Here’s a cooking tip: never stir-fry topless.
Except for a few moments of amazing pain, no real damage was done.
The wok no longer seemed to be erupting, so after a glance at Steve, I picked up the wooden spoon and started to stir the mixture of oil, teryaki sauce, and chunks of steak.
If they cooked too long, they’d be tough. So I counted to sixty in my head a couple of times while I continued to stir. Then I shut off the burner, hurried over to a cupboard and snatched down a couple of dinner plates.
I piled about the same amount of steak teryaki onto each plate. Which seemed pretty generous, considering Steve’s treatment of me. Also considering it would probably be cold and ruined by the time he might get around to eating it.
I set aside Steve’s dinner, then found myself a fork and hopped up onto the counter. The counter made a fine seat. Not only did it feel cool and smooth under me, but I liked having the elevation. Perched up there, I had an excellent view of Steve. And I could jump down and run over to him in about a second if I had to.
With the plate resting on my lap, I sipped my tequila and ate the tasty chunks of steak. There should’ve been a bed of those crispy, squiggly Chinese noodles underneath the meat and sauce. That would’ve been great, but I hadn’t thought of it. At this point, I didn’t want to bother hunting for the noodles.
I wished I hadn’t thought of them, though. It’s a lousy thing, when you’re eating fabulous steak teryaki, to ruin it by worrying about the noodles that might’ve been.
Forget about the noodles! Relish the meal you’ve got!
Words to live by.
Hey, have you ever noticed how much better food tastes when you’re a little tipsy? For some reason, aromas and flavors seem so much more wonderful than when you’re completely sober. If you’re not a drinker, you’re really missing a treat.
Of course, you’re also missing the aftermath, where you feel crummy and may vomit.
I guess it’s a toss-up.
Done with my meal, I hopped off the counter. I rinsed my plate and fork at the sink, and stowed them away in Serena’s dishwasher. Then I had a little dab more tequila. When the glass was empty, I filled it with cold water and took a good, long drink.
Now what?
Steve was still out cold, and I’d run out of things to keep me busy.
Try to wake him up?
I refilled my glass with water, then added a few ice cubes. Taking the saber along, I walked over to the chair that I’d placed over Steve’s torso. I sat down on it, my feet on the floor just above his shoulders, and rested the saber across my lap. Then I leaned forward and peered down between my knees.
He looked asleep.
“Steve?” I asked.
He didn’t move.
I gave his shoulder a nudge with my foot. Still no response.
If he’s going to stay out cold…
Instead of dumping the glassful of water onto his face, I drank it. When nothing was left except for a few ice cubes, I bent way down and set the empty glass on Steve’s forehead.
Then I settled back, sliding my rump toward the front edge of the chair. I stretched out my legs, folded my hands down low on my belly, shut my eyes and let my head droop forward.
I know, I know, I know. I had to be crazy to try and take a nap under these circumstances.
But I was so damn worn out by then. I’d had too much excitement, too much stress, too much strenuous activity, too little sleep, and maybe a smidgen too much tequila.
And I figured that Steve was no great threat. Even if he should wake up before me, he was pinned under the chair with his legs bound together and a glass resting precariously on his forehead. He had a slim chance of taking me by surprise.
He might get the upper hand, but it didn’t seem likely.
It wasn’t likely enough to worry me.
Or keep me awake.
After positioning myself for the nap, I must’ve stayed awake, worrying, for about five seconds. If that.
This was a straight-backed, wooden chair without a seat pad, but I zonked right away. Which tells you how badly I needed some sleep.
I was dead to the world.
Until the noise of bursting glass shocked me awake in the near-dark room and the chair lurched, throwing me off.
50
THE AWAKENING
Earthquake!
That was my first thought. I’d been through some bad ones. They nearly always hit while you’re asleep, roaring and shaking you furiously and scaring the crap out of you.
Falling sideways, I was halfway to the floor when I figured out this wasn’t any quake.
This was Steve.
My right shoulder hit the floor, and I rolled. Rolled and tumbled as fast as I could, hanging on to the saber. The chair toppled over. Part of it pounded my back, but not very hard.
Clear of Steve and the chair, I scrambled to my feet.
He was already sitting up, but still trying to free his feet from the electrical cord.
“Stop!” I shouted.
He looked up and saw me coming at him.
Even though the kitchen was dim with the gloom of dusk, I must’ve been quite a sight charging across the kitchen in nothing but my panties, my breasts leaping, my saber high.
One glimpse of me, and Steve let out a yelp.
He quit fooling with the cord and stuck up his hands. “I give!” he yelled. “Don’t do it! Please!”
I slid to a halt beside him. Still holding the saber overhead with both hands, I said, “Lie down and don’t move.”
He sank backward until he was stretched out flat.
Never turning away from him, I sidestepped to the nearest light switch. I flicked it up and brightness filled the kitchen.
As I approached Steve, he lifted his head off the floor. He winced and flinched, but didn’t take his eyes off me. Fingering the dish towel that I’d taped to the top of his head, he asked, “What’s…going on?”
“I won, that’s what.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“What happened to my head?”
I shook the saber.
“You chopped my head open? Oh, my God!”
“Don’t blow a gasket,” I said. “I just gave you a few raps with the handle, that’s all. If I’d used the blade, you wouldn’t be asking me questions about it. Lie still, and I’ll take care of your feet.”
“Okay,” he muttered.
“I’m not even gonna warn you about trying something.”
He eased his head down against the floor.
With the saber in my right hand ready to strike him, I squatted near his feet and used my left hand to unwind the cord. “As long as you cooperate with me, you’ll be fine.”
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Good. I went ahead and ate, by the way. I couldn’t wait for you.”
“That’s okay.”
“But I saved you some.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
When his feet were no longer bound together, I stood up and backed away, the end of the cord in my left hand.
He pushed himself up to his elbows, looked, and saw how I’d fashioned a tether for his left ankle. “Cute,” he said.
“It’ll let you get around.”
“I guess so.” Meeting my eyes, he said, “I can’t say that I blame you for not trusting me.”
I laughed at him. Then I said, “Get up and come over here.”
He made it to his feet, and I led him over to the counter where his plate was waiting. I was careful not to let him get close to me.
“Where do you want me to eat it?” he asked.
“Right there.”
“What about a fork?”