A/N Thank you for all the love you all have given to this crazy idea, that began in our insane brains.
Disclaimer: We do not own Twilight. All publicly recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended. Blah blah blah...like people would pay us for this. Clearly we are not sane and we are still playing with these characters in our heads-for free. Enjoy.
Collide
Chapter 9
Hot and Cold but Smooth
EPOV
"You really think you are funny? Don't you?" I am so completely flabbergasted by this trainwreck. One minute hot the next, cold. Actually that Katy Perry song suits her. Thank god she didn't play it. I have particular taste, but I am not fucking forty and I still keep up with current events. Perhaps I may have been a tad quick to judge but so was she.
"Whether I do or not is really of no importance. I just speak my mind. Live my life. I don't worry about what other people think…anymore." Her voice almost wavers on her last spoken word. She seems so honest like she would divulge anything if asked. But I don't really want to open that can of worms.
"Hmm…" Glancing at her profile quickly I smirk then return my gaze to the road ahead.
"Don't do that. Say what you want to say. It will make you feel better. It's freeing, might help with your blockage."
"Christ, would you please stop referring to my bathroom habits. I have no issues—in the bathroom. "
"So you do admit to issues."
I snap my jaw shut in exasperation. "Who doesn't? But right now I have one huge issue that can be rectified. So if you don't mind, can you please pull over and go change into what you purchased before we meet with the client."
"Okay, Mr. C, you're the boss!" She adds a wink. Fuck. Speeding up she takes the turn dangerously fast, pulling off around the corner. Holy shit, she can actually drive. We pull into a parking lot for what appears to be an abandoned dive bar.
"Uh, where exactly are you going?"
"Come on. Drop your uppity judgment for a moment. We're in Forks now. This is a bar. I'm gonna change and you need a drink. Relax."
I just stare at her averting my eyes to the bar and back to her, processing the situation. A drink could actually be necessary—only one. Perhaps a nice glass of chilled wine.
She leans way over the edge of the car retrieving her bag from the back and I notice her—once again, unintentionally. Damn. Adjusting myself, I walk ahead towards the dive. When we enter she takes off to the back like this place is familiar, and I head straight for the bar.
This dude looking like the quintessential sleazy bartender approaches, long stringy blond hair pulled back in a low pony tail and icy eyes that size me up.
"Hey, man, what'll it be?"
"What kind of wines do you have?" I'm not a complete moron but surely they have a bottle of something chilled. Right? It's not like I asked for a wine list.
He just stares at me like I have polycephaly, walks off and returns, slamming down an empty shot glass and a bottle of Jack.
"I think you might need a few of these—especially if that was crazy, Busy Izzy with you, entering the restrooms at the rear. Wine won't help, my man." Then he just shakes his head and walks out of sight.
What the fuck have I gotten into? I woke up this morning and everything was normal and in order, just as it always is. Mere hours later, I am on the lamb with a crazy woman, and here I sit in a shit-hole, with a bottle of Jack, waiting for Daisy Duke to put on some professional attire, so I can just conduct the fucking business I originally set out to accomplish today. Christ. I run my fingers through my hair. I'll probably be bald at forty. I take the glass and vigorously wipe it out with the bottom of my tie. The alcohol should kill the rest of the germs. I pour a shot and throw it back.
And wait.
Maybe one more might truly be necessary as I throw the second shot back I see her… I begin to choke.
"Hey! Slow down, Mr. C. I didn't take you for a whisky guy. I sortta pictured you sipping some Chardonnay or White Zinfandel kinda crap."
"What the fuck are you wearing?" I pour another shot quickly and swallow. Then set the glass down.
"The outfit you wanted me to wear."
"No! No, I did not select any such outfit. I remember precisely. I chose four different looks, and that is most certainly none of them."
Allowing my eyes to scan her entire length, I quickly commit every inch to memory, forcing a swallow down. Not quite sure where to start with all the things that are so wrong and yet make me begin to squirm in my seat. My eyes stay too long on her legs. In those heels, they appear to go on forever. They are nice and toned and she has pretty ankles. The shoes are red open toed high heels with black brocade. Her cute toes, covered in electric blue nail polish, peek out beneath the black hose; her craziness taunting me. Yes, she knows how to pick out shoes if the plan were to just bend her over the bar right here. Christ. I think the only thing she bought that I actually saw previously were the garter and hose. The skirt is too short to be professional in any sense of the word unless she is planning on picking up a few tricks before we actually get to Mr. McCarty's office. Then there is the crazy T-shirt I can't describe with a black leather biker's jacket over that.
And she is wearing a purple wig.
Never did a wig even occur to me, although I have been thinking about her crazy faux-dreads since the moment we met. Thoughts of dragging her into the salon at Nordstrom's and watching them decontaminate the smooth brown locks that I imagine lie beneath, did cross my mind. However after the dressing room fiasco, I thought it best to just get this day over with as quickly as possible.
Where the fuck did she get a purple wig in Nordstrom?
I simply need a god damned signature. She'll have to wait in the car.
"Let's go!" Tossing some cash on the bar, I unintentionally grab her hand to leave the joint. Her skin is soft.
"Wait, I didn't even get a drink."
"You are driving! You are not drinking. And you will be waiting in the car while I get the damn signature I need."
She gives me a pointed look but grasps back on my hold, following me to the car. Her hand is smooth, and I can't deny it feels good in mine. Really good. As we approach the vehicle, I notice the front right tire is flat.
FUCK!
E/N Okay folks that's all. Whadda ya think? What are they going to do now? Who else might we meet in Forks? Your reviews make us feel really good like Bella's hand in Eddie's. Are we courting now? We could serve ice tea on the porch as we steal a review.
