Bounty Full
Chapter 2
Couch Surfing
He hates this stupid couch, the one that used to be in his grandma's house when she lived a bit up the road. It was covered in plastic and he hated the feel of sitting on it. When she moved in with his folks, when he moved away, the couch came as part of the deal and the day she died, his momma ripped the plastic off like a band-aid. Only, the thirty years of protective covering didn't stop the actual couch from getting lumpy and right now a spring is right in the middle of his lower back, pressing upwards on a nerve or something because his thigh's starting to hurt something fierce.
Tries to rotate, face the back of the couch in hopes of getting the spring right in his hip will stop the slow ache from his old injury, but it doesn't, and he groans as he sits up because he's going to have to take some pain relievers if he wants to attend the reunion tomorrow.
"You're a terribly loud sleeper."
Almost jumps out of his skin and the full layer of clothing he decided to uncharacteristically wear to bed because he would've bet dollars to doughnuts that she would've found her way down here in the night.
Didn't think the pie would be joining her.
Leans up on his elbows and watches her sitting in his dad's recliner, the one that never had plastic on it so now the pale blue plaid is fading away and the fabric tearing. "You know, some folks might consider it rude getting up in the middle of the night and snacking on the family's pie."
"Why?" She scoops another forkful into her mouth, her lips smacking, and she wore lip gloss to bed because he can see it glowing in the moonlight from outside. "I break into the commissary all the time."
Rolls his eyes, shoving himself up into fully sitting, one of his momma's knitted blankets falling to the floor. His neck is stiff and there's a hard muscle right at the base of his head. "You shouldn't."
"Mitchell, you know I only perceive those locked doors as a minimal challenge." Scoops another forkful into her mouth and her grin kind of makes it worth it. She might be the only person outside the family who appreciates his momma for her natural talents.
"You know you're doing a horrible job at being incognito as my date."
"How so?"
"Well, you're calling me Mitchell."
"What should I be calling you? Some term of endearment? My big handsome chicken wattle?"
"I should've never taught you that word," grunts as the pain starts radiating down his hip the tips of his toes.
She sets the half empty pie tin down on the coffee table, confusing his pain with irritation. "Really, you were the one who won't stoop to being bedfellows even in the name of—"
Lets out a shout as he tries to stand and crumples back into the couch. Feels the red and warmth creep into his cheeks ready for ridicule from her, but instead she's on her feet, swiftly, silently and standing ready. He sort of stares at her because he doesn't think he'll ever figure her out.
"What happened?" Ironically whispers now that he's probably woken both his parents.
"Nothing, my leg just—" Removes his hand from his thigh and points across the room at a modified version of his go bag. "Can you grab me the pills in there? They're in a—"
"Got them." Shakes them over her shoulder and slides them across the low coffee table at him. As he pops the cap and swallows two back with the bottle of water he ensured was on a coaster, she plops beside him on the couch.
"Ugh, this couch is awful."
"Tell me about it."
"Why don't you scamper upstairs then?" Takes another large swig of water while he tries to listen to her explain how she won't make sexual advances on him when they both know she will. "I don't mind bunking on the—"
"Shit." Shouts again and winces. When she tries to question his outburst, he places a finger to his lips, shushing her.
When he finally lowers his finger she asks, "What now?"
"I'm supposed to take these with food." Knows the pain it's going to bring on his stomach, that his momma's perfect over easy eggs are going to go right in the trash in the morning.
Vala taps the pie tin over to him, flipping the fork expertly between her fingers so the tines are on her end.
"You ate with that."
"Oh, right." She sticks the tines into her mouth, her lips straining away any remaining crumbs and a lot of the bubble-gum pink gloss from her lips. Then she grins, handing it back towards him. When holds his unimpressed expression she tuts him, "now look at who's being an unbelievable fake partner."
He ends up eating with the fork.
