Flash Fiction – 500 words exactly!
Not Holding Out for a Hero
© 2013 Laura Crean
(song – Holding Out for a Hero – Bonnie Tyler)
She sat in the wine bar gazing longingly at the handsome guys in the corner. All smartly dressed with expensive leather briefcases, groomed to perfection, close shaved…young! Who was she kidding? Why on Earth was she looking at these up and coming, ferocious executive types? After all these years she should have learnt her lesson. After countless failed relationships with the same, selfish, image obsessed young bucks – why did she still keep throwing her heart at them to crush under their perfectly polished designer shoes?
She sighed, listening to the girls still talking about work, giggling as they made eye contact with the young men. She groaned inwardly at the thought of spending every Friday for the rest of her life with these same women, all single, workaholics, chasing the same pack of wolves ready to devour them over and over again. She got up not realising she was tipsy, knocking her bag from the table. The contents scattered across the floor. She frantically scrabbled about trying to salvage her reputation. The girls laughed at her chasing pens, coins, business cards and tampons as she crawled around under everyone’s feet.
She looked at the foot the last tampon rolled into, scuffed, well-worn but classy. Her eyes moved up, following the legs encased in a pair of black jeans, up to a rippling chest, just visible through a tight black Tee, up to a cute smile hiding under a neatly trimmed beard. Her face flushed. She stood up and heard her little black skirt rip up the back.
She stood there, swaying, tied her cardigan around her waist to cover the rip, grinned stupidly at the rugged stranger, then turned and saluted the girls. “I’m off! See you tomorrow.”
“It’s Saturday tomorrow – your birthday, remember?” She cringed,
“Just another day and 40 is just another number!” She lied as she stumbled out of the bar. Her friends shook their heads and laughed.
She stumbled through the parking lot shivering at the thought of the embarrassing episode and fumbled around in her bag for her car keys. Suddenly she heard feet running behind her and froze as they got closer, deep breathing close to her ear. Oh my God I’m not going to live to see 40! She thought, eyes to the floor she turned to confront her attacker.
It was the scuffed shoes from the bar. He pushed the button on her keys, the red Porsche lit up behind her. “You dropped your keys,” he said gently “and to be honest I would be less than a gentleman if I let you drive home in your condition.” He took her bag from her putting the keys in and taking a business card out. “I’ll phone you a taxi and ring you tomorrow.” She smiled weakly up at his piercing eyes with, she thought, the cutest little laughter lines hiding in the corners and then threw up all over his worn shoes.