Page 31 of Secondhand Soul

In my dream, I was careful. Something about knowing her past infiltrated the only erotic dream I’ve ever had (or at least ever remembered), and I remember being with her not as some growling, snarling clash of bodies. Something good and hard, yet still careful.

Like I wasn’t just using her to fix myself. It was about her, too.

“I need help.”

I sit up in my chair, blinking. The hand not between my legs is holding the phone to my half-awake ear.

“I’m coming. Be right there.” I bolt up and start moving before I even know what’s going on. “Who is it? What is it?”

“I... This is dumb.”

“What? What’s dumb?”

“I’m trapped between the edge of the bed and the wall, and my bad shoulder is trapped under the box spring. I forgot where I was, got startled out of my sleep, fell off, and pinned myself,” she huffs. “The bed is too heavy to move. This is so pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic. Manny’s bed is huge, and there’s barely room to walk around it, especially not on the far wall, the one with the front-facing windows.”

“Well, I can see the window—and so much dust. Possibly spiders.”

“I’m coming! Be there in five.”

“Thank you, Sir Lazarus, the Gallant and Gray.” I can hear the smile in her voice—right before she hangs up.

Sir Lazarus. Her knight in shining armor.

Oooh. Head rush.

I gallop over there, don’t even need the horse. Don’t need the car. The town’s bustling again, especially on the road heading out to the mall and into the small little shops that make up the main part of Pine Ridge proper. I ignore it all. Some people wave as I race past, but I don’t have time to stop.

Victoria called.

You are so screwed. You get excited when she calls, and there’s no reason to do that.

Just a friend.

Friend-ish.

You’ve known her a whole day. Whoopie.

When I get to the apartment above the shop, I knock, wait, and realize this is stupid. She can’t open the door. I come on in, calling out, “The undead rescue network is here!”

“Thank you! In here!”

I know where she is. I follow her voice to the only bedroom and realize afresh just how big the bed is and how small the room is around it. I can’t see a speck of her until I lay across the massive bed and peer down.

Victoria is a vision.

Long dark hair fanned out. Pale skin wrapped in an off-white sheet. Bare legs. Bare shoulders.

Did Victoria sleep naked?

“Hi,” I croak.

“Hi.” She gives me a rueful, miserable look. “This is getting old, huh?”

“Nah,” I shrug and stand up to pull the bed back. “How’d you do that?”

“I have no idea,” she groans, and tries to push herself up now that the bed isn’t blocking half of her shoulder. “All I know is that it hurts. Everything hurts. Is it time for Motrin?”