His arms were not big, but she could see his biceps swell up when he grabbed the handlebars. The front of his white shirt was soaked from his sweat an... stuck to his chest and flat belly. And he was handsome… God, he was so handsome. He passed Cynthia’s house and must have seen her standing in front of the window. Casually he raised his hand to her and his lips formed, “Morning,” before he flashed by her house. Cynthia couldn’t respond. All she saw was his nicely shaped bottom before he turned. It echoed in her mind and the smell of cordite burned in her nostrils. It had been his .45 that she had found hidden in the ratty folds of the his recliner and she remembered how her heart had pounded in her chest as she gingerly handled the silver gun, her dirty, bitten fingernails rubbing the long barrel as if it spoke to her. Security, it said. Freedom, it whispered. And she listened. The stairs going up to her room creaked in all the very same places as before as she traced the steps that. More

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