Trifecta: Bachelorette Auction, Part Two

So, I wrote the beginning of this story last week for Write On Edge. For Trifecta this week, I thought I'd give it another spin using the third definition of DEATH: capitalized: the destroyer of life represented usually as a skeleton with a scythe.

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They’d been virtual strangers before the bachelorette auction, then spent 34.5 hours together. In bed.

They talked between the other things. Hopes, dreams, likes, yucks, books and movies, stuff like that. He knew basic stats but no other personal details were exchanged.

The morning did get pretty hot and steamy when she surprised him in the shower. And she could get used to being pushed firmly against the front door and kissed hard as a morning goodbye. They almost seemed like a normal couple.

Alone...

She glanced in his bathroom mirror while brushing her teeth with his spare. Was there often need for a spare? She looked a wreck.

Thinking...

Whose mind is so calculating that they chose someone ahead of time; so completely sure of themselves?

It’d been easy grabbing the money he left on the table for her. She most certainly had plans flipping through racks of hideously expensive cocktail dresses; $1,000 should be plenty for her choice plus shoes. The saleswoman gushed, “Your man will be very pleased!”

 "Uh, huh."

Wearing a curve-hugging classic black dress with cleavage slightly peeking, bare legs, and 5” stilettos, she patiently waited at his house, as he knew she would. So very presumptuous of him. They hadn’t even exchanged cell numbers.

Could he be a charming sociopath ala Ted Bundy? She doubted. Just wealthy.

A familiar feeling coursed through her as if someone else was occupying her. She knew who.

He thought she was sweet. Naïve and inexperienced. And that suited her just fine.

He had perfect muscles but how quick was he? She’d figure that out tonight. Stashing two ties between the mattresses as another surprise for him, which he’d think was a sexy game. And something sharp just in case.

She could take care of herself, out of necessity, because of how and with whom she’d grown up.

And staying tomorrow, because she would, she knew what to do. She’d snoop!

It was her.

She was DEATH.

She was exactly like her mother.