Fear and Loathing in Los Angeles
Shit. It didn't seem to matter how much he tried to unburden his life of complications, the fuckers just snuck right back in and set up house. Take tonight, for instance. He had meant it as a simple gesture. Abbie, meet Hank when he's not balls-deep in your pussy and contemplating serious jail time. Of course it got fucked up. Simplicity wanted no truck with his life.
He sucked in the night air and concentrated on the stars, trying to slow their pinwheeling dance. Out in the canyons, LA's dome of light pollution didn't hold, and there were so many stars. A frightening number of stars. One star for every mistake he'd ever made. Drunkenness made him pitying and maudlin, which brought on a goodly amount of self-loathing.
She'd been right. Not about his fear of her availability, but about his love of ghosts. He'd danced on the blurry line of becoming a ghost himself today, and somehow managed to stumble onto the living side. And he'd wanted to celebrate. With her. Unnerving, how in the moment of his redemption, he'd gravitated towards her, even with Karen in the courtroom. And now he'd let her walk away. Fuck, he was getting tired of being such a predictable asshole.
"Lady lawyer!" he bleated out, surprising himself with his urgency. He slipped, stumbling for the pool's edge, but managed to right himself before taking a bath. He looked towards the house, trying to decide if she'd gone around or through to join Karen and Ben at their car. His shoes and jeans were sodden, and the stars were still spinning in front of his eyes, but he managed a clumsy jog and trailed water into the marble-floored foyer.
"Councillor!" he called out to the empty room. Beyond the front door, he could make out a set of tail-lights retreating down the driveway. Motherfucker. He ran out front.
"Abbie!" he was bellowing now, panicky and chill, although he couldn't fathom why. He could always call her tomorrow. Apologize and explain. He was a ninja at apologizing and explaining.
"Hank?" The voice behind him sounded like whiskey. No wonder he couldn't stop drinking her. He spun and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her hard to his mouth, bending her neck back against his hand. He was going to kiss his relief right down into her toes.
"You saw what a sorry excuse for a car Ben drives, and you couldn't get in, could you? What was it, a Prius?"
"Leaf." she grinned at his noxious look. "Actually, I was thinking about your car, and how likely it was you'd wrap it around a tree if you drove it back into town."
"Your concern for my physical well-being warms my cockles. Or my cock. You definitely warm my cock."
"I don't think your cock could withstand much more heat, given that you've probably got jet fuel running through your veins by now. And the reason I stayed behind was entirely self-serving. You can't write a cheque for my fees if you're dead."
"So I'm on the clock? What's your hourly rate for watching me make a complete ass of myself?"
"Oh, that's pro bono."
"I'm in favour of pro boner work. Servicing the community, and whatnot."
"And whatnot. Give me your keys."
He slid liquidly into the passenger seat and watched her remove her shoes, then adjust the seat.
"Are you sure you meet the minimum height requirement for this ride?" he couldn't help but ask.
"Well, it didn't seem to be a problem when I was riding you earlier."
"Everyone's the same height lying down."
She slid her eyes up him slowly. "No, you're taller than most, even lying down."
"Keep flattering me like that, and I'll do my best not to puke on you later."
She shifted the Porsche into gear and began the winding trip back down the canyon. Her free hand caressed the inside of his knee easily as she drove, and at one point he covered it with his own. His fluency in gratitude was poor, but he'd be all kinds of a fool to go running after her and then not even try.