Anyone Who Says

Anyone Who Says

by

C.S. Mae

Text Copyright © 2017 by C.S. Mae

Jenny Knox had a rule: No Boyfriends. It was a good rule and had served her well for many years.

Calvin Lombard doesn’t believe in rules—or stereotypes.

When the two are paired by chance through work, they seem to do nothing except butt heads. Will they figure out a way to make it work or find out the hard way that hatred is the best aphrodisiac?

This story is a Naughty Niblet: the perfect amount of sexy to satisfy, but not make your hips big.

Copyright

Cover Design © 2018 by Bethel Stoddard

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of the publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Introduction: Jenny

I have a secret I keep from almost everyone. It’s my only one, but I hold it dearly, like a child holds onto a favorite blanket or stuffed toy.

Every time I have a bad day, or I’m feeling lonely (which is a lot, because I’m single and have given up on ever finding that special someone) I go into the second bedroom of my house. I don’t show it to anyone. My friends are cool with that, even though they give me a hard time.

On a day like today, when I used the key and opened my door, I couldn’t help wondering what my friends would say if they saw inside. We’re close. They know about my extracurricular activities. Would they be surprised to see this clean and tidy room? It was well organized and filled with the most wonderful toys.

Some of them were placed on a large industrial shelf. I ran my fingers over them lightly, caressing each delightful plaything. The materials vary: polymers, cottons, rubber, foam, silicone. Each one fits snugly, as if made especially for me. Each tool was an implement of pleasure to me, and I felt a zing as I touched my favorites.

When my finger brushed a length of leather—a whip I bought for a large sum from a private vendor—I shivered and remembered the first time I used it.

The truth is, I don’t tell most people [read: family and coworkers] my secret because they’d be shocked and probably appalled and I want to keep it a happy thing. It’s my perfect way to let go after a long day. It’s the one passion I have, alone in my apartment, until the hunt begins.

We’ll talk about the hunt later. Don’t worry, it’ll come up, I promise. I’ll even let you see me in action. Anyway, back to my secret.

After I stared around the room at all my toys, I decided to invade my closet. It’s a large one, filling the whole side of the room. It’s so packed to the brim that I pulled the doors off long ago, so I could properly get to everything.

I didn’t have any current projects, so for this weekend’s hunt I would be wearing something older. What to wear, what to wear…

I was in the mood for something dark. Yet I also wanted something that would bring me good luck, something I’d worn after a previous successful hunt. It would be tight, accenting my generous curves. It would set me apart from the new generation of waif-like, tall, and skinny girls who were out for the attention.

My aesthetic was to flaunt what the good lord gave me, but also appreciate it. I was short, and round, but my curves were happy curves and my skin was flawless and easy to work with. It also didn’t bruise easily, which was ideal for some of the situations I got myself into. In short, my secret life was perfectly suited to me.

I sighed with satisfaction as my thoughts led me to one garment in particular. It wasn’t exactly my most comfortable creation; purple pleather was hot and sweaty if worn too long. The good news was, I didn’t plan on wearing it much, and the extended zipper in the front made for easy access. Rawr.

I pulled it out of the closet and held it up, admiring the two-piece creation. Though it looked simple, it had been surprisingly complex to make. The purplish-gray hue of the pleather had been a bitch to find; most purple pleather was an obnoxious, bright, plastic Easter egg color. In the end, I’d had to track down a manufacturer to get it specially made for me. Good lord, had that been expensive.

In the end, though, it had been worth it. And it looked amazing with the bright yellow combat boots, which were way easier to find.

I laid it on the bed, and then went to hunt up the mask, which was in a special filing drawer, labeled and alphabetized. I don’t mess around when it comes to my collection, let me tell you. In another corner of the room was the file cabinet that held my wigs and the perfect strawberry red one was packaged and waiting for me to lift it out and fluff it with a soft comb.

I pulled my hair up into a bun, slipped on my stocking cap to keep my hair flat. Since I was wearing a mask, I wouldn’t need any makeup on top, but I put on a basecoat to keep everything smooth. My eyelash extensions would keep my eyes popping. I wrapped my wig band around my head to keep it from moving. If I had anything to say about it, I’d be moving a lot so I wanted to make sure that wig was stuck on my head.

Once the wig was on and adjusted properly, I sighed with satisfaction over how different I looked. The mask came on next, then a lycra tank to help protect my sensitive stomach and chest from the pleather jacket I was about to put on. I’d sewn it with the support of a bra, but it had clever little snaps running up and down the side for easy access. I shivered.

After slipping the pants up and over my ankles, the boots came next, before I started shimmying and zippering. Otherwise, I’d never be able to get them on when I was stuffed into all the skin-tight pleather.

The pants were specially made as well, with a delicate cotton liner to minimize chafing, and a zipper that was a bitch to start, but a dream to unzip at the right time. Basically, when I was ready for it, the zipper would go all the way down and around to my tailbone. I’ll leave it to your imagination what happens when I unzip that zipper. Then came the jacket, zipping on like a second skin.

Finally, I made my way over to the three-way mirror in the corner, observing myself from several angles. I nodded, then added a tool belt with a special thigh holster, some obnoxious yellow gloves, and the cherry on the cake: my cape.

I pulled at the bottom of the jacket, adjusted the mask one more time, and put on a layer of peachy pink lip gloss. Then, in a honeyed Brooklyn accent, I said, Batgirl here, ready to save the day!

What? You were surprised? I’m a cosplayer. What were you thinking? I’ve been doing this since college, when I went with a bunch of friends to Comic Con. That was a great year to attend—before everything got all crowded and over-commercialized. I’ve been a couple of times since—great hunting at SDCC—but I usually steer clear of those kinds of crowds unless I’m desperate. Why go to that hot mess when there’s great local fun around here?

I stripped off my costume, and carefully packed everything away in my carrycases. I pulled my sensible old scrubs back on, grabbed my bag and the boots, and opened the door to see my two cats staring up at me.

My babies aren’t allowed in here (black and white cat hair on my costumes would be such a bitch to clean off), so they always wait outside, sulkily, and take great joy in coating the rest of my apartment with their hair.

Piano meowed at me, hoping that I’d forgotten that I’d fed her already. Pingu (named after the Swiss Claymation penguin show) merely rubbed himself against my legs, hoping for love. I obliged him, setting down my boots and bag long enough to pick him up and rub his face with mine. He smelled vaguely like fish, and he licked my cheek, like the sweet boy he is.

Alright, little ones. I have to go now.

I took up my costume bags, boots, and the duffel I already had packed and waiting near the door.

It was going to be a crowded drive to Sacramento on a Friday afternoon, since everyone seems to leave the city early on the weekends. I put on an audiobook using my car’s Bluetooth system and said goodbye to my little apartment for the weekend.

Off to Wizard World Con.

When I arrived at the Hyatt Regency—0.2 miles away from the convention center according to the booking website I’d used—I checked in, put my stuff on the luggage rack in case of bed bugs, and ordered room service. Tomorrow would be a great day for hunting, and in the meantime I could rest up from work.

At some point I had passed out in front of the TV, waking early the next morning in time to take a nice long shower. Scrubbing and shaving, I got myself in pretty good shape for the day’s activities, before I ordered a light breakfast. In my robe, I munched on yogurt and fruit and looked over the convention center map of the con.

There were a bunch of costuming classes going on: wigs and maintenance, the art of foam fabrication, how to get a great cosplay costume together, what type of costumes make the biggest impact. I didn’t need any of them myself, having been a longtime theater geek, but sometimes it was fun to go to a class or two, to see if there were any new techniques I wasn’t aware of.

Finally, I got my ass in gear, this time taking hours to get the simple costume on. Everything had to be perfect if you were going out in public. Even someone who only has a modest online following has to have every zipper zipped or there would be some nasty photo online for the whole world to stare at.

When I was satisfied with my look, I headed out. The elevator ride down was a mix of cosplay and excited comic convention visitors. Plenty of people didn’t dress up, and they went to the con in droves. I got a dozen picture requests on the way over.

Every cosplayer is different, but if I can, I always oblige. I’m not a professional, just a hobbyist. I don’t need to be in a special, cordoned off area to take pics with whomever. I do shy away from men, though. I have been groped before. Mostly I stick with kids, families, and the lady requesters.

My pulse pounded when I arrived on the con main floor. I walked casually through the throngs, scanning the tables with little interest. You could find some big-ticket rare items at cons, but in general I find that they are overpriced. I tend to do most of my shopping online with trusted vendors. Though I did once buy an elven flower ring at a con in Houston once, just for funsies.

It's impossible to imagine the sights and sounds unless maybe you’ve been to an airport during the holidays. There’s an underlying buzz throughout the whole place, not to mention the occasional noisemaking item—kid’s toy, booth announcement, video playing—and the colors would make a blind person regain their sight.

I circled the floor once, twice, and a third time, looking over the masses for one person in particular. Who was I looking for? That’s hard to say. It changes every time.

In general, I look for a man who is masked. I like the element of the anonymous. After that, I look for a wedding ring. Those are harder, because rings go off and on when there’s cosplay involved. I try my best not to be a homewrecker, since I’m related to one and I’ve seen firsthand what that can do. Luckily, most couples go to cons together. The couple that cosplays together stays together.

I was just starting to consider going back to the hotel for a few hours before making a return trip later in the day when I felt a tug on my arm.

Oh my god, EPL! You look amazing! I remember when you did this costume for Emerald City Comic Con a couple of years ago! It’s still one of my favorites. Can I get a picture with you?

It was a teenager, which isn’t my typical audience, but I guess in the days of the internet anything is possible. She was wearing the new Wonder Woman, so how could I say no?

Her friend took a couple pics and then the whole group of them squeezed in with me using one of those selfie sticks.

You know what we should do? said one of the other girls, glancing across the floor. We should get that Nightwing guy in here. Wouldn’t that be cool?

The original girl brightened, looking around the floor.

Oh my god, yeah. Where did he go, Katelyn?

There he is! I’ll go get him! said one of them, and she took off, cape flying behind her as she dashed for her quarry.

Nightwing, huh? I murmured, careful to keep my fake accent in place.

Hey, how come you always do characters with masks or lots of makeup? asked the girl who had originally spotted me.

Anonymity is a must to keep my private life out of my public life, I told her.

You should do this professionally! said another girl.

I had been emailed about attending cons as a professional guest before, but I like to be free to wander.

The girl who had gone to retrieve Nightwing was on her way back, the aforementioned onetime paramour of Batgirl trailing behind her, a grin on his face.

As I took him in, my pulse pounded. He wasn’t ridiculously tall, but since I’m such a short-stack, it isn’t hard for any guy to seem tall when standing next to me. Big and powerful, similar to his chosen cosplay character, he was exactly what I had in mind.

Hello, Batgirl, he said, holding out a gloved hand. His voice was dark and low, but I was pretty sure he was faking his accent just as I was. I have an ear for these things, after years of theater training.

Nightwing, I said and took his hand, tilting my head to give him another once-over. Looking fit.

His smile widened and I saw the interest as he returned my gaze.

Could you guys stand side-by-side? Put your arms around each other? said girl number 1.

Oh my god, they look so cute together! Don’t you think they look cute together?

How come your characters can’t just get it together? I need Grayson and Babs together forever!

The two of us chuckled and he slipped a strong arm around me, hugging me to his side. I struggled to maintain my composure when every pore in my body was telling me to drag this guy to a private spot and run my hands over that tight costume of his.

After the girls were done with their pictures, Nightwing pulled back, glancing down at my outfit again.

What is EPL? he asked, holding onto one