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Hazardous Liaisons

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Chapter One: Bus Ride

It was as if his hands held gold. He was so fascinated with the prize between his hands that he didn’t notice my gasp. The bus was always packed in the mornings; noses buried in books while ears plugged into the digital music world. As soon as he pulled my book out of his bag as he sat down across from me, a smile played upon my lips. He was so pretty. His sunken cheeks would normally turn me off but coupled with his high cheekbones that sneak up to his shocking blue eyes that illuminated his pallid face, I was a goner. Beneath his gelled peroxided blonde curls were darkened roots. His light tight jeans and dark hugging shirt promised a lean muscled body. Yes he was ever so pretty.

If he looked in the back cover, my glamour shot would be side to side to a comedic bio I wrote several years ago. I watched him read my words; emotions playing across his face from shock and horror to a romantic ‘aww’ forming on his luscious lips. He finally saw me watching him, his eyes flicking above the pages to connect with mine. My smile spread across my face and his cheeks became tinted with red. My tongue flicked out from behind my teeth and peaked out of my mouth, unconsciously liking my lips. The red tint brightened. He looked back down at the pages.

“Good book?” I asked.

His smile turned right back into the blush. I thought it was because he knew who I was but my tongue had piked out of my mouth again and was now caressing my lower lip. His gaze was following my finger, which was running along the lacy top of my camisole that poked out from beneath my dress shirt. I looked down to see what he was staring at. My tongue retracted and my mouth curled into a wry smile. I pulled my pen from its velvet case and took the book from his hands. I opened it up to my photo and scribbled down my number before flashing him a smile. I stood up from the seat; the bus pulling up to the stop in the city and my heels clipping the floor as I stepped down onto the street. He looked down at the page and I saw a shocked face stare at me as the bus pulled away.


Holy hell, I just met Anne Summers. The Anne Summers; author of, no doubt, the modern classic novel. She was Elvis of the literature world. No, she was God. And she catches my bus. And she gave me her number. And she had looked at me with a desire so apparent in her eyes that made my unruly member tingle. Hell, more than tingle. I had read ‘The Watcher Diaries’ twelve times and I always found something new to grasp and configure into intelligent thought. Well, this time I had something undoubtedly new. I got off the bus in a daze, barely noticing where I was. It felt like an eternity since she had left; when her knees had softly grazed mine and her finger pulling down to show her wonderful display of cleavage. But it was two stops ago and I felt a desperate need to forget about uni and run up the long and busy city street to find her. Ripper had other ideas.

“Oi, you sod get your blimey arse over here.”

“Shut your trap hole, mate, I’m bloody comin’,” I
bellowed across the busy road to where Ripper stood amongst the other uni students awaiting the bus, their coffees and cigarettes hanging from their hands in their dull grey morning. Except my morning was full of sun; starting out with a brilliant shine in the form of a gorgeous famous woman staring at me like I was a soddin’ male stripper.

“Why you grinning like the Cheshire cat?”

“’Swat happens when you get the stuffin’ knocked out of you by a gorgeous smile.”

“You think you’re so poetic.” He punched me on the shoulder and proceeded to ask about my smile. But I didn’t let it leave my face as we moved ahead to shuffle onto the bus. It was too much to hope she was on this one too, but that didn’t stop me from looking around and sniffin’ the conditioned air to smell that sweet jasmine scent again.


“I was practically salivating, Willow, I was all drooly and jaw-droppy.”

I laughed at the look on her face as I retold my story.

“I’ve never been so forward with anyone before.”

“I wasn’t being forward, least not on purpose.”

“Yeah right, you are so getting on the same bus tomorrow to see if he is there.”

I laughed and shoved her into the meeting room, our laptops and my new manuscript spread out on the large table.

“Ok, so I’ll start on chapter eleven while you rewrite that passage in chapter eight and tell me more about this boy.” I loved when Willow became all editor-in-charge girl. She’d been my best friend since high school and I never understood why, with her brains, she didn’t go into a better career. Nevertheless she had always read my writing and corrected it along the way and it somehow became our careers.

“How about you tell me how it is coming along with Tara?” My red headed friend blushed. Compared to the rest of the insular creative writing community of our city where the gay members were loud and proud, Willow always hid from her outed sexuality. She’d fallen in love with my agent who had cautiously started to woo and coax Willow out of her shell.

“You are not changing the subject, go back and tell me about the boy.”

“Well he hardly looked like a boy. But he flashed a uni card at the bus driver when buying his ticket. I’m not sure how old he was but…he was so pretty. In a handsomely, rugged I-want-to-jump-your-bones-and-let-you-take-me-to-heaven-every-minute-of-the-day way.”

Willow giggled and passed me the paragraph she had been working on.

“So do you think he’ll call you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know why I like him. I don’t know whether it was his oh-so-gorgeous eyes or the fact he was reading my book that turned me on. You know I’ve never actually seen someone read my book before.”

“I’m doing it right now, Buffy.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. Look that paragraph is fine, but if you change the next one, it will stuff up the ending again.” I emailed her the section from chapter eight and glimpsed at my watch. All I really wanted to do was go to lunch when I could wander around the botanic gardens that sided onto the university campus and see if I could find my new blonde obsession.