Ultimate Warriors (25 page)

     
"So
how long are you in town for?" Blossom asked.

     
"Uh,
not too long," Clark said.

     
"Where
did you move from?"

     
"Newark."

     
"Oh."

     
If the
conversation went downhill from there, at least it hadn’t had far to fall,
Clark thought as he walked Blossom home. Trouble was
,
he’d never in his life asked a woman out with the goal of getting her into bed.
Well, not on the first night, at least. It just didn’t seem respectful. He
believed in the getting-to-know-you stage.
Which led to the
falling-in-love stage.
Which led to the hot monkey sex
stage.

     
Not that
he’d ever had hot monkey sex personally, but he’d seen pictures of it on the
Internet. And he’d be more than willing to give it a try with Blossom. He
sidled a glance in her direction. She was walking a step in front of him, her
head up, high heels clicking on the sidewalk. Her cute round bottom swayed back
and forth enticingly.

     
Don’t
panic, he told himself. He could do it. He had to. After all, the fate of the
world hung in the balance. He was going to have to make a move.
Tonight.

     
They
reached Blossom’s apartment door. "Can I come in?" Clark asked,
shifting his laptop case from his right hand to his left. "I’d like a
glass of water." Ah, hell.
Another smooth line.
He was full of them tonight. He wasn’t kidding about the water, though. He was
parched. And damn if his back didn’t itch like crazy. He shifted his shoulders,
trying to get some relief without being too obvious.

     
Blossom
hesitated. "Well, okay.
For a minute."

     
She
fished her house key from her purse. It dangled from a Superman key chain.

     
Cool,
Clark thought. He rocked back on his heels as she unlocked the door,
then
followed her over the threshold. She flicked the light
switch.

     
He
blinked,
sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. He put
down the laptop, took off his glasses, checked them for smudges, and put them
back on again. No, he wasn’t hallucinating. The keychain was the least of it.

     
Blossom’s
apartment was a veritable shrine to Superman.

     
Every
square millimeter of wall space was dedicated to the Man of Steel, in
all his
various comic, TV, and movie incarnations. Vintage
comic books, professionally framed and mounted, hung above the sofa. Posters of
George Reeve, Dean Cain, Christopher Reeves, and Tom Welling marched along the
opposite wall. A Superman lunchbox perched on a shelf in the kitchen. A
revolving Daily Planet desk lamp adorned the table near the door.

     
Incredible.

     
"You
got a thing for Superman?" he asked.

     
"Yeah,"
she said, giving him a sheepish grin. "Pretty weird, huh?"

     
"Not
at all," Clark said quickly. "I think it’s great. I’m a Superman fan
myself."

     
"You
are?"

     
"Yeah.
Because of my name."
He resisted scratching a fierce itch on the inside of his elbow. "I
collect Superman comic books, mostly. I have a complete set of Golden Age
Action Comics from 1947 through 1956." He frowned. "Well, except for
#158. I tried to buy that one on eBay Wednesday night, but someone snatched it
right out from under my nose."

     
Blossom’s
blue eyes went round. "You ran up that bid? You jerk! You cost me five
hundred dollars!"

     
She was
the mystery bidder? "You didn’t have to go so high," Clark told her.
"You could have dropped out."

     
"No
way was I going to wimp out. I’ve been looking for that issue for a year."

     
"So
have I," Clark said, then laughed. "But if I had to lose, I’m glad it
was to you."

     
Blossom
smiled.
"Really?"

     
"Yes,"
said Clark, resisting the urge to claw the niggling itch on his thigh. He moved
close, daring to brush his fingers over the freckles on Blossom’s cheek. She
didn’t move away. His heart tripped up a beat, then settled in double time.

     
He
started to sweat. Should he try to kiss her now? God, it was hot in here.
Didn’t she have air conditioning? His gaze dropped to her lips. They were full
and lush, a little pouty. An itch hit him on the neck. He ignored it and leaned
closer, until their lips were only inches apart.

     
Her eyes
closed.

     
Was it
his imagination, or was she swaying toward him? Emboldened, he framed her face
in his hands, threaded his fingers through her hair. His heart beat so loudly
in his chest it sounded like a car alarm.

     
Their
lips touched. Clark felt the contact all the way to his toes, and in a few
strategic places in between. He angled his head a little, to get his glasses
out of the way of the kiss. He really should have thought to take them off
earlier.

     
Blossom
trembled a bit. Her hands came to rest on his arms. His thigh itched again,
distracting him. He shook off the intrusion and kissed her again, a little
harder and longer this time.

     
Was it
too early for tongues?

     
Maybe, but
he really didn’t have time to waste. He decided to go for it.

     
He
wrapped Blossom in his arms, urging her closer as he stroked her lower lip with
the tip of his tongue. She sighed, opening her mouth and going all soft in his
arms.
An invitation?
He hoped so. His tongue slid
inside.
Stroked in and out.

     
Oh,
yeah. This was it. His little Man of Steel was so ready to save the world.

     
But the
back of his neck itched like hell.

     
He moved
one hand around Blossom’s torso, toward her breast.
Easy...
Easy...
He didn’t want to scare her. After all, he
knew for a fact she’d never had a memorable sexual experience. She was probably
shy about things like this.

     
His
fingers found their goal. Closed on soft, quivering flesh...

     
Blossom
swatted his hand away. He tried an evasive maneuver. She attempted a block. He
circumvented it.

     
She
knocked him on his ass.

     
He lay
flat on his back on the carpet, staring up at her. "Wha...?"

     
"Self
defense class," she said, looking startled, yet satisfied.

     
"Jeez."
Who would have thought?

     
"You
have some nerve," she continued, hands on hips.
"Trying
to cop a feel on a first date."

     
He sat
up, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry."

     
Blossom
pointed toward the door.
"Out."

     
"Hey,"
he said, jumping to his feet. "Don’t you think that’s a little
hasty?"

     
"No,"
she said. "I mean, it’s not like I’m going to see you again or
anything."

     
"Not
see me--" Hell, that didn’t sound at all encouraging. He wriggled to evade
a sudden itch on his hip.
"Why not?
I thought we
were getting along great."

     
"We
were," Blossom said, "but that’s not the point."

     
Even if
he lived out the average superhero lifespan of two hundred and three, Clark
would never, ever get the hang of female logic.
"All
right.
I’ll bite. What is the point?"

     
"The
point is you look like John Travolta’s scrawnier brother," she said.
"I couldn’t possibly go out with you again."

     
"I
don’t even like this outfit," Clark said, ignoring the negative comment
about his physique. "A saleslady picked it out."

     
"And
you let her," Blossom muttered. "That’s even worse. Look, I spend all
day and most nights surrounded by geeks like you. No offense, but I don’t think
I can go twenty-four seven with it. It’s too hard on the eyes."

     
Clark
eyed the collage of superhero muscle on her walls, his heart sinking. He had a
pretty good idea what Blossom was looking for in a lover. No matter how you
sliced and diced it, he didn’t have it.

     
Still,
he couldn’t give up. Not with Lex’s bomb set to blow.

     
He tried
to reason with her. "Looks aren’t everything. Didn’t you say that
yesterday?"

     
"Did
I?" Blossom said. "I must have been out of my mind. Looks are huge.
Ninety percent of the information humans receive from their environment is
visual. For me it’s probably more like a hundred and one percent." She
sighed. "Look, I’m sorry, Clark. I just can’t help how I am. You’re a
great guy and all, but--"

     
But.
Clark hated when a woman said that word. In his
experience it was usually followed by...

     
"--can’t
we just be friends?"

     
"Of
course," he said, going for his standard reply.

     
The itch
on his neck grew unbearable. Weighted down by Blossom’s rejection, he finally
cracked. He gave in and scratched.

     
The itch
darted to his solar plexus. His fingers followed it. After that, it split,
attacking both shoulders at once. Then it reached flashpoint, racing across his
chest, down his arms and legs, up over his face...

     
"Are
you okay?" Blossom asked. "Because, you know, you don’t look so
good."

     
Clark
dropped to his knees, knocking over his laptop case on the way down. He tried
desperately to reach a spot right in the middle of his back. But the itching
was the least of his problems. It was getting hard to breathe. Little red spots
swirled into his vision.

     
"Call
911," he gasped, just before he blacked out.

     
Friday, 11:22 p.m.

     
One day,
thirty-eight minutes, and counting...

     
"Hives
and anaphylaxis," Clark told Blossom when he emerged from the emergency
room cubicle, looking beat. "The doctor thinks it was the calamari."

     
She
jumped to her feet. "You scared me half to death. I’m still shaking. You
could have died."

     
"Look
on the bright side," Clark said. "If I get bored tonight, I can play
dot to dot on my chest."

     
She
giggled.
Then sobered as her gaze dropped.
The top two
buttons on Clark’s shirt were, for once, unbuttoned. Angry red welts covered
his skin, looking horribly uncomfortable.

     
"Does
it itch
bad
?" she asked.

     
He
grimaced.
"Bad enough."

     
She
clucked in sympathy, and looked at his chest some more. It might not be
superhero material, but it wasn’t really that scrawny. Suddenly, she felt a
little ashamed at how she had treated him during their date.

     
"I’m
sorry about what I said earlier," she told him.

     
"Which
time?" he asked. But he was smiling when he said it. He had a nice smile.
And he was so at ease poking fun at
himself
. There was
something very appealing about that.

     
"When
I said you were scrawny," she said.

     
"Oh,
that." He glanced down at his chest. "No apology needed for the
truth." He caught her gaze and held it. "I’m the one who should be
apologizing. My behavior was less than gentlemanly."

     
"Forget
about it," Blossom said, coloring. "No offense taken." The truth
was
,
she’d enjoyed kissing Clark.
Too
much.
That, more than anything else, had caused her to back off. She
just couldn’t bear the thought of a geek boyfriend.