Russell lit a cigarette and leaned back against the cushions, “So, luv - what do you do to earn a crust?”

He was asking me about my life? He wanted more than a quick fuck and a bye-nice-knowing-ya? I blinked, remembered what I did for a living and answered, “I write.”

“As in you teach kids how to write, you write stories, or you ride horses and I need my ears checked?” He drank some of his beer and set the bottle down, eyebrows lifted curiously. He has the most intense gaze - you feel as if you’re the only other person in the room and he’s totally interested in what you have to say and what you think about things. It’s uncanny. It’s also a heady experience.

“I write stories - well, articles mainly, but stories too. And I’ve been caught teaching creative writing to adults - does that count?” I couldn’t believe he was really interested, but he looked as if he was, so who was I to deny him the answers? Of course, I reasoned, he did just win a lot of acting awards this year. I smiled brightly, as if I believed in his interest, and sipped my own beer.

“So, do those articles get published in the popular media?”

It took me a minute to figure out what he meant. “Oh! No, no way - you mean like those supermarket tabloids?” Did he think I was some kind of reporter? If he thought that, why invite me back here? On the other hand, he didn’t know what I did for a living until just two minutes ago.

“That’s a relief,” he said honestly. He put his left ankle on top of his right knee and scratched the top of his foot.

Nice that he was so relaxed, I thought, staring at his long, slim foot and his big hands. Oh, God, I thought and had to force myself not to stare at his crotch. Of course, I immediately did exactly that. Oh, God, indeed. I gulped and made myself look up. He was looking at me like he knew exactly what I’d thought and just done. He dropped his eyes to my damp blouse, then back up to my face and smirked. Ouch! So that’s what it felt like, I thought disjointedly.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, “that was very uncool of me, you must get enough of that sort of thing.”

He started laughing. I sat feeling ridiculous while he guffawed. When he finally had control of himself, he explained, “Honey, no bloke gets enough of bein’ admired for his endowments - just don’t be grabbing, okay?”

There I sat, beet red again. “Okay,” I agreed. I would like to grab, though. It looked very grabbable.

“Unless I tell ya it’s okay to grab, ya got me?” he added, winking at me.

No, but I’d like to “got” him. “Sure,” I said. I practically sat on my hands to keep from doing just that.

His smile appeared again, and he suddenly slid one of those big hands around the nape of my neck, drew me closer and put his mouth on mine. It started out gentle, with him just teasing my lips with his, then touching the tip of his tongue to my mouth until I opened and took it inside, sliding my own tongue around his in welcome. He uttered this soft little moan that just cut right through me. I totally melted. I put my arms around him and kissed him back whole-heartedly.

I could feel his whole body trembling against mine, and his fingers massaging my neck and scalp, then his left hand dropped down onto my breasts and he just stroked me there through the fabric of my shirt. Another appreciative moan from him. I thought disjointedly that if he moaned like that again, he could have me do anything he liked. I slid my hand down onto his chest and stroked him the same way he had just touched me. There came that third moan. That was it - I was a goner. I moaned back at him and felt his mouth curve in a smile against mine just before he lifted his head and brushed my hair out of my eyes. “That was nice, luv,” he said in a soft voice. “Feel better now?”

“Huh?” I never have much that’s very brilliant to say during lovemaking. This was no different.

His dimples flashed, “You were nervous about what I wanted from you - are you less nervous now?”

Actually, I was. I nodded, found my voice and croaked, “Yes - um, thanks.”

He settled back. I had expected the pounce, instead, I got more questions, and when I asked him some, I actually got answers. I realized after a bit that we were actually having a discussion. That’s when it hit me. He could have all the sex he wanted - it was conversation, mental stimulation, even argument, that he craved. “Now, I get it,” I said aloud. I felt like a big light bulb had just lighted over my head like in a cartoon.

“Ya do?” Eyebrows lifted, but he was grinning, so I knew he read me like a book.

I relaxed and nodded, “Yup - you wanted mental floss.”

He laughed uproariously, “Mental floss - that’s a good one!” When he had control of himself again, he nodded, “Yeah, actually, that’s true.” He lit another cigarette, caught my look and grimaced, “Shall I put it out, luv - I can, ya know?”

“No, I was just wondering why you still do that when you should take care of your voice because of your profession.” God, I sounded like my Aunt Ruth lecturing everyone on every subject at the drop of a hat.

“I do try to keep it down to a dull roar, luv - and these are lights, ya know,” he gestured with the half-crumpled hard pack of Benson and Hedges cigarettes.

“I don’t care - I was just commenting,” I explained. That sounded stilted, I told myself, “I meant - you can certainly do as you like.” Shit. Not much better. “Don’t pay any attention to me,” I finished.

He stared at me and giggled, “Luv - that was a lot of backing and filling over a little pack of fags.”

“Well, you should hear me on something really important,” I claimed, giving in to laughter myself. “I can get really pompous - and really confuse myself too.”

“I’ll hold off on that for now, okay?”

I nodded. I glanced around the room. There was stuff everywhere. I wondered if it was all his stuff. Sheet music, magazines, newspapers, clothes, books, CDs, shoes, socks, an open duffle bag with grooming stuff spilling out of it - tubes of shampoo, a blow dryer and the like. “So, how was this room before the tornado went through?”

He glanced around just as I had, shrugged and answered, “Not that much different - well, except for all my shit all over the place. I’m not real neat sometimes.”

I snorted. “Okay - if you say so.”

”I imagine your house is neat as a pin?” he teased.

I laughed louder, “No fuckin’ way - it looks worse than this sometimes. It depends on whether I’m busy trying to meet a deadline or not. Domestic chores kind of fall by the wayside.”

“Same here - I need someone to follow me around with a dustbin and an organizer most of the time.”

”I thought that’s what Mark was for.” What did that guy do, anyway?

“Mark? Fuck, no - he’s the chief of security - he carries a gun, luv, or didn’t you know that?”

I didn’t know that. “He doesn’t look like muscle,” I finally said. I remembered the contingent of body guards who’d herded him down several red carpets that spring. “What about all those other guys in sunglasses with walkie-talkies?”

He scowled, “Most of those were feds, luv - and the rest were the other muscle, as you put it. Two blokes - and I only have them when it’s something like those awards dealies.”

“So they don’t routinely escort you to the bathroom, follow you to the drugstore and like that?” I was only half-kidding, I really thought that’s what bodyguards did - guard your body.

“Seven of the feds went to the bathroom with me at the SAG awards, that was a real experience.” He had an odd little half-smile.

“Seven guys? Wasn’t it kind of crowded in there? Did they watch you go?” How in the heck had he gone, given that strangers were watching his every move.

“Yup, very crowded. Yup, I think one or two of them watched me go, the ones who wanted to shake it for me when I was done - the rest politely turned their backs.”

“Jesus,” I commented. I couldn’t imagine seven women going to the restroom with me. For one thing, there wouldn’t be enough stalls, and for another, there wouldn’t be enough mirrors. “I’d get shy bladder.”

“It’s happened,” he said, “now and then. Not fun.” He took my hand and studied the shape of it, looked at my fingers, tickled me in between them. “Nice hands luv - not silly girly hands, it looks like you actually use them for something.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted some of those nifty long fingernails, but I’d break ‘em off in five minutes because I type so much, and because of the dogs and horses. There’s no point in it.”

”Dogs and horses?” he echoed me, looking very interested.

“Yes - I have both - cats too. Probably a couple of bunnies, some mice and a snake or two, why?”

He grinned widely, “Sounds like my farm - everything but the kitchen sink. I bet you don’t have wallabies, though.”

”Nope, but I bet you don’t have any jackelopes.”

He looked mystified, “No,” he said carefully, “should I know what those are?”

“Well, yeah, if you’re gonna spend any time in Texas and thereabouts, you’re bound to see some.”

“But you have some at your place? Is it a kind of deer?”

“In a manner of speaking,” was all I’d say. I was trying to remember if I had a picture of one either in my purse or in the Jeep, but my memory seemed to have gone south along with everything else. It was probably his fault.

“Well, I’d like to see one of those jackelope things - where’s a good place for it?”

“Alongside the road, mostly - they come out when you least expect them.”

“Sounds like a rufus betong or a wombat,” he said. “I’ve almost run over them a few times - but managed to avoid it.”

“I should hope so, that’d be like running over a teddy bear.”

“No, that’s what happens when you hit a koala - not that I’ve ever done that,” he was quick to add. “So, if I were to head out onto the road on my hog, say, what direction would I go to see some of these jackelopes?”

“Oh, northish - maybe southish,” I said vaguely. “I’ve seen ‘em around my place, so they go just about everywhere.”

He eyed me, not sure if he should believe me or not. "I'd have to see them," he finally pronounced.

A wild idea barged into my head. No, nope, I told myself, he'd never do it. Still. . ."Russell?"

"Yeah, luv?" he was busy straightening the pile of papers, apparently taking my tornado criticism to heart.

"What're you doing tomorrow?" This, if he went for it, could really be fun. Besides, what could he do but say no if he couldn't or wouldn't?

He looked up so fast he almost got whiplash, "Tomorrow? Sunday?" He thought for a minute, obviously going over a mental image of his day-runner. "Not a fuckin' thing worth worryin' about, why?" His eyes were starting to gleam with excitement.

"Well," I said, still not sure if it was a good idea or not, "would you like to spend tonight and tomorrow with me, at my place way out in the country? You could ride my horses, play with the dogs - see a jackelope." Have sex with me, I thought but didn't voice.

He stared at me as if not sure I was for real, then he nodded slowly, his smile widening, "Yeah - yeah, I would like that. Horses, dogs - a jackelope - maybe a coyote?"

"Oh, definitely a coyote or two, you can hear them sing at night, but they hardly ever come close to the house or barn, they stay way out of sight." I was trying to remember if my house was even in relative order. Luckily, the lady who came in once a week to straightened my clutter and clean my mess had been there the day before. There was even food stocked in the fridge and freezer. "I'll cook for you," I promised. "Bake a cake?"

"Shit, woman," he said, doing his best imitation Texas drawl, "when ya put it that-a-way, how's a dude to resist?" He saw my wrinkled nose, "Not good? My accent needs work?"

I nodded, "Don't worry about it though - you'll get it."

He winked at me, "Oh, I fully intend to 'get it' before the night is over, luv."

Oh, Lord! I sure hoped so.

Click flowers to go to part three