he was out, he was going to go to Jane's house and pull some romantic shit. He
wasn't sure what, maybe like flowers or something. Well, flowers and him installing that security
system. 'Cause nothing said lovin' like a shitload of motion detectors.
God, he was whipped. For real.
She'd told him she was getting home around nine, so he figured he'd doll up her bedroom a little
and then have a visit with her until midnight.
Except that only left him five hours to hunt.
Butch rustled the sports section around, leaned over to kiss Marissa on the shoulder, then went
back to the CCJ. In response she glanced up from her paperwork for Safe Place, rubbed his arm,
and went back to what she was doing. She had a fresh bite mark on her neck and the glow of a
very satisfied female in her face.
V winced and looked down into his coffee, stroking his goatee. He and Jane were never going to
have that, he thought, because they weren't ever going to live together. Even if he was off from
the Brotherhood, he couldn't crash at her place during daylight hours, because of the sun thing
and her coming here wasn't an option for different exposure reasons: There was enough risk with
her knowing that the race existed. More contact, more details, more time around the Brotherhood
was not smart or safe.
As V cradled his mug and leaned back in the chair, he worried about the future. He and Jane
were good together, but the forced separations were going to wear on them. He could already
feel a strain as he contemplated the good-bye that would have to happen tonight.
He wanted her as close as his own skin twenty-four/seven. Her voice over the phone, while
better than nothing, wasn't enough to truly satisfy him. But what were their other options?
There was another rustle of paper as Butch manhandled the CCJ. Christ, he had horrible
newspaper etiquette, always mashing the pages and being rough with the creases. It was the same
with magazines. Butch didn't so much read them as gnaw on them with his hands.
In the process of terrorizing an article on spring training, Butch glanced over at Marissa again,
and V knew the two were going to take off soon-but not because they were finished with their
coffee.
Funny, he knew what was going to happen from extrapolation, not second sight or because he
could read their minds: Butch was letting off the bonding scent, and Marissa loved being with
her male. It wasn't like V had a vision of them ending up locked in the butler's pantry or back in
bed at the Pit.
Jane's thoughts were the only ones he could read, and then only some times.
He rubbed the center of his chest and thought about what the Scribe Virgin had said… that his
visions and his prescient ability were obscured because of a crossroads in his own life, and that
when he was through it they would come back. Thing was, he had Jane now, so wasn't he past
that part? He'd found his female. He was with her. End of story.
He swallowed more coffee. Kept up with the rubbing.
The nightmare had been back again this morning.
As he couldn't chalk up that bullshit gunshot sequence to PTSD anymore, he decided it was now
an allegory, his subconscious churning over the fact that he still felt out of control in his life.
Because falling in love would do that.
That had to be why. Had to.
«Ten minutes,» Butch whispered into Marissa's ear. «Can I have ten minutes with you before you
go? Please, baby…»
V rolled his eyes and was relieved to be annoyed at the lovey-dovey routine. At least all the
testosterone in him hadn't dried up.
«Baby… please?»
V took a pull on his mug. «Marissa, throw the sap bastard a bone, would you? The simpering
wears on my nerves.»
«Well, we can't have that, can we?» Marissa packed up her papers with a laugh and shot Butch a
look. «Ten minutes. And you'd better make them count.»
Butch was up out of that chair like the thing was on fire. «Don't I always?»
«Mmm… yes.»
As the two locked lips, V snorted. «Have fun, kiddies. Somewhere else.»
They'd just left when Zsadist came in at a dead run. «Shit. Shit… shit…»
«What's doing, my brother?»
«I'm teaching and I'm late.» Zsadist grabbed a sleeve of bagels, a turkey leg out of the refridg and
a quart of ice cream from the freezer. «Shit.»
«That's your breakfast?»
«Shut up. It's almost a turkey sandwich.»
«Rocky Road don't count as mayo, my brother.»
«Whatever.» He beelined back for the door. «Oh, by the way, Phury's here again, and he brought
that Chosen with him. Figured you'd
| | |
|