Games of the Heart (Crimson Romance) by Eva Shaw

troubles, doing my best to help fix them, it would be a natural segue to get her to help with the fundraising extravaganza, wouldn’t it? Besides, she could dance and help our teens to learn some of the finer points of grace and poise.
    I tossed the now painfully depleted cup in the trash, grabbed my purse and keys, and headed to the car. The A/C would probably just be making the seat possible to sit on by the time I met Petra, but if whatever was troubling her had forced her to call me, a stranger and a lethal weapon on the dance floor, it was significant. I buckled up, settled my scorched buttocks on the burning seat and headed to the coffee house.
    Pulling into the Starbucks near the rec center, it all dawned on me why she’d called. It was as if God had opened the heavens and an angel was speaking, or sort of. I didn’t truly think that, but it could have happened that way.
    Suddenly, I understood that Petra was a slave. She was addicted to something. Drugs, diet pills, something. “As skinny as she is, it’s taking a toll,” I said out loud. Why hadn’t I brought the resource directory from my office? Vegas had scores of self-help programs because, well, many need help and are smart enough to ask. This was not a town where folks hid from excesses or weaknesses, I considered as I trotted inside. I breathed in the fragrance of fresh-ground beans, stirred not shaken, with a hint of whipped cream. I’d arrived first, vowing I would help the woman, get her into a program, and rid her body and spirit of the demon controlling her. The Prophet Moses and I shared spiritual beliefs and a love for flowing robes. He brought the chosen people into the desert. I thought perhaps I had been brought to the Nevada desert for just this reason. I didn’t think this through enough but that didn’t stop me from moving with absolute surety. Being personally convinced of anything, when that belief is based on hunches, can be treacherous, and I lead a hazardous life.
    B-I-G time. I was so far off the mark the mark was in another solar system. Mind you, that didn’t stop me from putting my foot, once again, in my mouth but I’m getting ahead of the story again.

Chapter 4
    Starbucks snacks nestled, snuggled, and called me from the display case, like some siren’s song. Hypnotic. I fought hard. Muffin or cookie? Cookie or muffin? Is one better for the buns? The cookies were the size of dinner platters, the muffins replicated soup pots. They haunted me, consuming my soul, and I coveted the crunch I’d feel in one tiny munch.
    I tore napkins into shreds, counted backward from a hundred, repeated the mantras I’d learned in a weight-loss program. “A minute on the lips, a month on the hips.” “Hippy today, skinnier tomorrow.” “A donut in the hand should stay in the hand.” “Fat is an F-word.” “Cookie crumbs count.”
    Yes, I do have those all memorized. As I got to the last, the desserts stopped whispering and started using a sugary bull horn. “Jane, come and get us, you want us, come take us out of the case. We love you.” I was a zombie. They controlled me with their menacing powers. I used the shreds of the napkins to blot drool from my chin, and I was just getting up from the café table when Petra came in.
    I hugged her skinny little shoulders with all my might. I think she thought I was relieved to see her. I was really relieved that I hadn’t eaten my way through the Starbucks biscotti, cookie, and muffin selection. I didn’t tell her that. “Can I get you a chocolate-covered macadamia nut cookie?” Yeah, I’d buy one for her and four for me.
    “No thank you, nothing, or perhaps something to drink.” She looked like a blast of desert air would knock her on her knickers, so I made a decision to sacrifice my own caloric intake and get us both something sugary. I’ve always thought of others first.
    With my iced coffee and her iced tea, and two huge cookies between us, I began with a bite and small talk.