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  ROAD RAGE

  By

  CHERI CRYSTAL

  ROAD RAGE

  © 2013 By Cheri Crystal. All rights reserved.

  THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.

  PUBLISH DATE: February 2013.

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  SCANNING, UPLOADING AND/OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS BOOK VIA THE INTERNET, PRINT, AUDIO RECORDINGS OR ANY OTHER MEANS WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR/PUBLISHER IS ILLEGAL AND WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.

  GRAPHIC DESIGN: CHERI CRYSTAL

  FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com, facebook.com/chericrystal, and http://www.amazon.com/Cheri-Crystal/e/B002VG3738

  The phone rang before 6 am beating the alarm clock by minutes. I was in the midst of scoring with a bodacious brunette on a white sandy beach somewhere in fantasy land (the closest I came to getting laid in years!) when a pesky prerecorded voice catapulted me back to reality.

  “Due to inclement weather, our superintendent has issued a delayed school opening by ninety minutes for the entire school district. Bus schedules will be adjusted accordingly.”

  Great! I clamped my eyes shut, hoping to pick up my dream where I left off before being rudely interrupted. Only the moment was lost so I threw on a robe instead, headed straight for the thermostat to turn up the heat, and padded into Caitlyn’s room to turn off her alarm. At least one of us would get some extra sleep. May as well be my teenage bundle of hormones, Caitlyn Beatrice Specter, her middle name after my late mother. Sadly Caitlyn never knew her grandmother, but no time for wallowing in self-pity. It was not my style and since Mom died when I was six, I pretty much raised myself. A fierce independent nature was not a bad trait, but it could get lonely and was not something I wanted for my daughter. I quickly glanced out the bedroom window through a tiny slit in the vertical blinds. The street resembled a winter wonderland for those fortunate enough to play all day, but for most this was turning out to be the winter from hell and it was only February first.

  I weighed my options: I could either drive Caitlyn to school or let her wait for the bus while being subjected to sleet and snow. Even if it meant being late to work, I chose the former because worrying the bus might not show wasn’t worth the hassle compared to calling my boss for backup. I was scheduled to conduct a seminar, but if I had to miss registration and introductions, it wasn’t a catastrophe compared to never hearing the end of it from Caitlyn. Kids could be relentless with neediness; I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  By the time Caitlyn and I piled into my car to head for her school, a heavy wet snow pelted the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it. The roads were teaming with harried, overprotective parents.

  “Just my luck, the longest traffic light in history caught us again,” I said. “Oh well, at least I’m in the turning lane. I need a hug.”

  Caitlyn indulged me.

  “Your hair smells good enough to eat,” I said, taking a whiff of her strawberries and cream scented gel. There was no doubt she was mine. She had the same reddish hair with strawberry-blonde highlights, light blue eyes, thick blonde eyelashes, average nose, and generous lips that I had at her age. Soon the braces would come off and she’d break hearts with her perfect smile. It was hard to say whose personality she had inherited, but despite her moody outbursts, and God knows how stubborn redheads could be, she could be such a mush at times. Even during these tough teen years, my daughter was usually good for a hug and I seized any moment she was in the mood. She was all I had in this world and we managed pretty well, considering.

  “The light’s green,” she said, pulling away.

  I shifted into drive, pulled up behind an Audi in a long line of cars that had gone straight when their turn came, and waited for a few cars to clear the intersection before completing my left turn. “I really wish I had filled up the gas tank last night.”

  Caitlyn leaned over and stared horrified at the dashboard. “God, Mom! You let the yellow light go on again. Why do you always do that?”

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “No excuse!”

  “That’s my line,” I commented, a bit distractedly I must admit, as traffic inched toward the next intersection.

  “Then use it.”

  “Who’s the adult here anyhow? Mind your manners please.”

  “Fine, but don’t blame me when we run out of gas.” If Caitlyn was practicing to be a mini-me she was succeeding.

  Just then the light changed. Drivers sat in wait for a right turn arrow. Tension mounted. This time I was in the wrong lane. I inched up and signaled, but nobody budged. I drove alongside the lead vehicle to cut the line. Just as I was about to complete the maneuver, a driver in a big SUV made a show of not letting me in with a series of loud honks as if one was not sufficient. What the heck did she need a sport utility vehicle on perfectly paved roads? It was just a matter of time when the local moms carpooled in eighteen-wheelers just to outdo their neighbors.

  “Wouldn’t it just figure?” I ranted, as I recognized the irate driver. “Patrice ‘it’s all about me’ Lender. Figures.” We had a falling out when Caitlyn and her daughter Jenna were in kindergarten together and competitiveness got the better of us. Typical for Patrice; horn blowing was not enough; she flipped me the bird to punctuate her point. I smiled back sweetly just to get her goat and she shook her fist in return. It was hard to believe Patrice and I were once friends back when our girls did Gymboree. That was ancient history but she obviously still harbored a grudge, the poor schmuck.

  Without reservations I put my foot on the gas pedal and engaged the now livid Patrice Lender in a game of chicken. She took the challenge and drove her truck within an inch of scratching the paint off my mini-van. I powered Caitlyn’s window open and shouted, “Would it kill you to let me in, Patrice?”

  Caitlyn shrunk in her seat and stared a hole in her leggings the whole time it took to get past the crossing guard. I was already late. Plus, I still had to stop for gas, and the crossing guard had her priorities all mixed up.

  “Why is she letting cars out of the middle school loop first?”

  “Mom, please don’t say anything.”

  “What an idiot! I can’t stand it. Next time take the bus.” At this rate, my blood pressure would be through the roof by the time I got to my final destination.

  “Fine. I’d rather trash my Uggs than drive with you.”

  As I passed the guard I shot her a look. Caitlin groaned serious disapproval, but we arrived at her school five minutes later. I’d barely pulled up to the curb when Caitlyn threw open the door, stepped onto plowed pavement, and flung her backpack over one shoulder. I braced myself, but involuntarily jumped when she slammed the door.

  Pressing the power window opener, I pleaded, “Caitlyn, honey, please don’t leave angry.”

  She reluctantly reached in and gave me a perfunctory peck on the cheek. While she’d inherited my looks and temper, thankfully, she didn’t hold a grudge. “Good luck on your exams,” I called, as I watched her go, regretting another needless altercation. The cold air rushed in faster than the heater could counteract it. Thank goodness for power windows; I quickly closed the window seconds before Patrice Lender scared the living shit out of me by pounding on it. I gaped at her. She was taller and more imposing standing up than sitting behind the wheel.

  “You really should engage your brain,” she said, “before you drive recklessly with kids in the car.”

  “Excuse me, I’d lo
ve to chat, but I’m late,” I replied despite the glass barrier and shifted into drive. As I pulled away, she slammed her palm on the hood of my car. I wanted to slap the scorn off her ugly face. With every last nerve on end I could not calm down. Nothing helped and I gave up on the radio, CDs and silent meditation.

  What should have been a twelve-minute drive to the conference site turned into an hour and forty-minute nightmare. A stalled bus held up traffic for a mile. With little time to spare, I let the valet have the van and scurried to relieve my backup. Show time. Today’s lecture was entitled Pharmacological Methodologies, given by yours truly, Dr. Bernice Specter, PhD. The day flew from there. Just being in my element soothed my soul. I even looked forward to attending my daughter’s basketball game that night.

  It grew dark early and the school’s sand and salt covered parking lot was still slippery in spots. My heeled boots lacked traction. I was already sliding around when someone whizzed by. I caught myself moments before landing on a pile of snow.

  “Hey, Patrice, watch where you’re going.”

  “Look who’s talking.” She was in my face. Her coat, hat, scarf and matching gloves permeated with perfume stung my nose. I hated Obsession cologne with a passion.

  “Are you going to stand there all night?” I said, eager to get inside.

  “Fuck you.” She strode off in a huff. I had no choice but to follow her into the gym in the wake of her awful perfume.

  What a jerk. God, just thinking about her gave me a headache. She thought she was so cool with her short brown hair and that ridiculous braid down the back. And that potty mouth was right out of high school. I seriously wanted to scream, but I pounded each foot into the pavement instead. The moment I entered the building, a blissful blast of warmed air and the sounds of a dribbling ball mixed with squeaky sneakers on a glossy floor was followed by cheers. Patrice made me miss the jump start.

  Caitlyn had the ball and I needed to get the best view. I had a digital camera in my purse. Damn Patrice for stopping to talk to a woman in uniform, blocking my way to the bleachers. I had to brush past them and their smirks or stand in the doorway.

  It was the first quarter and the home team trailed behind the visitors by one point with less than a minute before the buzzer sounded. The coach shouted, “Specter’s open. Pass the ball!” Caitlyn caught it and hustled for the lay-up. Just as she jumped for the shot, a big girl from the other side knocked her off her feet. The whistle blew, but my eyes remained shut. It wasn’t until one of the dads said, “Bernie, you can open your eyes now,” did I watch while she took two foul shots and nailed both. The ball never touched the rim.

  I jumped up, pumping my fist in the air. “That’s my girl.”

  Meanwhile, Caitlyn’s rival, Jenna, fidgeted in her seat on the sidelines. Patrice didn’t look any happier. Where was their team spirit? Jenna and Caitlyn were evenly matched only Caitlyn was a sport—Jenna was all about Jenna and the coach knew better to choose a team player rather than a prima donna. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Leave it to Patrice to teach her daughter to be first no matter what.

  Patrice remained standing, with her coat creased in the crook of her arm. She was toned like those women who did nothing all day but work-out, shop and complain about the school system. What respectable mom would leave the house in Skinny Jeans and a Wild Horse graphic t-shirt from Forever 21, a notorious junior shop? She is probably clinging to the last vestiges of her youth and swiped it out of her daughter’s closet. Although it fit, and tightly too, she looked ridiculous and, in my opinion, was inappropriately dressed for a school sporting event.

  One time Patrice wore short cut-offs that showed the curves of her butt cheeks as she walked and a white camisole without a bra to drop her kid off at day camp. I mean, really, who was she trying to impress with her perky breasts, firm round bottom and long shapely legs? After a certain age, a woman shouldn’t dress that way unless she was looking to get hit on.

  When the half-time buzzer sounded, the score was 43 to 38, in the other team’s favor. I waved when Caitlyn looked my way and mouthed, “I love you.” Her smile showed me all was forgiven from that morning. Win or lose, we would stop at the pizzeria on the way home. I had forgotten about Patrice when she grazed my shoulder with her knee on the way up the bleachers.

  “Must you?” I refused to budge.

  “Oh, sorry, did I hit you?” Her phony smile spoke volumes.

  “You did it on purpose.”

  “What is your problem, Dr. Holier than Thou?”

  I stood up. “At least I have a career. What do you do besides lift dumbbells and gripe all day?”

  “Why you bitch! Go on and trash stay-at-home moms, but let me tell you—”

  “Okay, ladies,” the sports director said, seeming to come out of nowhere as she wormed her way between us, “take it outside.”

  “Please, I don’t want to miss the rest of the game.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Let me stay.”

  That’s when Patrice shoved me. I mean, really, shoved me.

  I stood ready to knock her block off and would have, too, if we hadn’t been escorted out of the gym by security.

  “Now look what you did!” I shouted, furious to be standing in the parking lot instead of watching my girl in the second half of the game. A couple of kids stood around smoking cigarettes. I moved toward the lawn to get out of their cloud and away from Patrice, but the annoying woman stayed at my elbow.

  “What I did? You’re the one who leaned into my leg as I was planting my foot on the next step.”

  “What a load of bull!”

  “You’re an expert on bullshit; you’re full of it.”

  “You’re jealous because your daughter warms the bench.”

  “Caitlyn hogs the game.”

  “If you had taught Jenna sportsmanship maybe she’d play more,” I spat.

  “That does it.” Patrice caught my cheek with the back of her hand. Icy or not, I charged at her and knocked her right on her ass. My skirt inhibited my movements, giving her an unfair advantage. We ended up wrestling on the snow-covered lawn of JFK High School. Talk about embarrassing moments.

  Patrice was soon on top of me. The cold bit into my scalp where my head hit the packed snow. With all my might, I kicked and pushed, but to no avail. She was taller, heavier and stronger, but soon adrenaline kicked in, and I pounded my knee into her butt.

  In the next second, she bit my lip! At once blood pooled in the back of my throat causing me to choke and sputter. With super-human strength, I pushed her off and stood up. Never in my life had I ever done anything like this, and I have no idea where such uncontrolled rage originated, but I collected a wad of metallic-tasting spit and let her have it, blood and all, right in her face.

  “Oh, God, gross.” She wiped it off with the back of her hand and lunged. She tackled me again, toppling my body with her bulk while holding fast in a death-grip that sent my endocrine system into code red. Her hug was tight enough to deflate my lungs quicker than I could refill them. Sweat poured from my forehead, down my bra and between my legs. I tugged on her ridiculous braid and yanked her hair back, ready to bite her lip and see how she liked it. In fact, that was just what I was about to do when she put her nose up to mine and hissed, “It would be wise to beware, Specter.”

  I hissed right back, “Likewise, Lender.” I hated to surrender but I went limp beneath her and shook out my shoulders when she lifted her weight off my now quivering body. As if looking in a mirror, she too, whether from anger or something else, had a feral look in her eyes that bore deep inside my chest, which accelerated my already pounding heart. I had a lump in my throat the size of a small planet, when she rose above me.

  In a face-off, we each took one step back, our eyes locked in fury. With lots of illumination from flood lights, street lamps and a full moon, her eyes were the darkest and greenest I’d ever seen them. Her skin, flushed and glistening, was flawless. How could anyone look this hot on a frigid day? I had
to get out of there, but where?

  Caitlyn. I had to wait for Caitlyn. I pushed past Patrice and slid most of the way to my car. I couldn’t find my keys. The harder I searched, the more they remained hidden in my bag. Hot tears stung my eyes, my lip had stopped bleeding, but it hurt now, a lot. I dumped the contents of my bag on the pavement and saw my keys. Quickly, I opened the door, got in and shook while I waited. I wanted to destroy Patrice Lender. I wanted to hate her from every pore of my being.

  There was no telling how long I sat dazed waiting for Caitlyn. The fact that the car was like an ice box didn’t register until she tapped on the window. I pressed the power lock release.

  “Mom, you’ll freeze out here.” She glanced in my direction and started. “What happened to your face? Oh, my God, you’re hurt.” Caitlyn’s lower lip trembled. I felt like crying too.

  “Oh, Caity, I’m sorry I missed the second half of your game.” I had to change the subject. “Did you win?”

  “Who cares about that? I heard you and Mrs. Lender got into a fist fight.”

  I summoned strength and cheerfully asked, “Do you want to go out for pizza?”

  “No, Mom, I want to go home.” Caitlyn got out of the car and walked around to my side.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m driving. Move over.”

  I didn’t have energy left to argue. Her driver’s license only a few months old, Caitlyn drove us home in silence. I excused myself to take a bath after she said she’d heat up soup and make us sandwiches. I gave her a hug and flinched. My ribs hurt.

  While she fussed, I ran the bath and stepped into a tub filled with super-hot water that reddened my skin on contact. It worked magic until thoughts of Patrice’s lips on mine ruined everything. I forced myself to concentrate on her bite, but soon found I couldn’t wash away the lingering fragrance of her perfume, or visions of her fine-textured skin, memorably soft. No matter how hard I scrubbed, careful of my sore spots, I couldn’t get her scent off me. I hated being in the same universe as Patrice, let alone fighting with her like two cats in heat. I had to get out of the water or go out of my mind.