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  I stumbled backwards and flailed my arms as I tripped on my heels. I was prepared for the air to be knocked out of me when strong arms stopped my fall.

  I grabbed him because there were no other choices. I’d hugged a lot of guys before in my day, but he was solid steel. Rippling steel. I gasped and squeezed his biceps.

  “Oh no. Now I’ve gone and done it. You’ve felt the guns. Now you’ll never get over me.” Dongy set me on my feet.

  “What’s in your trunk?” I pointed past him. Fear was making me doubt sending Caleb off, because it was pretty clear that Dongy had been up to something.

  He looked at the contents of the trunk and then back at me. His face abs rippled. I could see his messy, sandy hair now, the lights from the tailgate putting a spotlight on him.

  “Oh that? It’s just a hobby. It’s nothing.” He slammed the tailgate shut.

  “If you’re good, I’m off. I have to get home. For stuff I have to do.” I tried to keep distance between us but I was wildly aware that I was alone in the dark with a guy that felt like he was related to the Hulk. That had a shovel. And bleach. Fresh bleach.

  I kept one eye on Dongy as I inched back to my car, which was still running.

  “Hendrix.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. I froze and looked at his fingers.

  “Don’t lose yourself in research about me, I know that’s going to be hard. You have to fight your instinct to find out everything about me. Let me be a mystery to you. Focus on you. Focus on hot yoga. Or meditation. Be safe. I’m sorry you felt my muscles. I just didn’t want you to fall.” He took his hand away and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The man looked genuinely upset that he had hurt me by not letting me fall on my keister. Which was weird.

  “I promise. I won’t fixate or anything. I can control myself. I’m just going to my car. Nice and slow. And not at all in a rush.”

  I took two side steps and Dongy stayed put. And then I ran as fast as my heels would carry me. I slammed myself into my Ford Focus and locked the driver’s side door. I glanced in the rear view mirror to see Dongy headed for my car. Not waiting another second because my lousy-assed car had manual locks and they were all open because apparently I was living in a horror movie—I floored it.

  I put miles between Dongy and me. I didn’t stop shaking all the way home.

  Chapter 6

  Dongy

  Well, I’m sure she thought she saved me. At what cost, though. To her. She was probably running home to Google the hell out of me. Actually, she was probably already Googling and driving. Hendrix was smitten. She’d seen my face. Felt how strong I am. It bothered me that she knew the guys in the other car. By name. She’d been dating dumb ass Caleb. But I expected it. I knew it would be that way. Men got all protective when they knew their woman was around me. Because of the irresistibleness of all I was. I closed the tailgate and said a little head prayer for the possum I was leaving behind. I tried to not kick myself mentally for staying too long at Meme’s. This was the hard part. Not beating myself up for spending time away from the roads. If I had left sooner, maybe I could have helped the possum stay alive.

  After getting into my car and switching gears, I was off. Getting home didn’t take long, and I didn’t find any more road kill victims to slow me up.

  Getting home was a punch. Still. It had been a year since Mom died. People would call me a freak if they knew how close we were. Just like those guys tonight. But Mom was special. And she needed me. I shuffled up the ramp to the front door. I had built it myself when Mom had transitioned to the wheelchair. I could lift her up the stairs, that wasn’t an issue, I’m still so strong. I am so strong. On the outside. Inside, I felt like crying more often than not when I was home. Because she was gone.

  I unlocked the door and hung up my sweatshirt. I’d splashed some bleach on my jeans when I was cleaning the shovel from the possum’s burial.

  I stripped them off and tossed them in the laundry on my way to check on my patients. I only have two at the moment. One squirrel that was almost ready to be reintroduced to the woods and an owl that was just starting to come out of her shell.

  I named them, even though I tell myself not to do it every time. I try and create the best habitat I can for them as they wait to be healed. Time can heal injuries. Time couldn’t heal Mom.

  I opened little Nut’s cage. The squirrel was way too used to my hands, but his leg was a slow healer. His limp was now barely noticeable. I mumbled little greetings and refilled his water and food while he took chances sniffing my giant knuckles. He didn’t try for the cage door either. I had concerns about his will to be wild. But I would cross that bridge when I came to it. Next up was the owl, Who. She would peek out at me and watch me with her wide eyes as I did the same for her cage. She had a wing in a splint I had fashioned for her, but with as nervous as Who was I didn’t want to check on her injury. The splint looked sturdy and I’d learned not to rush things in the basement. She cooed at me as I close the door and that made me smile. I could feel my cheek abs tightening.

  That brought me back to thinking about the bartender. Meme’s was pretty much a dump. It was the last chance bar for me. I liked talking to people and bartenders were supposed to be good listeners. Getting kicked out of the other two bars in town was rough. And the reasons I got booted over were bunk. Helping women stalk you was gentlemanly. I knew they were going to do it. They were going to obsess. I even created a Wikipedia page for myself, just to make it easier. By the time they were falling in love (and lust) with me I had my number in their phone, my address post-it noted to their cars and a “Sorry I’m not available” postcard sent to their house.

  I tried to keep most of the abs covered. I tried to downplay my brute strength. I was a lot like the Hulk but with Ironman’s suaveness. They could try their hardest, but they were going to be fascinated. They were only human, after all.

  The burden on me was great. And for the good of the women in town I should just stay home. And I would, if I still had Mom. She was so good at listening. And telling me things that were nice to hear. She used to tell me that I had so many muscles because hers didn’t work right. God’s gift. That’s what she said.

  I disagreed now. Without her, I had no use for all these extra abs. They were a curse. It was so, so ingrained in the women of the world to swoon over my abs. And to get hit with so many of them, it was totally unfair.

  Once my two patients were fed and I made sure their cages were clean, I turned on a new radio station to keep them company before going upstairs to shower. After the possum burial and cleaning up all the poop, it was time.

  I stripped the rest of my clothes off in front of the mirror. After turning the water on, I looked at myself, while the water heated up to a pleasing temperature.

  I was tanned. Of course. I had a tanning bed in the living room. I had to feed the abs their proper color. I ran my hands over all of the different sets of them as I flexed. So many abs. Arm abs. Cheek abs. Ass cheek abs. Penis abs. Ball abs. Ab Abs.

  I was a wall of rippling muscle when I flexed. To do this to a woman, to stand in front of her completely tight, it would for sure cause her to faint. I had to protect them from me.

  I got in the shower after releasing the muscles. The indentations were still obvious. There was no hiding this condition I was in.

  I washed up in the shower and I thought about Hendrix’s little skirt swishing around her thighs as I grabbed a handful of my penis and its abs. I had to make sure to watch where my stream of pleasure hit, because it was so forceful it might even chip tiles in the bathroom.

  I was too handsome. Too strong. Too amazing. I would never be able to be with someone like Henry.

  Chapter 8

  Henry

  So I was a little scared. Okay, a lot scared. Dick Dongy was now part of my reality. Stupid Caleb texted twice to make sure I was home. I told him I was.

  Although they were right to be afraid that Dongy was a killer judging from the c
ontents of his trunk, I wasn’t 100% convinced he was dangerous. But I was still locking my doors a lot. And the windows. And my bedroom door.

  After shedding my stupid uniform, I put myself in fluffy PJ pants and a tank top. And I Googled the hell out of Dick Dongy.

  4.4 seconds later I had closed my laptop and promised myself I would never Google those two words together ever again. Dear God the Internet was a filthy hole.

  I wasn’t Googling filthy hole either. After giving myself the shivers I poured myself a well-earned glass of wine. I might need two to get to sleep when I pictured the wet shovel and imagined the smell of bleach coming from Dongy’s SUV.

  Becca texted as well and we went back and forth about Dongy a little, but after glass number two, I took myself to bed. Everything was locked. I was pleasantly tired. I put the Food Network on because I liked to pretend my main diet wasn’t bar food. Bobby Flay was busy beating everyone while I drifted off to sleep. I pictured Dick Dongy’s crystal blue eyes just before my mind faded to blackness.

  ***

  I was alive when I woke in the morning, which meant that Dongy hadn’t killed me. So that was a great way to start a Saturday. Saturdays were for running, and today would be no different. After a quick protein bar, I managed to put my sneakers on before I was totally awake. It was my trick for getting exercise in the morning. I had to get myself while I was still too stupid to fight back. I was three blocks from home before I was fully in Saturday mentally. I had show tunes blasting in my ear buds.

  I missed acting. I daydreamed about acting. I was a failure at acting. I stumbled a bit and caught myself before I fell. Never in a million years did I think the dream of starring on the Broadway stage would be one that I didn’t achieve. My soul was made of theater. I could picture myself in so many of my favorite roles on stage. To be Angelica, or Jasmine, or Fantine. I had even followed all the prescribed steps, went to New York City with $200 in my pocket at 18. I had starry eyes and a headful of dreams. Ten minutes after landing in JFK airport I was damn near kidnapped by a sketchy pretend taxi who only gave me back my suitcase when I started to cry.

  There was no sympathy in New York. I mean sure, the people would talk to me, give me directions to places but I had not done nearly enough research. I made it to the Broadway district and ate a piece of pizza while clutching my suitcase. I think I thought I would get discovered right there. Instead I wound up spending my first night in New York huddled between two stores watching a street performer with a rat colored blue try and make a buck.

  It was terrifying. And by 4:00am that morning my parents were standing in front of me, tucking $10 in rat man’s hat and whisking me off to the hotel they had booked. Turns out my desperate text messages had spurred them into super hero mode.

  I went home with them on the next flight. It took six more months to get the guts up to go back. Because quitters were defined by quitting. This time, I had a room I rented from my mother’s quirky college friend. I had a plan. I had research on auditions, budget and had a few job interviews lined up when I landed in JFK and walked soundly to the marked, legit taxi stand.

  Mom’s quirky friend was more than quirky. She was clinically insane. So that part was rough. She was also a night screamer, but she was living in her dead grandmother’s rent controlled apartment, so I put up with the odd outfits and intimidating voices. I got a job as a waitress and started going to auditions.

  I was good. I knew I was good. After so many roles in summer stock and school plays—I could act. I could even sing. But the sheer amount of people trying out for any Broadway roles or even off Broadway roles was staggering. And the talent—the talent was crazy. After a few months, I was working as a waitress on the regular. And making decent tips. Every other person working at the restaurant was an acting failure. I saw it one day after closing when someone started singing a song from Hamilton. And we all joined in. The harmonies were amazing. The emotion in the giant room fantastic. Instead of being uplifted, it defeated me.

  This was my future. The only crowd I would be playing for would be my co-workers. I put in my two-week notice and told crazy Annie I was moving out.

  By twenty I was home again. Everything I pictured myself being was over. It was time to remake Hendrix Lemon.

  I made my way past the park and switched my playlist to dance music. I couldn’t wallow anymore. It hurt. I wasn’t ready to get weighed down in my drowned hopes. Not today.

  I got home with good time and hopped in the shower. I had to be at work by 11:00am and I wanted to make sure my second schoolgirl outfit for Meme’s was ironed.

  Becca was working tonight, so at least I had that to look forward to. She was a flamboyant bartender and a ton of fun. Her Meme’s outfit was pink bubble gum girl, which was pretty freaking obscure- but I was pretty sure the boss picked the costumes based on his fetishes anyway.

  Thinking of the devil, a text blooped through as I slathered moisturizer on my legs. I saw it on my notifications before it slipped away.

  Bossman: Your hair needs to be in pigtails tonight.

  The pigtails were the worst. I hated the way my scalp ached when I took them down at night. But the job was the job. I responded.

  Sorry. Will do.

  I was pretty sure I would see Dick Dongy again tonight. At least, that was the history he came with. He came to a bar every night until they banned him. Last night he’d left a decent tip for his seltzer. I shivered as I pictured him going through a dead person’s wallet for extra cash. It had to be an exaggeration. There had to be a good reason that a person that didn’t drink alcohol, had muscles all over their body and a wet shovel and bleach in the trunk of their SUV was something other than a murderer.

  Chapter 9

  Dick

  I was up early to check on Nuts the squirrel and Who the owl. Nuts was playful and chased my hand around for a while. He had the most expressive eyes. Sometimes it amazed me how much knowing I saw in them.

  After Nuts was tuckered out and curled back in the little nest I’d made him in his large cage, I checked on Who.

  She was still a peeker. Hiding behind the thick branch I’d cut down to fit in her cage, I would only see one huge eye at a time. She liked to make noises at me, so I made a few back at her before talking quietly about my morning.

  After I closed her cage, she inched out to eat some food. Once she’d had a few beak-fulls and I saw that she was having no difficulty, I left them both to work out upstairs.

  I used to work out where I kept the patients. But the downstairs was the warmest place in our house. My house. Not our house anymore. My heart struggled into the damp blanket it had worn since my mom died.

  It was best for the animals downstairs, so I’d moved my equipment upstairs. I started on the treadmill for 45 minutes before I stopped and made myself an egg and whole-wheat toast breakfast with a tall glass of whole milk. Now, I would commit to my entire lifting routine. It took hours. Every set of abs needed to be maintained and crunched. I played different music, but sometimes just put on the TV to fill the house with talking.

  I missed the communication with my mom. And at the end, she could barely speak, but I could understand her. I set down my weights for a minute as the sorrow hit like a rogue wave. Again. Missing her didn’t seem to be getting easier. It hurt just as much. Like a sword to the chest. A wound reopened the same damn way countless times a day.

  I should probably move. I should probably get a job. I was patching this future together. Despite the obvious signs that Mom had been deteriorating, I never saw the end coming. I never pictured a day where I didn’t have her to take care of.

  I started lifting again. I had to stay strong. It was all I had now. It was like a walking testament to my mother. That even though she was gone, I was still here—ready to take care of anyone that needed a strong guy with a big heart.

  And mostly that was my rotating population of road kill rehabilitation patients. But I could lift heavy deer. I was fast if a raccoon needed me to run
her back to the car. It’s what I had now. And it was what I was holding on to.

  ***

  After my shower, I dressed for the bar run. It was my second night at Meme’s. I was hoping to see Hendrix again. And that was bad. The last thing she needed was me lusting after her. I couldn’t even imagine how overwhelming being wanted by me would be. I’d have to be careful. Restraint was key. Dedication to keeping myself unavailable. But I had to go. I needed to be around people. The loneliness at home was too much to bear without Mom.

  The trip over to the bar would be a while. I had to be on the lookout for patients. But today was a good day for the wildlife of Midville. The shoulders of the roads were clear. I would be at Meme’s five minutes after opening. I’d made my presence known yesterday. Today was my first day as a regular.

  I opened the front door and as if it was a cue, the women inside began screaming.

  Chapter 10

  Henry

  I was currently pinned under a table. I could see Becca under a different table towards the back of the bar. She screamed and I screamed again. The entire staff was hiding- save for Mark, the dishwasher who was swatting at our unwelcome guest with a broom. The bat—was it a bat? It was so fast—was tormenting everyone. It was sweeping low and threatening everyone with his randomness.

  “Wait! Don’t!” The door had opened and closed, and whoever had just walked in was pleading with Mark to stop. I looked out from under the table just in time to see Mark hit the bat with a broom like a baseball.

  Dick Dongy dove with his hands out like he was playing outfield. He caught the bat in his huge hands as he hit the ground hard. Mark came after Dick with the broom.

  “Don’t let it bite you! It’ll kill you! Throw it outside.”

  Dick caught the broom on the downswing towards him and cracked the handle with one hand. From my vantage point, I watched as Dick curled a protective hand around the bat and tucked him into the pocket of his sweatshirt.