3 Sin City Hunter
Authors: Maddie Cochere
Sin City Hunter
by Maddie Cochere
Copyright 2012 by Maddie Cochere.
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions therof in any form whatsoever except as provided by US copyright Law.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Breezy Books
www.breezybooks.com
Jacket design by Gillian Soltis of Columbus, Ohio
Table of Contents
“Hey, beautiful, do you have any blue underwear?”
“I saw her first! Come on, sweetheart, give me your underwear.”
“How about a clip-on belly
b
utton ring? Do you have a belly
button ring?”
Three college students were
standing
in front of me as they jostled each other and begged
for items to complete their scavenger hunt lists. I had already given out all of my business cards, all of my hair scrunchies and barrettes, a movie ticket stub, a cancelled stamp, and I had composed three poems.
“I’m not giving out my underwear, and I don’t have a belly
button ring, clip-on or otherwise,” I told them with a giggle. My purse was gaping open, and I was digging through
the contents
. “What else do you need?”
Two girls joined the three guys. The funky redhead with spik
ed
hair and freckles
scanned
her list and said, “I need something naughty. Do you have anything naughty in there?”
I laughed. “No, nothing naughty in here.”
The pretty brunette with her long hair in a loose braid asked, “How about a picture of a hunky guy?”
“Ooh,” I said. “I
definitely
have one of those.” I pulled out my wallet and handed a picture of my fiance, Mick
, to her
. The picture didn’
t show his 5’10”, fantastic, athlete’s
body, but it did showcase his gorgeous hazel-green eyes, thick dark hair with a hint of a curl, and his more-than-pleasant features.
“Wow!” she said. “Hunky is right. This would work for something naughty, too. Did this come with your wallet, or do you know him?”
I held up my left hand and wiggled my fingers showing off my engagement ring. I couldn’t contain the huge smile
as it
spread across my face. “I know him,” I said with excitement. “We’re getting married in June.”
Mrs. Mick Raines
flashed across my mind
. I would no longer be Susan Hunter; I would be Susan Raines.
I thought about my new name
often, and it always made me smile.
The guys
rushed
off to find more items, and the girls sat down for a minute to admire the ring. “That is absolutely gorgeous,” said the brunette
, emphasizing each word as she spoke
. The redhead was turning my hand making the ring sparkle in the bright overhead lighting.
I pulled another picture
from
my wallet and said, “Here’s another hunky guy.” This one was of Darby, my best guyfriend and neighbor across the hall in my apartment building. Not quite 5’ 8”, he had sandy-colored hair
which
he kept in a permanently tousled state. Tanned, lean but not skinny, he had blue eyes with a mischievous twinkle. Darby was eye candy and looked like he should be surfing off the coast of California rather than residing in Ohio.
The redhead
snatched
Darby’s picture for her list. “Holy cow! Do you know this guy, too?
” she asked. “
If I give you my number
,
will
you put him in touch with me?”
“I do know him,” I said. “He’s my neighbor at home, but he doesn’t play on our team.” I smiled and winked at the girls.
“Oh, boo,” said the redhead
as she practically
drool
ed
over the picture.
“Thanks for the help,” the brunette said cheerfully. Both girls waved
as they
ran
off to sear
c
h
for more items.
We were all currently stranded at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. Our non-stop flight fr
om Cleveland to Las Vegas
hit extreme turbulence 30 minutes into our flight, and we were quickly diverted to Chicago. I overheard a flight attendant
mak
e
a comment
about checking the airplane for structural damage.
It had to be one of the worst flights ever recorded that didn’t crash.
My best girlfriend and racquetball doubles partner, Samantha, had driven me to the Cleveland Airport earlier in the day. My flight was at 10:00 A.M., and with the time zone difference, I was scheduled to land in Las Vegas at 11:30 A.M.
Traffic held us up more than expected, and I was rushing as
I arrived at the gate. Boarding had just been called
, but there wasn’t a mad dash for the doorway, and I was able to walk on and take my window seat with ease.
Most of the college students were behind me
and headed for
their seats at the
back of the plane.
A few
individuals and several c
ouples boarded
,
followed by members
of a professional hockey team. One of the hockey players plopped
into
the seat beside me and
declared
, “I want to sit next to you.” He was super
attractive
and grinning from ear to ear. A light scar across his cheek gave him a dangerous and sexy aura
on top of
his
obvious
good looks
.
I was pretty sure he was going to make for a fun
and interesting
flight.
After learning
his name was Dell Grady, and striking up a pleasant conversation with him, an old man
with bushy eyebrows
tapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re in my seat,”
he said
with a scowl on his face.
Dell
looked at me and
made a pout face. “Sorry, Susan
,” he said
.
“
Looks like I have to move on to my rightful seat. Maybe I’ll see you on the ground in Vegas. We’ll be in town for a few days.”
He stepped out and moved back the aisle. The old man
slumped into
his seat beside me. He started grumbling under his breath right away. “People got no respect takin
’
other people’s seats
,” he muttered.
He
started fidgeting
and continued to grumble, “
Seats too small. Cramped
. Where’s stewardess? Pillows?” He was craning his neck to look around. Now he was mumbling swear words under his breath. Oh my gosh! I was sitting next to an honest-to-goodness curmudgeon. I had to suppress a giggle.
A small, thin man with wire frame glasses was the last person to board. He sat down in the aisle seat next to the curmudgeon, pulled out his cell phone, and began alternating between talking and texting. Old cranky pants
between us
started mumbling again
,
“Doggone gadgets. Disturbing people. No common sense.”
A flight attendant came over the intercom system and proceeded to make announcements finishing with, “Your seat cushions can be used as a flotation device in case of an emergency crash landing over Lake Mead.” Everyone but the curmudgeon laughed; he did more swearing under his breath.
Once we were in flight, there was a final settling down of the passengers. Pillows were passe
d out, books and magazines
opened, iPods and hand-held video games came out. The thin man on the aisle pulled out his laptop, and the curmudgeon
took off his shoes
.
It
was only a few seconds before
the foot odor
assaulted
my nose, and it was foul. It
took
my breath away. The thin man
stood
and made his way to the lavatory. I rummaged through my purse, spritzed a bit of perfume
o
nto a
tissue
, and held it to my nose in an attempt to combat the odor.
I turned to look out the window. It was an overcast day, and snow was expected before evening. By the time the bad weather came in, I hoped to be enjoying the Vegas sunshine
,
where it had been unseasonably warm for over a week now. Other than the curmudgeon’s feet, and a little noise and singing from the college students at the back of the plane, it ap
peared
we were going to have a
smooth flight.
Until we hit the turbulence.
I’d never experienced anything like it ever. The captain came over the intercom, announced the turbulence, and told everyone including the flight attendants to take their seats and buckle up for a bumpy ride.
The first several bumps were bad enough, but then it was as though the plane belly-flopped
,
straight down
,
hundreds of feet in the sky. The curmudgeon’s shoes flew up, hit the ceiling, and came down hitting him - one on his head, the other on his shoulder. He started swearing again. People weren’t screaming, but the sounds of concern and fear were growing louder by the second.
The nose of the plane was dipping up and down while the fuselage was rolling back and forth. It was barf-bag worthy. I tried to stay calm
,
but
I
w
as having serious thoughts
the plane would crash,
and I was death-gripping the arm rest
. The rolling was followed by a f
ew more hard bounces causing
my body to strain against the safety belt, and then, just like that, it was over. The ride was smooth again, and it was quiet in the cabin.
The curmudgeon farted.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
So here we all were at O’Hare Airport.
A little rowdy
,
but respectful, the college kids were part of a glee club group and seemed like a great bunch. They were still on winter break and planning several days of gambling and partying in downtown Las Vegas before getting back to the grind.
The scavenger hunt was taking them all over the airport
, and it had been fun to help them with their items
.