, kill ‘im?” He was a beefy guy, with long black hair tied in a ponytail. In his right hand, he carried a Little League-sized Louisville Slugger. The barman’s special.
“No,” Carl responded. “I think he’s more drunk than hurt.” At least he hoped that was true. He looked up at Honey-Blonde. “I didn’t want to hurt him.” The hell I didn’t, he thought. Her eyes were wide and Carl could see tears brimming in them.
“I saw it—he came at you with a fuckin’ chair. He had it coming.” The bartender turned to the woman. “Whaddya wanna do? You wanna call the cops? An ambulance? Or shall we just get him back to his car?” It was clear which choice he preferred.
Honey-Blonde glanced from Car Salesman to Carl then back again. He could feel those pale blue eyes on him. She seemed to make a decision.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “It’s all right,” she told the bartender. “My friend and I can take him from here.” Carl thought his heart would burst—“my friend” she had called him!
He nodded dumbly. The bartender shrugged and moved away, the small baseball bat tapping against his meaty thigh. The noise in the bar began to return to normal. All those Yuppies grateful that the crisis had passed. No one was asking them to defend their women, thank god. Now they could get back to cursing the economy, and lying about their past successes over blended drinks.
With the sagging, semiconscious body of Car Salesman between them, Honey-Blonde and Carl horsed him out the door to a black Mercedes parked in a handicapped space. Carl thought it ironic that the man had parked illegally in the handicapped spot going into the bar, but fully qualified for it on the way out. The drunk didn’t fight them. He seemed happy to have the help.
The woman fished in Car Salesman’s front pocket for his keys and thumbed the button to unlock the doors. Carl expected her to pile him into the back seat, thank him for his help then drive off out of his life. He was amazed when she directed him to dump the drunk across the front seats, tossing the keys in after him.
She shut the door and turned her hundred-watt heat on Carl. “Will you take me home?”
“Um, yeah, sure, you bet.” He tried not to sound like Elmer Fudd. He had many questions: Do you live with him? What do you see in him? Are you in love with him? But he said nothing else.
Carl directed her to his aging Honda, embarrassed as he mentally compared it to the luxury vehicle she had arrived in. He opened the door for her and silently thanked the heavens he had cleaned out the old fast food wrappers just three days prior.
“Where to?” he asked as he eased himself into the driver’s seat.
“Montecito.”
Carl nodded. He should’ve guessed. Montecito was the exclusive part of Santa Barbara. Old money, new money and lots of security guards. He figured she was directing him to Car Salesman’s house, where no doubt she lived like a pretty bird in a gilded cage.
Carl drove, casting about for something, anything to say. She seemed to be in shock. He wondered if the sudden violence turned her off, or if she considered him dangerous.
“Look, I’m sorry about all that. I shouldn’t’ve hit him so hard.” He meant it. One punch probably would’ve been enough, considering how drunk the man had been. He was going to have a headache, that’s for sure.
“He had it coming,” she said bitterly. There was a lot of weight behind that one sentence.
“Has he thrown a drink on you before?”
“Sure. Or worse. It’s been coming apart for a while now.”
Carl decided not to ask for the gory details. Time for a change of subject. “You live in Montecito long?”
“Two years. I’m not actually in Montecito. More like on the edge.”
“With that guy?” Shit! Carl couldn’t help himself.
“What? Him? No way,” The emotion behind her words lifted his hopes. “He’s just someone I’ve been seeing.”
“Well, it’s a shame he treated you that way. I doubt you deserved it.”
“No, I didn’t. No one does,” she said sharply.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” he jumped in, trying to cover up his gaffe. He hoped he didn’t come across as a sexist pig.
He tried to change the subject. “My name’s Carl. Carl Harman.”
“Diedra Newman. My friends—” She stopped.
“Your friends?” he prompted.
“Never mind. Here, turn left at the next light.” She directed him to an apartment complex lining the main street near Montecito. Carl could see the big brass gates of an exclusive complex from the where he parked. Close enough to get some benefit from the additional security up the road. That told him these apartments probably weren’t cheap.
That made him think of Car Salesman again and whether he was paying her rent. “Let me walk you up, okay? I’m worried that your friend might wake up and be mad at you.” It was half the truth and half a ploy to see her apartment. She might even invite him in.
He held his breath while she thought about it. He figured she knew the score. She was an attractive—hell, gorgeous—woman whom he had just rescued. Diedra probably thought he was just another horny man, expecting a quick fuck in return. Carl wasn’t so crass, but she did turn him on. How could she not?
Diedra turned her wattage on him, only this time, he could feel the yellow warning lights. “Look. You’ve been very nice to help me. I hope you understand that I’m kinda all mixed up right now. I don’t want to, um, start something.”
Carl held up his hands. “I understand completely, Diedra. I’m not expecting anything. I’m genuinely concerned about you. Yes, I admit that I’d like to get to know you better, but that’s as far as my thinking goes right now.”
You liar, he thought. Given the chance, you’d jump her bones in a minute.
Again, he pictured her little brown nipple, pressing against her gray blouse. Carl willed his eyes not to look at it and succeeded, right up until she glanced out the windshield. Then he peeked and was disappointed to see the drink had dried, leaving just a little brownish stain on her blouse. Her nipple had made its retreat. He hoped he had managed to raise his eyes before she turned back.
“Okay, but just until I’m safely inside. I am kinda shook up.” She opened the door before he could get around to her side of the car. Carl stayed close, but not too close, as they strolled up the walkway to the arched entryway. He could smell her perfume, a soft, enticing fragrance that wasn’t helping his Boy Scout demeanor. His cock stirred.
“I’m here, to the left.” She pointed.
He tried not to pant like a horndog as he followed along. They came to a red door, number 136 in gold numerals on it. Carl was sure he could find it again during a power outage in the middle of a rainstorm with wild dogs chasing him.
“Well, this is it.” She turned toward him. Her body posture seemed dismissive, and yet… He sensed she liked him.
“Diedra, despite the rather ugly circumstances, it’s been a real pleasure to meet you. I hope you’ll forgive me for hurting your boyfriend, although he doesn’t deserve someone like you.”
She smiled and he almost took a step back. Her powerful charisma washed over him. As it was, Carl rocked on his heels a little. His cock began to press against his jeans.
Down, Simba! Not now!
“Well, thank you. You’ve really been nice. A real gentleman. And for the record, he’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”
“That’s very good to hear, but he might have different ideas.” Carl hesitated, then took the plunge. “But if you two don’t get back together, would you object if I called you up and took you out sometime?”