"Damn it!" Taylor Jensen stared down at the heel of her shoe. Unfortunately, it was six inches to the left of the rest of her shoe that her foot was currently in. Taylor grabbed the offending four inch spike and hobbled over to the brick building so that she was out of the way of the busy foot traffic at the street fair. She looked at the damage and realized that there was no way to repair it. It was going to be a long walk back to her house. Being a strong independent woman she would normally just remove the faulty fashion piece and walk home barefoot but the weather had taken an unseasonable turn toward the freezing mark.
Now she was ten blocks from her house carrying her portfolio with a shoe that refused to do the only function it was designed for. She thought about the issue and came to a decision that the other shoe would have to match the first if she was going to make it home.
Carefully she balanced her portfolio against the wall and eased her right foot out of the whole shoe. She picked up the shoe and with a whimper at the fashion crime she was about to commit. She grabbed both sides of her shoe and tried to break the heel away. Apparently, this particular shoe was made with all of the reinforcement the other lacked. She grunted and panted struggling with leather. Suddenly the leather, tired of being manhandled slipped from her grip and went flying into the throng of pedestrians.
"Ow!" The sound of an irritated male echoed back from the sea of humanity. Taylor gasped with embarrassment unable to flee due to the fact that she had thrown her shoe, her only mode of transport.
The crowd parted and out stepped her past. One of the Weston twins, so identical that their own mother had to ask which one was which, and everything her high school heart had wanted. Brock and Billy Weston were too hot in their teens but this man was a walking heat wave. He was at least six-and-a-half feet tall, with dark curly hair and the same dimple that had caused more than one girl to pant. He was heading straight for her holding the shoe that her bare foot proved was hers. She felt like a guilty and embarrassed Cinderella but the Prince seemed more pissed than Charming.
Brock held the shoe that had clocked him in the side of the neck and looked for the person who threw it at him. That is when he saw her. She was leaning against the wall and there was nothing that would have tipped him off as to why she would have assaulted him. As he approached her he noticed that her shoes were in unusual states of disrepair. She stood balanced on her left foot that was encased in a shoe matching the one that was in his hand only that one appeared to be missing the four inch spike like the one that had almost impaled his jugular.
"I believe that this belongs to you. Though I don't know what I could have possibly done to deserve being on the receiving end of its flight. I mean do we know each other?" Brock said trying to remember where he may have met her.
"Well I do know you, which makes this all the more embarrassing." Taylor blushed. "Are you Brock or Billy?"
"Brock. How do you know me?"
"I went to high school with you. Taylor Jensen."
"Taylor. You were in art right?" Brock felt an instant rush of blood to his groin. The mere mention of her name took him back to the nights that he had spent fantasizing about her in high school. She had that kind of timeless beauty that had been evident even to a horny high school boy like him. She had gotten sleeker and sexier in the ten years since graduation. She had gotten out of the paint stained, oversized shirts and jeans. She was wearing a short slim skirt with a wide belt and a red silk shirt the exact shade as the shoe he still held. Her breasts were straining the soft fabric and the evidence of her excitement poked out like tempting cherries. All he could think about was sliding against her to feel those nipples poking against his chest.
"Brock," she squeaked, "I am sorry about the shoe. I swear I wasn't trying to hit you."
"What were you doing?" Brock asked trying to peel his eyes away from the front of her shirt.
"I was trying to break it." She confessed softly.
That statement had him gazing into her eyes trying to gauge if she had gone insane since he had last seen her. "Why?"
"I have a long walk and the other shoe already gave out. So instead of wobbling down the street I was trying to even out the heels a little bit."
"That is more than a little."
"That would depend on your perspective now wouldn't it?"
"I would hate to see your definition of a lot."
"Damn, here I was hoping that you would have the right measuring stick to prove that 4 inches was very little." Taylor could not believe she said that, but something about meeting your high school dream boy in all his grown up glory made her libido take over and her common sense take a nap.
"You are looking for a big stick? That I can do. As a matter of fact it is getting bigger by the moment." Brock laughed as her gaze fell to the front of his slacks.
"Oh, my." She breathed.
"Let me give you a ride." Her eyes snapped back to his face with surprise. "I mean to your house. You obviously can't walk in those shoes."
"Oh, yeah. You are right. Thank you." Taylor was having trouble breathing. "Where is your car?"
"Stay here, I will pull around." He said grabbing his keys and backing away.
He rounded the corner and then he was gone. She stayed there trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She had practically told him that she wanted to fuck him on the street 10 seconds after she had seen him. There was something disconnected in her brain. She was no prude and if she wanted to be with a man she was not shy about vocalizing that fact. She was a pleasure seeker and found that the fastest way to pleasure was honesty. But this encounter was bold even for her. After about five minutes she realized that Brock had not returned. She waited about ten more minutes before she decided that she had scared him off and decided that she was going to have to wobble home after all. It was that moment that she realized that he had taken her shoe.
She was stranded against the side of a building with no way to get home. There was no way that she would make it home with her foot in one piece. There was no help for it. She grabbed her portfolio and started down the street. She had made it half a block when there was a frantic honking from the street ahead of her. There in a silver Dodge Charger was Brock waving. He jumped out of the car that was in the middle of the street and raced over to her. Before she could react he swung her up into his arms and raced back to the car that was blocking traffic. He threw her in the passenger seat and her portfolio in the back. He waved at the waiting cars and jumped into the driver's seat.
"I forgot that the roads were blocked for the street fair. I had to go down to Western and turn around. Never mind, sorry that took so long. Were you leaving?"
"I thought that I had scared you off." Taylor answered honestly. "I can be brutal in my honesty."
"I am not scared. I am very fond of honesty." Brock said as he moved forward in traffic. "Which way?"
"Turn right and head down to Lander Avenue."
"The old village area?"
"Yes. I own an old artist cottage that needed a lot of work so I got it for a song and was able to make it my very own." Taylor said with pride.
"I can't wait to see it. Every square inch of it." Brock said no longer speaking of her home.
