Hello, my dear readers. I'm back!
Sorry about the little lapse, I
went on vacation! You forgive me
right? Good. Okay, well, part
four is finally out. And I have
to give much thanks to my great
editor, Aurora Dream, for revising
and proofreading my story. Thanks
so much, Aurora! That thanks 
also extends to my loyal readers
who took the time to email me.
Okay, guys, hope you like this one. 
 
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
(an email would be nice ^_^)
 
Disclaimer: Yeah right, like I
own Sailor Moon. Ha. But, I
do own this story.
 
 
Chronicle Four
 
 
 Howling like an injured wolf, I tumbled out of my cluttered 
 
bed sheets and crawled to my bathroom. Normally, I am not reduced 
 
to such a sorry state of “Drama Queen,” but it was that dreaded 
 
time of the month again, a week of unnecessary blood loss. It was 
 
amazing how a simple excretion of blood could trigger a perpetual 
 
storm cloud to loom above me, but lo and behold, I, Miss Sunshine, 
 
was as joyous as the Grinch on Christmas Day. 
 
 The world screeched to a halt as I eagerly shook my trusty 
 
pink box and only one plastic wrapped tube rolled out onto my fist. 
 
Uncertain to whether the extreme loss of blood was causing me to 
 
hallucinate, I frantically waved the cardboard box around. 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 At that exact moment, I deduced that Fate was purposefully 
 
cruel to me. There must be heavenly deities high above who found 
 
my pitiful lack of luck extremely hilarious. They were probably 
 
rolling around on the clouds, laughing so hard that their sides 
 
hurt while I was sprawled out on my bathroom floor with one tampon 
 
left. Angrily casting the cardboard object across the room, I 
 
forced myself to my feet.
 
 “Be strong, Serena. Be the paragon for every strong woman.” 
 
Hmm, that sounded like a fairly creative ad for a Secret deodorant 
 
commercial.
 
 It was time for Operation Feminine Overlord.
 
 Without an ounce of makeup, meaning no eyeliner, lip gloss, 
 
mascara, nada, I slipped on athletic sandals and trudged to my car. 
 
Listlessly, I glanced down at my wardrobe, realizing that I was 
 
still donning my favorite pair of smiley face boxers and a black 
 
T-shirt that flashed my six pack (of loose skin).
 
 
Fashion Police: You, in those ridiculous shorts, pull over this 
 
minute.
 
 
 Shrugging at my comically unstylish reflection in the 
 
mirror, I decided not to pull over and change. Since the grocery 
 
store workers seen me in much worse get ups, I was fairly confident 
 
they could handle my pajamas. Plus, I reasoned, it was a quiet 
 
Sunday morning. Most people were just rousing from a rowdy Saturday 
 
night or dragging themselves to church. Aside from the menstruating 
 
blonde restocking in her supplies, who could possibly be awake? 
 
 Cold air blew against me as I entered the market, getting 
 
the usual raised eyebrows from the workers. A few even waved 
 
enthusiastically at me. Unfortunately, I had caused quite a ruckus 
 
one time when I had tried to insert my cart into the extremely 
 
crammed cart disposal. I was too preoccupied with cursing colorfully 
 
and training all my energy into my cart to notice that the flimsy 
 
chain suddenly snapped, allowing an entire stream of accidents-on-
 
wheels to rapidly escape. With my mouth open wide enough that a 
 
mutant fly would easily enter in and helpless tears rolling down 
 
my cheeks, I watched as the flood of carts began to cover the black 
 
asphalt, each one deliberately aiming for the priciest vehicle 
 
parked. Releasing a fierce battle cry, I began to sprint frantically 
 
across the parking lot, running in complete circles, zig-zags, 
 
squares, oblongs just to somewhat save my car insurance of 
 
the compiling bill. Probably thrown off by the strange gurgle 
 
that came out of my throat, customers and cart boys alike came out 
 
to witness “that crazy blonde woman” zooming back and forth across 
 
the parking lot. A few astute ones offered their assistance, and 
 
thank goodness only five out of the fifteen carts managed to lightly 
 
“tap” any scrap of metal. The cart boys had surrounded me, handing 
 
me tissues and candy, which slightly brightened my mood, but I was 
 
hoping that one would offer to cover the cost of the miniscule 
 
scratches. After that proud incident, I became an instant grocery 
 
star. 
 
 From that moment, whenever I made my presence known, I 
 
noticed at least one cart boy would stand guard in the parking 
 
lot, the poor lad appointed to somehow prevent another situation 
 
from happening. Inject embarrassed sigh. I could hardly blame 
 
them. For the entirety of my life, Lady Luck acted quite indecent 
 
towards me. 
 
 Yelping as my stomach clenched in another painful cramp, 
 
I scurried towards “women only” section, quickly seized a container 
 
of tampons, and scurried to the “less than 10 items” check out.
 
 “Good morning. How are you today?” I chirped, smiling 
 
into the face of the bubble gum chewing teenager. With an impatient 
 
toss of her pink ponytail, she gave me a “shove it, lady” look 
 
and wordlessly rang up my purchase. 
 
 Well, wasn’t she a precious bundle of joy this morning. 
 
I fiercely fought the temptation to reach over and tightly pinch 
 
one of her rouged cheeks like my overzealous, smooch ready 
 
grandmother. But upon zeroing in on the mounds of foundation 
 
layering on her skin, that temptation instantly died.
 
 “Four dollars and eighty-two cents,” she sighed in a droll 
 
voice as she began to inflate her neon purple gum. Humming an 
 
old tune, I opened up my purse. 
 
 And cursed. (I realize I really do need to do something 
 
about my potty mouth, ladies do not curse in public facilities!)
 
 “Heh…it seems to me that I forgot my money…,” I fumbled. 
 
Miss Bundles of Joy popped her gigantic bubble, revealing a pair 
 
of rolling eyes and a scowling mouth. I wasn’t sure exactly what 
 
gave me the ultimate hint, but I was beginning to believe that 
 
she was not a morning person. Perhaps it was the perpetual 
 
frown or murderous glower. 
 
 “Here, I’ll write you check.” Never mind that it would 
 
be for four dollars and eighty-two cents.
 
 Deliberately sighing loudly, she pointed to the large 
 
sign boldly and brightly blinking ‘Cash Only, Idiot.’ Okay, the 
 
last adjective was added inside my head, but my already suffering 
 
ego felt no larger than my pinky toe. 
 
 
Annoying voice inside my head: Way to go, slick. You’re on a roll 
 
today. 
 
 
 I really hated that voice inside my head, I couldn’t decide 
 
if it was my long dead Great Aunt Verna who came back to haunt 
 
me for purposefully slipping a toad into her soup at my ninth 
 
birthday party or simply my conscience. She couldn’t still be 
 
angry with me; I thought I had been quite generous by not choosing 
 
the mutant frog. The voice resembled her in numerous ways: nagging, 
 
nasally, too outspoken, unwanted.
 
 “Do you accept Visa?”
 
 “No,” was the flat, close to homicidal answer. Without a 
 
doubt, I was on this teenager’s list of cherished customers. 
 
Dumping every item stored in my purse out onto the counter, 
 
(I reddened slightly when a moldy, half eaten doughnut from two 
 
months ago accidentally rolled out) I began to scrounge for pennies 
 
and nickels. 
 
 “Hold on, two, four, six, and eight…”
 
 “Is there something the matter here?” a silky tenor questioned. 
 
Suddenly stopping mid count in my round up of shiny coins, (to my 
 
joy I had salvaged about two dollars in pennies) I twirled around 
 
and became scrunched face to broad chest with my worst enemy. 
 
Slowly, my gaze traveled over the wonderful expanse of his business 
 
jacket, flickered over annoyingly kissable lips twisted into a 
 
sardonic grin, and finally rested at breathing taking blue eyes.
 
 My damned, rebellious body, which never seemed to listen, 
 
squirmed in anticipation when he leaned forward and seductively 
 
whispered, “Good morning, Hughes.” His intense, blue eyes slowly 
 
descended, and with an arrogant smirk, he added, “Sexy boxers, by 
 
the way.”
 
 Of course, as Fate would schedule it, the day that I actually 
 
throw caution into the wind and sport my favorite pajamas, I confront 
 
the most agitating, gorgeous man in Tokyo. Of course! Unconsciously 
 
tugging the eye catching boxers down, I hoped to hide my wandering 
 
thoughts by a fierce frown. Is this how his latest sack session 
 
buddy, the one who replaced my seat at the ballet, was greeted in 
 
the mornings? What a lovely way to be woken up, two deliciously 
 
sensual lips only two millimeters from my mouth. 
 
 WAIT! Rewind.
 
 This gorgeous Neanderthal was not a possible bedmate, I 
 
fervently reprimanded my racing heart. 
 
 “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, breathing 
 
fire as I glared angrily up at him. Attempting to appear menacing 
 
and unapproachable, I shook my fist at him, but that only caused 
 
the massive pile of pennies I held to disperse everywhere. One 
 
copper coin struck one, half-asleep gentleman smack dab at the 
 
center of his forehead, rousing him from his check out nap. 
 
Ducking my head, I bent down to hoard every sparkling piece of 
 
metal, all while nailing Darien with the most hateful expression. 
 
 To be perfectly honest, I was not cross about the fact 
 
that the Armani clad bastard physically taunted me, chose not to 
 
accompany me to my favorite ballet, and then flaunted it in my 
 
humiliated face. No, no I was hardly cross. 
 
 I was absolutely furious. 
 
 And what further enraged me was the fact that it was 
 
extremely difficult for me to stop staring at his luscious, 
 
grinning mouth, which had been so cruelly close to kissing me. 
 
 “Here, I’m sorry this lady did not have the right amount,” 
 
his dark head nodded at my growing collection of pennies, “but here 
 
is ten dollars to cover both of our purchases, and keep the change 
 
as a bonus for your patience.” And with his heart melting grin to 
 
further soothe the tense moment, Miss Bundles of Joy accepted the 
 
bill with the most flirtatious, loving smile on her face.
 
 
Question of the Day: Okay, am I the only woman residing in 
 
Tokyo who, regardless of age, is NOT bewitched by his overwhelming 
 
‘mojo?’ 
 
 
 My fellow colleagues of the weaker sex are too susceptible, 
 
sometimes, almost shamefully susceptible. It only takes one, decent 
 
looking guy (Darien was downright gorgeous, but that was beside the 
 
point) to stroll by and BAM, hook, line and sinker…we’re suddenly 
 
in love with this stranger. Of course, I do not exclude myself in 
 
this tendency, but at least I can point out a true, cocky bastard 
 
out of a crowd, such as Darien. 
 
 “Look, I’m really sorry about this,” I tried to offer, 
 
and instantly her radiant smile was gulped up by a vicious 
 
frown. 
 
 “Whatever, lady.”
 
 Oh no, this stick of a teenager, who probably did not need 
 
to worry about her expanding hips and stomach, did not just take 
 
that tone with me. Here I am, on the verge of shock because of my 
 
immense blood loss, while she was enjoying air conditioning and a 
 
(underserved) bonus! 
 
 “Well...excuuuse me, miss, but I truly did not mean to come 
 
unprepared. I’m trying to apologize here...hey, will you let me 
 
go!” 
 
 I found that my Hero from Hell had grabbed me by my collar 
 
and dragged me outside. Any attempts to swat and kick at him were 
 
futile, so I managed to throw in a few more fighting words at Bundles 
 
of Sunshine before her mutinous expression was out of my sight. I 
 
tried to dig my heels into the ground, but that only scuffed up my 
 
favorite pair of sandals, so I settled for waving dismally at the 
 
passing cart boys.
 
 “Can you explain to me why I have this tendency to run into 
 
you in the worst situations,” Darien remarked when he finally released 
 
me in the parking lot, crossing his defined arms across his chest 
 
as he focused midnight blue eyes on me. Against my permission, my 
 
eyes wandered over the lovely breadth of his shoulders and the muscles 
 
pressing against his neatly ironed, button down dress shirt. Also 
 
against my will, I was bombarded with memories in the abandoned alley, 
 
his hard body pressing tightly against mine, his luscious lips running 
 
tantalizing paths across my face and sensitive neck...
 
 
Bad Serena: Do it again, lover boy.
 
Serena’s Spider Senses: Due to sudden movement of hormones, body 
 
temperature is rapidly rising. 
 
Bad Serena: Oh, it’s definitely getting hot out 
 
here!
 
 
 No! I could not allow myself to be distracted. As I 
 
squashed those intruding thoughts, I tried to concoct a witty 
 
response to his amused inquiry. 
 
 “Uhh…,” I stammered, licking my suddenly dry lips.
 
 No one ever said I was the sharpest tool in the shed, but 
 
I had always been proud of my slight ability to spar with Darien. 
 
How in the world could I possibly be quick on my feet when an image 
 
of Darien slowly unbuttoning my blouse while wetly kissing my 
 
collarbone and running his hands across my arching body would not 
 
leave my mind?
 
 “How the hell should I know, Einstein?” I was tempted to 
 
share my theory on his inherent radar that always managed to 
 
pinpoint me during an embarrassing situation, but because of my 
 
fear of ridicule and out-and-out laughter, I didn’t.
 
 “Maybe Fate is trying to tell us something,” he patiently 
 
suggested as he tucked a blonde cowlick behind my ear. 
 
 Tartly slapping away his soothing touch, I grumbled, “Yeah, 
 
like to get a restraining order on you.” 
 
 “I’m very proud of you, it’s not usual for women to react so 
 
swiftly when it’s early in the morning and they’re menstruating,” he 
 
said, patting me on the head as he produced the pink box. He might 
 
have as well thrown a juicy steak in the midst of starving wolves… 
 
 “Give me that!” I shouted, reaching for my cherished blood 
 
plugs. 
 
 “Now, now, don’t be greedy,” grinned my sadistic adversary, 
 
dangling my precious babies above my head while I jumped up and 
 
earnestly attempted to retrieve them. Exploding into a fit of 
 
incoherent noises, I stamped my foot and seriously considered 
 
kicking his shins. It would be a low hit, but absolutely worth it.
 
 Clearly finding my sad efforts highly amusing, he tilted 
 
his head and maintained a solemn expression while he read the 
 
description, “For those heavy days. Oh, you poor thing, you must 
 
be quite desperate for these, huh?”
 
 “Desperate enough to attack anyone, or in your case, 
 
anything, that stands in my way!”
 
 “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be scared or excited 
 
by that comment.”
 
 “Like I would ever attack you on the basis of some weak 
 
sexual urge.” To create the full effect of disgust and disbelief, 
 
I snorted (very unladylike, might I add) and rolled my eyes much 
 
like that blasted teenager inside, who was weighed down by the 
 
pounds of foundation on her face. 
 
 “I was generous enough to lend you the necessary funds 
 
to purchase these items. Don’t you think I deserve something?”
 
 “You make it sound like I just took out a massive
 
loan. It was only ten dollars.”
 
 “So ungrateful.” 
 
 “Since it looks like you’re scraping by in those Armani 
 
suits, I’ll be sure to reimburse you.”
 
 “I certainly didn’t have money in mind.”
 
 
Serena’s Spider Senses: Warning, warning! Sexual favors could 
 
be asked in a matter of seconds. 
 
 
 “Of course, how could I be so blind? I have something 
 
perfect in mind,” I provocatively suggested, batting my eyelids as 
 
I playfully toyed with his forest green, silk tie (which ended a 
 
wee bit close to his belt line). His eyes intensely watching when 
 
I intentionally brushed one finger across his rippling stomach, I 
 
smiled slowly and seductively as I purred, “Bend over.” 
 
 I began to laugh evilly, after all, the man deserved more 
 
than a kick in the ass after his show of foreplay in the alley, when 
 
suddenly an iron grip closed on my flattened hand. He leaned forward, 
 
his nose barely touching mine, his proximity bombarding my senses. 
 
 “I don’t enjoy being teased, Hughes,” he growled.
 
 “Funny, neither do I.”
 
 “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t deliberately provoke me.”
 
 “Hey, I’m not the one who took the damn liberties to seduce 
 
me in an abandoned alley!”
 
 “So,” he drawled enticingly as he rested his forehead against 
 
mine, “you admit you were seduced?”
 
 “Isn’t that what I just said? Is your colossal ego making 
 
you hard of hearing?” I snapped, and instantly attempted to escape 
 
his pervading heat when I felt strong arms encircle my waist. Eyes 
 
narrowing threateningly, I glared daggers, no, gleaming swords, at 
 
the cad and rudely demanded that he release me before I sexually 
 
crippled him. 
 
 “I just wanted to confirm the fact that you were seduced, 
 
because the word seduction entails that you enjoyed it.”
 
 I chewed on my lip as I dug beneath his hogwash and translated 
 
his words into blonde language. In other words, I had liked his 
 
teasing touches and hot kisses. Well...DUH! But I’d rather be tied 
 
up and tickled to death than ever admit to that arrogant bastard that 
 
if he hadn’t taken control of the situation, I would have clubbed him 
 
over the head and drug him to my bed. Although, the thought of Darien
 
 helpless struck me quite appealing...
 
 Extreme blood loss combined with a pathetic lack of sex was 
 
transforming me into a freak obsessed with kinky handcuffs and underwear 
 
for two. I really needed to get out more, maybe allow myself to fall 
 
victim to more blind dates. 
 
 “At least I know I can affect you somehow, ice princess,” he 
 
murmured, running his thumb across my extremely sensitive hip bone. 
 
His drop dead gorgeous face was softened by an expression completely 
 
foreign for a narcissistic jerk like Darien: uncertainty. This left 
 
me momentarily stunned, because whenever he made passes at me before, 
 
he exuded absolute smoothness. In the midst of my pondering, I had 
 
somehow forgotten that I was in the arms of my worst enemy. I had 
 
absolutely no clue how, or even why, when I fiercely reminded myself 
 
that I did not enjoy his touch. My hormones did.
 
 “Can we return to the main issue of this stupid conversation?”
 
 “What was the main issue?”
 
 Good question. Common sense was gradually leaking out of my 
 
brain as Darien deliberately ran a lazy circle on the arch of my back 
 
with his pointer finger. I couldn’t permit this womanizing Adonis to 
 
distract me; I had to clear the hazy fog clouding my brain. 
 
 “Didn’t I kindly ask you to let me go?”
 
 “Kindly? Isn’t that stretching it? 
 
 “When dealing with you, etiquette is never high on my list of 
 
priorities.” 
 
 “Ouch, I’m hurt by that statement.”
 
 “Let me go, Langston.”
 
 “And if I don’t?”
 
 “You won’t like the consequences,” my voice dripped venomous 
 
sweetness.
 
 “Try me...damn it, Hughes!” immediately, he complied with my 
 
orders and hopped around on one expensive, Italian leather shoe while 
 
holding one, bruised limb. Yes, I had hopped off my pedestal of honor 
 
and soundly kicked at his shins. I should have felt guilty, horrible; 
 
instead, satisfaction gripped me as I cackled wickedly and clapped. No 
 
one, not even the untouchable Darien, was permitted to shred my ego to 
 
smithereens and escaped! I was invincible! I was unstoppable! I was... 
 
 “Serena Diana Hughes!” a powerful voice suddenly shattered my 
 
victory.
 
 Shit. There was only one person who could make me cringe with 
 
a simple alteration of their voice. Gulping loudly, I turned away from 
 
the sputtering, cursing man and faced the most formidable force ruling 
 
my life.
 
 “Hi, Mom,” I innocently smiled and affectionately kissed her 
 
cheek. Too cultured and hardened in my ways to be tricked by my 
 
Shirley Temple act, she placed her hand on her hips, an all too familiar 
 
motherly pose, and pointed to my enemy.
 
 “Spare me, honey. Why did you just kick that young man?”
 
 “Young man? Where?”
 
 “Serena!”
 
 “Oh! That young man!” I turned towards Darien, stepping 
 
backwards as if utterly shocked to discover a good looking businessman 
 
bending down to inspect the rising welt on his shins. I pressed my 
 
lips together to avoid from laughing at his concentrated expression. 
 
 “Are you all right, honey?” my dear, unknowing mother 
 
questioned. 
 
 “I’m fine, just taken by surprise, that’s all.”
 
 “My Serena never did grow out of her kicking stage.” Mother 
 
Dearest lifted a questioning brow when she noted my apparel. 
 
 Before she could throw in a few insults, I hastily interjected. 
 
 “Yes, I know I am wearing smiley face boxers, Mom. And I grew 
 
out of it just fine, thank you.”
 
 “Ahh, so you are the beautiful Mrs. Hughes. A pleasure to meet 
 
you,” the jerk massaged his sore shin before turning his charm to 
 
‘Impress the Mother’ level. Critically eyeing him, I noted that his 
 
smile grew brighter, his posture was straighter, and his handshake 
 
gentler, yet firm. I had the distinct sensation that he had memorized 
 
and practiced this act with astounding precision and accuracy. 
 
 “What a charmer! What’s your name, again, young man?”
 
 “Darien Langston.”
 
 “Yes, I remember you. You dated Rei a while back ago?”
 
 “Yes, we’re still good friends now.”
 
 “I’ve heard a few, unpleasant stories about you from my 
 
daughter. I was imaging an ogre, but you’re the complete opposite!” 
 
my mother, another victim to his mojo, remarked incredulously.
 
 “That’s good to hear. But I can only imagine the stories 
 
you have heard about me. Your daughter and I have an interesting 
 
relationship.”
 
 “By interesting he means deranged and murderous,” I quipped.
 
 Pointedly ignoring my snide comment, my mother crossed her 
 
arms and questioned, “When I last heard about you, I heard you were 
 
climbing the ranks in your father’s company.”
 
 “With help from daddy, no doubt.” In response to my 
 
impressive show of wit, my mother rewarded me with her ever deadly, 
 
paralytic, ‘You-better-behave-or-else’ stare. It was a look that 
 
still possessed enough poison to make me nearly pee in my pants, and, 
 
probably during my younger years, did. 
 
 “Yes, it helps to have a father who left a huge legacy in 
 
business, but I’ve been working hard so I’m not another one of 
 
those spoiled, pampered brats.”
 
 “That must be difficult, I’m sure there’s much speculation 
 
and gossiping.” 
 
 I tilted my head when my mother concernedly remarked this, 
 
Icould have sworn her hooded gaze swung over to me. 
 
 “Of course there is, but it all comes with the job.”
 
 “It’s all a façade, Mom. Don’t believe a word he says,” 
 
I stated, crossing my arms as I glowered into his lop sided smile. 
 
My fuming a clear source of amusement to him, Darien winked 
 
engagingly at me. 
 
 “That’s true, you never know with men.” She gazed sharply
 
at his ruggedly striking face, measuring every aspect of his 
 
appearance with a critical eye. “But there’s something about this man 
 
that I like.”
 
 Great, within five minutes, the bastard managed to win over 
 
my tougher than nails mother, a feat that past boyfriends never 
 
managed to accomplish, especially after suffering daddy dear’s 
 
pee-inducing interrogations. Have I mentioned that my darling father 
 
used to be a hardened Marine officer? 
 
 “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.” As if it were an everyday matter, 
 
he slipped a strong arm around me, his palm resting on my tense bicep. 
 
Flinching at the electricity when he casually massaged my muscles, I 
 
instantly attempted to leap away, but found myself soundly pressed 
 
against his muscular side. Although my bony elbows jabbed against his 
 
ribs, he continued to smile warmly at my beaming mother. “I have a 
 
question to ask you: do you think I am Serena’s type?”
 
 “You jerk! Mom, if you love me, you will not answer that 
 
question!” I fumed, clamping onto her arm as I feverishly shook 
 
her petite frame. She rattled for a few moments, extricated 
 
herself from my death grip, and thoughtfully responded.
 
 In my unbiased opinion, there was no need for thought or 
 
cautiousness. The answer was QUITE obvious: absolutely not! 
 
Couldn’t my mother see right through his pretty boy smile and 
 
equally pretty clothes to see he was a womanizer? He was one of 
 
those types of guys who sat around at the country club gatherings, 
 
bragging about his latest conquests, comparing how quickly it took 
 
to lead the poor lamb to the slaughterhouse, otherwise known as 
 
his love shack. 
 
 “To tell you the truth, honey, I’m not sure. Why don’t 
 
you ask Serena?”
 
 “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation! I am 
 
taking this opportunity to walk away before I say anything that 
 
will make my mom slap me upside the head,” I sulked, casting dark 
 
glances at my opposing parties. Once again, Darien’s oh so 
 
overwhelming sex appeal had managed to confuse even the sharpest
 
 mind in Tokyo, my own mother. She had become another traitor, 
 
added to the list of my EX best friends.
 
 Just as I inserted the key into my sputtering piece of 
 
junk that I lovingly referred to as my car, supple lips brushed 
 
against my extremely sensitive ear lobe, “You’re acting childish, 
 
Hughes.”
 
 Shrieking as I jumped a mile in the air, I whirled around 
 
and found myself alarming close to his pinstriped, gray suit. 
 
My mother had already disappeared into the market, leaving me alone 
 
to fend off the unwanted advances of this stubborn Neanderthal. 
 
How could she?!
 
 “Watch yourself, Langston,” I viciously snapped, but 
 
instantly softened my voice as my eyelashes fluttered alluringly, 
 
“unless you want me to add another welt to the lovely one already 
 
growing on your shins.”
 
 Darien’s eyes darkened to near midnight as he pressed 
 
his hard length fully against me and raised his elbows on either 
 
side of my head. Although I tried to remind myself how utterly 
 
outraged I should be, I instantly felt light headed and weak 
 
limbed when I felt every damn ripple and muscle bunch against me. 
 
Two hands gripped my buttocks and brought me impossibly closer to 
 
him, making me suddenly aware of his growing arousal. At that
 
moment, any smart ass comments decomposed to whimpers. My head 
 
fell back against my car, exposing my neck to his hot, wet kisses. 
 
 “S-Stop...” came my daunting command. 
 
 “I will, Hughes, once you answer my question.”
 
 “What question?” The atmosphere was growing so unbearably 
 
hot.
 
 “Am I your type?”
 
 He paused mid-kiss, his heavenly lips still against the 
 
curve of my neck while he waited for my answer.
 
 “What was your question again?” 
 
 I felt his mouth form into a satisfied smirk at my inability 
 
to formulate and process words. Collecting a few figments of 
 
intelligence, I listened intently to his inquiry. 
 
 “Am I?
 
 “Are you what?
 
 Growing frustrated with my stupidity, he paused and 
 
impatiently restated, “Your type?”
 
 “What’s it to you?” I saucily shot back when he lifted his 
 
head to steadily gaze at me.
 
 “Because you sure as hell are my type.”
 
 Suddenly angry myself for easily giving in to his 
 
intoxicating touch and just as easily forgetting how he carelessly 
 
cast me aside in the alley, I pushed at his chest and shouted out 
 
whatever comment my trusty brain managed to concoct. 
 
 “Oh really? I always thought your taste dipped into the 
 
inflatable type!”
 
 
Serena’s dignity: 2 (up from 1)
Darien ego: 1000
 
 
News at six o’clock: Residents spot a seemingly sane, 
 
striking businessman hollering about inflatable sheep and a 
 
painful revenge while chasing after shrieking blonde down 
 
Taichi’s Boulevard. 
 
 
 
Gotta love Serena's sass, just gotta.
Well, there was part four. What's in
store for our heroine? Who knows, its 
up to my muse. Email me or critique 
and tell me what you think.
 
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
 
P.S. Oh, I just made up Taichi's Boulevard
off the top of my head. If it happens
to be a real street, what a coincidence!