I was excited to join this blogfest. While I write Technical Suspense, I love putting romance in my stories.
I will apologise tho. While this "first meeting" is old and has alot of problems, it is still one of my favorites. It just goes to show you how much I have improved in the last four years. This is from a retired MS called Dominion Day.
Jason was pleased with his shooting and after nine magazines was satisfied enough to clean his pistol and put it in it’s holster. He placed the cleaning kit in one of the two safes, and shut the chrome door. He looked into the reflection of two bright blue eyes and red hair as the safe clicked shut. Turning and drawing his weapon in one move he held the gun at a young woman’s head.
“Jason?” she asked staring at him undaunted. She showed no fear for having a gun pointed at her.
“Yes,” he stood ready to call command on his link.
“I’m Jennifer, you’re apprentice.”
“Sorry,” he said and released the hammer on his pistol. He placed it on safe and holstered it. “You really startled me, no one can sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry, I do that to a lot of people. It makes them nervous.” She looked apologetic.
“Well, while you are here this is the firing range,” he said trying to save a ruined introduction. “The Dojo is through that door. My strengths are in firearms and martial arts.” He let her out of the range and locked the door. Turning to the south, they walked up the rock pathway to the house.
A girl, he thought why would they send me a girl? I mean I am a guy… she is well you know. A girl in my house, the idea is ludicrous. She looks like she is 12, where are her parents? How old is she any ways? He opened the back door for her and she stepped into the kitchen. She wore a khaki straight skirt and a white tee shirt, with a sage colored plaid shirt over it. She had a basket backpack slung over her shoulder and a bright red leather planner in the other arm. Her long dark auburn hair was braided and laid over her shoulder.
“The kitchen is self explanatory, I hope,” he chuckled slightly, “and this is the living room.” He had decorated in dark green leather, it looked good with the rock fireplace and the wooden canoe hung from the ceiling. She stood and turned in a circle
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
She is beautiful, he thought. This would be interesting, he realized as he stared at her. His gut turned inside out and a voice rose in the back of his head. ‘I will marry you some day.’ It said, he had to bite his tongue to keep from saying it out loud.
“I’m sorry did you say something?” She asked he shook his head no still trying to hold the mysterious voice that had emerged. She smiled and he jumped.
“I’m sorry, your room!” he gasped, finding he had held his breath too. “Can I help you with your bags?”
“I left them on the front porch when you didn’t answer the door, if you don’t mind.”
He opened the door and was surprised to find a few suitcases sitting there. He guessed that there might be half a ton of them. He was very unversed with women. It was a good thing he reassured himself.
“Your room is here,” he said as he walked toward the spare room, “this is your bathroom.” He quickly said as he laid the suitcases on the bed and turned to leave. ‘You need a woman,’ he heard Mark’s voice mock him in his head, as Mark had held a prostitute at his side. They had laughed at him, standing in a bar with dancing girls appraising his face and body. Bruce had wanted to talk to Mark and sent Jason looking for him; he shook the memory from his head.
“Don’t go,” she smiled kindly, “I’d like to get to know you, we are sharing a house…”
“I’m not that interesting…” he stammered. He needed to get some fresh air; he was feeling something new, something intense.
“Everyone is interesting. Tell you what, I’ll ask you a question and if you want you can answer it. If not--fine, I’ll answer them if you want too. Do you have a middle name?”
“No I’m just Jason Anderson. Do you?”
“I’m Jennifer Ann Emery,” she said. Laying a suitcase on the bed and turning to the dresser.
“Favorite color?” he chuckled, his house was decorated in forest green.
“Green. Yours?” He watched her unpacking her suitcase. She pulled out a lacy underthing and he turned away from her his face flush.
“Oh I guess it is light blue, where did you go to school?”
“Greg Hansen is my Guardian,”
“I’ve met him; my parents are Bruce and Jane Emery. Your hobbies?”
“I like fast cars, I mean I like to race cars.” He blushed. “I like to shoot.”
“Don’t worry, it wont change my opinion of you,” she shut the top drawer of the dresser, all sorts of unmentionables had gone in there. He was desperately trying not to think of them. Closing his eyes he meditated himself into calmness. He stood in a yoga pose that looked like he was just standing there, and felt his pulse slow.
“Your favorite food?”
“There is this little pizza place on town, or would that be too much of a date. Maybe we should stick to take out, or delivery. My… my favorite is Chinese.” He was so embarrassed. He had been too busy in school to think about girls. “Are you hungry? It is dinnertime,” he said and pulled out his phone.
“I love Chinese food too.” she smiled.
“Favorite music?” She asked when he closed the phone.
“I won’t laugh,”
“I like alternative music from the 1980’s”
“That’s old,” she said her eyes growing large.
“Best ever made.”
“You’ll have to let me listen sometime. How old are you?” Jason squirmed uncomfortably.
“Older than you,”
“Do you eat breakfast?”
“Does it matter?”
“Are you a morning person?”
“I’m usually up before first light.”
“If I have time.”
“What do you read?”
“Whatever looks good.”
“There I’m done,” she shut the suitcases and they were placed in the closet on the shelf by the basket backpack.
“What about you?”
“You only answered three questions.”
“Oh I’m 21, I like to read, I eat breakfast, I like to cook, but haven’t had time, I have spent all of my time at school.” There was a knock at the door, Jason sighed, glad to get out of her room. He would have to talk to Greg tomorrow. He was 29, almost ten years older than she was. It was inappropriate… he paid for the food eager to get some time to think away from her; he swore she could read his thoughts.