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made no references to him at all. Something that did not go unnoticed by the brute.
    On Thursday evening, she heard a pounding at her door, opening it to find him standing there, looking good enough to pour honey over and buzz about him until it was all gone. She stood in the doorway, blocking his entrance. Her voice was low as she whispered, “you should have called first.”  She closed the door a little more, hindering his view inside.
    “Oh, you are not alone?”  He asked, his face taut.
    Ebony shook her head no.
    “I’m sorry to bother you,” he told her.  His disappointment evident.
    “You came all of this way, did you want something?”
    His eyes spoke volumes as he stared at her face, “yes... you.”
    It felt good to re-level the playing field.  The wound was open and she was the Morton girl.  Open wide, layer with salt.
    “Tonight is not a good night... next time call first.”  She kissed her fingertip and pressed it to his lips. Instead of allowing her to get away with the blow off, he grasped her wrist in suckled on her fingertip.
    “Next time...call first...got it...”
    He left.
    Thank God!  A few more seconds of that finger sucking and I was going to do more than let him kiss me .
    The table had just turned. Ebony was grinning, because she was liking it. He was used to being chased or being the hunter.  Fine. She was going to outfox him on more than one level.

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    I n her closet were three pairs of jeans.  One pair for scut work around the house, volunteer assignments and projects where a girl got dirty. The second pair was a throwback to her clubbing days and was guaranteed on any given night to get her at least three drinks, and invitation to dinner and in one instance a marriage proposal.  The last pair...well the last pair was a reminder to all who gazed upon the superb fit, a gentle understanding of the power of a Stairmaster and good eating habits. That is the pair she put on and headed to work on Friday morning at Boehner Enterprises. She also sported a pink pair of Timberlands, with red laces.
    In less than an hour, she had the attention of every man, young and old in the facility.  One lady even went out of her way to ask her about her exercise routine and diet. She gladly shared the information. The men she was cordial to, but not too friendly.  One rather handsome and well-built fellow, name George, took an immediate liking to her. “What is it you do here George?”
    “I am a master carpenter,” he told her with a smile that could charm the habit off a nun. He was in the midst of explaining his many uses of wood and woodworking when Tino walked up and cleared his throat. George took it as his cue to get back to wherever he had sneaked away from, and left them alone in the break room.
    “Glad to see you back at work.  The ankle is all healed?”
    “Yes, I am much better.  I opted for some more sensible shoes and attire,” she told him as she fanned her hands out like one of the girls in the Price is Right displaying the showcase.
    In Tino’s mind, there was nothing sensible about those jeans.  The moment she turned around in them, all of his senses rushed to his pants and the rest out of the window. “I was wondering...” he told her with his head down.  “If you were free Saturday night?”
    “I am not,” she told him flatly.
    He must not have heard her because he continued as if he didn’t, “I have this movie I have been dying to see and I thought maybe I could bring a bottle of wine, and maybe some Chinese food for... wait.  What?”
    “I said, I am not free on Saturday night,” she said again with no expression on her face. “You also interrupted my conversation with George.  He was telling me all about his wood and how he loved the feel of it in his hands.”  She said the last part with a straight faced delivery as well.
    His eyebrows rose slightly. “I’m sorry I misunderstood.  I thought we had reached a truce.”
    She