Pixie's Passion by Mina Carter Page B

see her, could he? No, there was no way he could,
not with all the lights trained on the catwalk. It was just a trick
of the light.
    "What's going on?" Joanie whispered, loudly,
from under the table. More of a shout than a whisper really. Teresa
didn't answer, struck dumb as Cy sauntered down the catwalk, his
eyes still firmly on hers. The lights shimmered lovingly across
perfect muscles, the six pack stomach flexing as he walked.
    "Heeeeello...need info down here!"
    Joan's hand emerged from under the table and
waved at Teresa. Who totally ignored it as Cy reached the end of
the catwalk. Instead of doing a little pose like the rest he ran a
hand over his toned stomach and slid it down towards his groin. His
eyes twinkled as his lips curved in a suggestive smile.
    Teresa fanned herself with her program, her
eyes not leaving the stage in front of her or the man stood on it.
Had the temperature in here just jumped twenty degrees? They really
needed to turn the air-conditioning up.
    With a lazy flick of his fingers he popped
the first, then the second button on his jeans...just enough to
tell he wasn't wearing underwear. Then he blew a kiss at her.
    Teresa's heart stopped. Joan's frantic waving
by her side didn't register as Cy stalked back up the catwalk and
disappeared.
    "What happened? What did I miss?" Joanie
demanded as she pulled herself from under the table on Teresa's
arm.
    "And congratulations to the lady in red on
table five. One of our hostesses will be along shortly to collect
your details for your date with our delectable waiter Cy."
    Table five.
    They were table five.
    Suddenly the grins Teresa was getting from
the other people seated around the table made sense. An awful
feeling crept over her as she glanced down at her red top, then
round the table at the other women's clothing.
    "Shit, I think you just won me a date."
     

Chapter Two
     
    Christmas eve. He couldn't believe he was on
a blind bloody date on Christmas eve.
    Cy pulled up outside the small suburban house
and left the car engine running. Rooting in his jeans pocket he
pulled out a scrap of paper and checked the name and address
written on it. Ducking down he checked the number on the side of
the house through the windscreen.
    Yup, number seventeen. It was hard to spot
half-hidden behind the illuminated snowman but it was definitely
the right house.
    Cy sat back in the drivers seat, his tattooed
hand rested on the steering wheel, and let the engine idle as he
looked at the place. Classic suburbia. Beige house, white picket
fence, sensible sedan parked in the drive. No doubt owned by Mr.
and Mrs. Average with two point four kids. Kids who'd be hyped up
on the Christmas spirit already if the bright decorations in the
garden and on the front of the house were any indication.
    Cy sighed as he cut the engine and unfolded
himself from the sleek sports car. It was his luxury, his little
gift to himself and the only thing he bothered to spend money on.
Why bother on anything else? His apartment he spent as little time
in as possible and the club provided a uniform so he didn't need to
bother with clothes. Okay, so maybe the sheer t-shirt was
stretching 'clothing' a little bit. He flicked the central locking
on and strode up the path towards the house. Better get this over
with and thrill Mrs. Average who'd won a date with the bad boy he
was supposed to be.
    He knocked on the porch door, looking down
and noticing the three sets of wellington boots set in a row just
inside the screen to dry. A adult pair, female sized by the looks
of them and two smaller pairs, one tiny pair in pink and a slightly
larger pair with a cartoon hero emblazoned on the side.
    Longing filled him. Family. Home. All the
things he wanted but couldn't have.
    *
    "Crap, crap, crap. He can't be here
already!"
    Teresa raced around her tiny bedroom in
search of her best strappy sandals, stubbed her toes in passing on
the leg of the bed and erupted into more swearing. Joanie's voice
reading a