Hot Mama by Jennifer Estep
By the time I finished my sketches, returned messages, and caught up on my paperwork, superhero-related and otherwise, it was after five. Time to go home and get ready for my night out on the town with the delectable Johnny Bulluci.
Goody.
———
I walked home in record time. Thankfully, there were no more fires or other emergencies to distract me. After grabbing a couple of apples from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, I strolled into the bathroom, peeled off my clothes, and ran some water into the claw-foot tub. While I chomped on the tart fruit, I fluttered my fingers, heating the water until it was nice and toasty. Then, I did the whole I-have-a-hot-date-and-might-even-have-sex-tonight routine. Lathered up with some vanilla-scented soap. Washed my hair.
Shaved everything.
I dried off in about three seconds, went into the bedroom, and flicked on the light in my closet to begin my search for the perfect first-date outfit. I wanted something cool, something sophisticated, something that said, We’ll probably have sex if you behave yourself and buy me a nice, big dinner first. After flipping through three racks, I picked a tight scarlet dress covered in matching sequins that set off my blond hair and rosy skin. Heavy black eye shadow, red lipstick, a ruby solitaire pendant, and red stilettos polished off the outfit. The dress didn’t have too many buttons down the back, and the short skirt would provide easy access, if desired. I closed my eyes and thought of Johnny’s lips on mine. There would probably be some desire tonight. Maybe even some satisfaction, if Johnny was a very good boy. Or a very bad one, depending on your point of view.
I twirled around in front of the mirrors that lined one wall of the bedroom. I looked hot. Smokin’ even, as Lulu would say. I put my hands on my hips, admiring my reflection. My engagement ring caught the light and flashed it back to me. I twisted it around on my finger. My good mood vanished.
Should I really be doing this? Going out with somebody else? Thinking about sleeping with someone else? Travis was gone, but I still loved him. I always would. I didn’t know if there was room in my heart for someone else. If I could even love somebody again. If I really even wanted to.
If you loved someone, you gave him power over you. Power to hurt you, whether he did it on purpose or not. I didn’t ever want to feel the way I had when Travis died. Alone. Griefstricken.
Helpless. Numb. Maybe I should wait awhile longer to get back into the social scene. Maybe I should cancel—
The phone rang, interrupting my troubled thoughts.
“Fiona Fine.”
“It’s me,” the chief’s voice rumbled through the receiver.
“I just wanted to check in with you. I’m on call tonight.”
Each member of the Fearless Five took turns sitting in the underground library and monitoring SNN and the local police scanners in case an ubervillain decided to wreak havoc or some natural disaster tore through Bigtime. The rest of us were equipped with cell phones, ready to respond in case bad stuff went down. With Carmen and Sam gone on their honeymoon, the chief, Henry, and I would be pulling double duty for the next month.
“How are things at the manor? Any sign of Siren and Intelligal yet?”
“Not a trace of them so far. Everything’s quiet. Henry and Lulu are working on tracking them down. Carmen and Sam called earlier. They’re having a wonderful time in London, although Carmen’s still worried about the ubervillains.”
I was surprised the happy couple had found time to call or to actually see any of London. You’d think they would have spent all day in bed, given their propensity for doing so at Sublime. Their happiness was so annoying sometimes.
My father paused. “Have fun on your date tonight. Make sure he treats you right.”
I rolled my eyes. “How many times have I asked you not to peer into my mind?”
“I’m your father, Fiona. I’ll be doing it until the end of time.”
“Just because you’re psychic doesn’t give you the right to use your powers on others whenever you want. Remember that lecture? You used to give it to me whenever I’d singe one of the bullies in my class with a fireball or pick them up and spin them around until they screamed for me to stop.”
I’d gotten more than a few of those talks.
The chief chuckled. “I remember you spent more time in the principal’s office than a classroom full of kids.” His voice grew serious. “You should go out, Fiona. Travis would want you to get on with your life.”
I looked at the ring on my finger. “I know he would. But it’s easier said than done.”
“Get out. Have fun. Be your usual charming self.”
I sniffed. “I’m always that.”
“I know. Now, I need to go. Henry wanted me to look over some new computer program he’s invented to track Siren and Intelligal’s crimes.”
Henry and his computer programs. Sometimes, I wondered if the man was even human or just a robot in disguise.
If he was a robot, though, you’d think his designer would have given him some fashion sense. Polka-dot bow ties and sweater vests were not the stuff women’s dreams were made of. Except maybe Lulu’s.
“Well, you two be careful tonight. Call me if you need me. I love you.” I always ended our conversations like this now. I’d learned the hard way that just because we were superheroes didn’t mean we were invincible. Quite the opposite, unfortunately.
“I love you too,” the chief rumbled.
I hung up. For a moment, I stared at my engagement ring. Then, my eyes went to the mirror. I smoothed my dress down and turned sideways. I did look good tonight. Damn good. Self-esteem was another area where I didn’t have a lot of problems.
I let out a long hot breath. I might as well go out. The chief was right. It was time for me to move on, whether I thought I was ready to or not.
Besides, it’d be a shame to get all dressed up for nothing.
———
The doorbell rang at exactly seven o’clock, just as I was powdering my nose. My date had arrived right on time.
I loved punctual men.
I opened the door to find another bouquet of orchids outside. These were picture-perfect and more beautiful than all the rest combined. They made the ones in my office look like cheap plastic imitations. I could just make out Johnny’s green eyes through the exquisite purple and white petals.
“Do you know where I might find a beautiful bridesmaid?”
His voice was just as rich and cultured as I remembered.
His faint accent sounded sophisticated, sultry, and utterly sexy. I’d always been a sucker for accents.
“I’m not a bridesmaid anymore,” I said, stepping back to let him inside.
“But you’re still beautiful.”
“Aren’t you the charmer?”
He winked. “Always, Fiona. Always.” Johnny tossed the flowers onto a nearby table and swept me into his arms. The man didn’t waste any time, that was for sure.
His lips covered mine, and all thought vanished. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
He opened his mouth, and I slid my tongue inside the hot depths. He tasted like mouthwash, tart and tangy. His spicy soap wafted up my nose, and I breathed in, enjoying the aroma. Whatever that scent was, it complemented him perfectly.
Johnny’s hands traced circles up and down my back as I explored his mouth with my tongue. It was a long, slow, lingering kiss. The sort that whispered of even better, slower, longer, harder things to come.
After a good two minutes, we came up for air.
“You know, we could just order in,” Johnny murmured, pressing a kiss to the hollow of my throat. My pulse roared under his lips.
“Dinner first,” I said, stepping back.
I had an image to maintain, and I didn’t want him to think I was too eager. Or know that single kiss had me ready to toss him over my shoulder, carry him back to the bedroom, and ravish him from head to toe. Three times over.
The truth was the intense attraction unnerved me.
I didn’t know the answers to my questions, so I concentrated on him. His tawny mane of hair glistened under the dim lights, and his eyes were as green as polished turquoise.
Johnny wore a navy blue suit with a faint pinstripe. It looked fantastic on him. Or he looked fantastic wearing it. I couldn’t decide which one it really was. Maybe I should get him to model some designs for me, provided I could lure him away from Bella. With him in the store, sales would go through the roof. If I could stop the society types from tearing off his clothes, something I was dangerously close to doing myself.
“Well, I suppose you’re right,” Johnny said. “We really should eat dinner first before getting to dessert.”
Johnny smiled. A sly, impish, wicked sort of grin spread across his face, while his eyes devoured me from head to toe.
I had no doubt what he meant by dessert. I shivered, something I never did, not even when Frost hit me with his freezoray gun.
Johnny offered me his arm, and away we went. A limo waiting downstairs took us to Quicke’s, a restaurant famous for its speedy service, reasonable prices, terrific food, and most importantly, generous portions. A blue neon light flashed on and off above the revolving door, announcing the restaurant’s name. Quicke’s was located downtown, a couple of blocks from my store, and it was one of my favorite places to get a fast burger or ten for lunch. I practically kept the place in business with my massive orders.
Johnny opened the door for me, and when I stepped through, he put his hand on the small of my back to guide me inside. Some women would have been insulted by this, but not me. Maybe it’s because I moonlight as a superhero, but I like strong, take-charge men. They’re the only ones who can keep up with me.
Kyle Quicke was working as the host tonight, the latest in a long line of Quickes to run the restaurant. With his chestnut hair, light eyes, and thin physique, Kyle was cute in a harried sort of way. We’d gone to college together, back when we’d both been penniless nobodies. I, of course, had made my fortune in fashion, while Kyle had gotten his business degree and taken over the family restaurant. During his tenure, Quicke’s had increased its already healthy profits so much that the restaurant had opened a number of smaller cafés and eateries throughout Bigtime.
“Hello, Kyle.”
“Fiona Fine. Always a pleasure.”
I threw my long hair over my shoulder. “Of course it is. And you as well. Loved the food you did for the wedding.”
What little of it I’d gotten to eat had been delicious as always.
“Thanks. I aim to please.” Kyle’s eyes flicked over us.
“Table for two?”
“Obviously.”
“This way.”
Kyle grabbed a couple of leather-bound menus and zipped through the crowded restaurant, darting around tables and bustling waiters with a grace I didn’t know he possessed.
I followed, and Johnny put his hand on my back again. Another shiver swept through me. A girl could get used to that strong, firm touch. In all sorts of places.
The inside of Quicke’s looked like your typical bar and grill, only a bit nicer. Round tables covered with white linen tablecloths took up most of the first floor and part of the second. Roses perched in tall vases on every table, along with skinny votive candles. A bar with a gleaming brass rail and mirror behind it ran the whole length of the building.
Shouts and curses drifted out from behind the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, along with the sizzle of frying meat and the yeasty aroma of baking bread. My stomach quivered in anticipation at the mouthwatering scents.
The restaurant’s patrons wore everything from torn jeans and sneakers to designer ball gowns and tuxedos. Quicke’s catered to all segments of Bigtime’s population, including superheroes and ubervillains. Framed posters, newspaper clippings, and autographed pictures of heroes and villains covered the rust-colored brick walls. Action figures crouched in mock-fighting positions on the shelves behind the bar, along with car replicas and plush toys. I was pleased to note there were more than a few Fiera figures among the mix, including one scene where a six-inch-tall version of me pummeled Scorpion. I smiled.
I scanned the tables, but I didn’t see any neon-colored costumes among the crowd. Quicke’s was one of the few places considered to be neutral territory in Bigtime. Both superheroes and ubervillains could eat here without worrying about being hit with heat rays or thrown through the plate glass windows. In fact, with its fast turnaround time, more than one superhero and ubervillain grabbed a sandwich or salad at Quicke’s before heading out to do battle for the night. Sometimes, right in the middle of a fight. Debonair, a sometimes hero, sometimes thief with teleportation powers, was particularly fond of doing that.
Kyle seated us at a cozy table in back next to one of the windows that fronted part of Paradise Park. The colorful lights of the carousel spun round and round in the distance like a never-ending comet. Shrieks and shouts of glee penetrated the window, along with the jingle and jangle of the various other rides and attractions at the park.
Kyle gave us our menus and went back to his post at the front of the restaurant. A fat waiter named Ray came over to fill our water glasses and take our orders. Johnny decided on a black pepper–seasoned steak with the usual trimmings, and the waiter turned to me.
“Your usual, Miss Fine?” Ray asked. Most of the staff at the restaurant knew me by name.
I started to say you betcha, but caught myself just in time.
My usual consisted of a half dozen various sandwiches, five jumbo orders of fries, onion rings, hot-’n’-spicy buffalo wings, two bowls of soup, a couple of liters of soda, and the cake of the day. Three of them.
“I’ll have the grilled chicken special.” It came with only a couple of measly sides. It wasn’t going to be enough food.
I tried not to cringe.
The waiter looked at me, waiting for the rest of my order.
“That’s all.”
“That’s all? Are you sure, Miss Fine?”
“Positive.” I snapped the menu shut and gave it to him.
The waiter gave me an odd look, but he bowed and walked away.
Johnny grinned. “They seem to know you pretty well here, Fiona.”
I shrugged. “My store’s a couple of blocks over. I eat here a lot. I was rather surprised you decided to bring me here for dinner. I expected Chezanne’s or one of the other fancy French places.”
“Why’s that?”
I stared at his expensive attire, then at the rough brick walls and simple bar that made up the restaurant. “This place seems a little tame for you.”
It was his turn to shrug. “I like good food. And Quicke’s has the best in town from what I remember.”
“From what you remember?”
Johnny nodded. “I’ve spent the past few years mostly overseas looking after our European interests, but I grew up in Bigtime and went to college here.”
From what I’d read and heard on the society circuit, Bulluci Industries was a massive corporation. The Bullucis had immigrated from the Mediterranean region a couple of generations ago, and they’d achieved the American dream of owning their own business and becoming fabulously wealthy.
Besides Bella’s fashion empire, the Bullucis had several oil wells, mining interests, olive oil plants, and even a couple of automotive and motorcycle factories.
“You went to Bigtime U? I don’t remember you.” And I certainly would have. My eyes traced over his firm body. Oh yeah. I would have remembered. And done everything in my power to make sure he remembered me too.
“I think it was a little before your time. I’m seven years older than Bella. You were probably still in high school when I was at Bi
Actually, I was probably still in Ireland at the time. We hadn’t come to America until my mother died after a long battle with breast cancer. Seven years older than Bella? Let’s see. That would make him about thirty-six, thirty-seven.
Not too old. That was another mark in his favor, along with his surprisingly good choice of restaurant.
I opened my mouth to ask Johnny another question, when a soft, breathy voice cut in.
“Well, if it isn’t Fiona Fine, designer to the rich and famous.”
My eyes narrowed. I knew that voice, and I didn’t like the person it belonged to one bit. I looked up to find Erica Songe hovering over us. Erica was a news reporter for SNN, the Superhero News Network. She was one of SNN’s rising stars, having gone from being the substitute late-night weather girl on the weekends to an evening news on-air personality in a matter of months.
Now, I don’t like reporters in general. They’re always getting in the way when I’m trying to roast some ubervillains, shoving a camera in my face afterward, or attempting to uncover my real identity, just like Carmen had done.
Why did they have to be so nosy and demanding all the time? I couldn’t understand why reporters just didn’t stay away and let me do my kick-ass thing. It would work out better for everyone. At least the photographers and videographers knew enough to steer clear of me. Or at least stay a couple hundred feet away. Ruin a few five-thousand-dollar cameras and people aren’t so eager to take your picture anymore.
But Erica Songe was the worst of the worst. Just because she was on television, she thought that made her special. Erica had come into my store when she’d first gotten into town and ordered several pricey suits for her on-air appearances.