Betsy Cook Speer

It felt like an eternity before he gingerly lifted himself from the table and staggered backwards. Glass shards protruded from chest to groin. The guy looked like a bloody porcupine. A cute, tall bloody porcupine. I__ tall too. Five foot ten. But he had at least four inches on me, even with my thick-heeled boots.__hat__ your name?_ he slurred. While visions of reckless homicide charges danced in my head, I contemplated using an alias. Finally, I said my real name, __am.___ice to meet you, Sammers. I__ Jake,_ he said.

I recalled thinking...His freakishly tidy side could be a problem. To say that neatness was not my strong suit would be a crime against, well, the truth.