Yeah, a new day began all right.
"Godsdamn it, woman! Watch where you're driving!"
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to go to the Waffle House for breakfast, so shut up!"
"I have an idea - why don't you both shut up?"
"You shut up, Stone-Mountain, you impotent little -"
"Impotent?! You're calling me IMPOTENT?! You're one to talk, my gods!"
"You guys, can't we work this out?"
"Keep your eyes on the road, Mindelan!"
"Okay, okay. Don't be so touchy."
"Touchy? Just because I want to live doesn't mean I'm tou -"
"Ah, shut up, Stone-Mountain."
"Queenscove, don't tell me to shut up."
"I just did, you nitwit."
"Queenscove, I'm warning you -"
"Ooh, I'm so scared, look at my knees shake."
"Come over here and I'll give your knees something to shake about, you stupid sonofa -"
"Boys, watch your language!"
"Why don't you take your 'language' and shove it up your -"
"Hey! Don't talk to Kel like that!"
"I don't need your help, Neal!"
"Yeah, Queenscove, so take your 'help' and shove it up your -"
"IS THE WHOLE WORLD AGAINST ME???"
-----
Keladry sighed and sat back in the seat of the booth, her palms warmed by the steaming coffee cup. Whereas hers was heaped with fresh milk and white sugar, Joren's was black, no sweetening whatsoever. Just…black. She shuddered involuntarily and took a timid sip, scorching her tongue. Neal was laying his charms a bit too thick on the teenaged chesty blond waitress, who nonetheless giggled and batted her eyelashes flirtatiously. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and took another tentative singeing nip of coffee. Joren chugged his down without a flinch, although his had to be as hot as hers.
Neither one of them had looked the other in the eye since the incident that morning. In his oh so subtle way, Neal had teased them mercilessly about it until Joren had held him at gunpoint and threatened him with every name in the book.
The heavy-eyed woman at the register reached over and clicked on the radio, a man's drawling country accent blasted out of it.
"Numair," Kel said. "He's, like, my all-time favorite singer."
"Mine too," Joren agreed. He noted her surprised expression and bared his teeth in what was supposed to be a grin. "I love country."
"You don't –"
"Seem like the type?" he offered. "Yeah, I know."
Maybe I can start a conversation with him, she thought. Although she did not really like him too much – he was an arrogant bastard, however beautiful he may seem – she thought it appropriate if they at least were comfortable with each other…though the awkward situation did not help matters too much.
"What's your favorite song?" she asked, her voice cautious.
Joren replied quite civilly. "Wild Girl, I'd say. Although it's kind of tied with Temptation Lake."
"Wild Girl's my favorite. Temptation Lake is okay, but I like Born Free better."
"Ugh, I hate Born Free. Did you know Wild Girl is dedicated to the model, Daine Sarrasri?"
Kel blinked. "Are you serious?"
He smirked. "Don't tell me you don't know. Numair and Daine have been dating for awhile."
"But…he's so much older," she blustered weakly.
Joren's answer was cut off when the woman at the counter barked, "Loey! Stop flirtin' and get to yer other customers!"
The waitress, Loey, jumped, blushing prettily, and murmured, "I'm sorry, miss."
"I don't care if yer sorry, just get workin'!"
"Yes, miss."
The woman at the counter shook her head, reddish brown hair flying everywhere from underneath the kerchief that bound the strands.
"Don't blame the girl," Neal called. "I was keeping her."
"She coulda left you," the woman snapped. She looked vaguely familiar to Kel.
"Fanche," she said, shocked.
Dark eyes flew from Neal to her, and crinkled into a smile. "Well, I be damned. Keladry, how are ya?"
Grinning, Kel slid out from the booth and hurried to the bar, hopping on a stool. She was barely aware of Joren joining her at her elbow. Fanche Weir had been her boss when she worked at the Waffle House five years ago. She hadn't seen her since then, when she switched colleges to go to Corus University across the city. At first they had been wary of each other – there was a major personality clash, you could say – but eventually they became friends, after they learned the other's flaws, and their friendship had been sturdy enough for two women whose difference in age was big enough to swallow Giantkiller.
"I'm fine," Kel said. "How are you?"
"Never been better," Fanche said. Her brown eyes twinkled warmly. "Saefas proposed."
"Finally," her friend laughed. "I was wondering when he'd get to it. Has the wedding already passed?"
"Unfortunately. It was a couple months ago. I tried to send you an invitation, but I never found your new address."
"Well…at least I know what happened," Kel said, disappointed. Her gaze flew to Loey. "That cannot be Loesia. She's grown so much."
"Aye, she's sixteen now." Fanche smiled. "She's a good 'nuff girl."
"What happened to Gydo?" Kel asked.
"Got married," the older woman replied. "Her brother Meech took off for parts unknown."
Joren nudged her sharply. Kel understood. "Fanche, this is Joren Stone-M…Stone. He's my…boyfriend. Joren, this is Fanche Ploughman. She used to be my boss a while back."
"How do you do, Miss Ploughman?" Joren greeted politely.
"Just Fanche," she waved. "Miss Ploughman makes me feel old."
"Fanche," he agreed. "It's nice to meet you."
"And you," the older woman countered courteously. She reached over and gently pinched Kel's nose. "This chit was like a daughter to me in the two years she worked for me. You take good care of her."
"Yes, ma'am," Joren smiled through clenched teeth.
"What a sweetie," Fanche chortled, patting his cheek. "You've really picked a looker." She leaned over and whispered something in her "daughter's" ear; whatever it was made Kel glance at Joren and look away quickly, blushing furiously.
"What did she say," he asked her in a low voice when the woman was interrupted by another customer. Kel shook her head, her face tomato-red now.
"Come on," Neal muttered. "The old hag scared the pretty blond away. No point in staying."
"You shouldn't have been flirting with Loey anyway," Kel remarked dryly.
He perked up. "You know the girl?"
"Loesia. She's fifteen. She's Fanche's foster daughter. Me and her were good friends five years back, when I was seventeen. She was nowhere near as pretty then though; then she had pigtails, braces, freckles, glasses, you name it."
"Who's Fanche?"
"The old hag," Fanche said coldly, tossing him the bill.
Neal smiled weakly. "Oh."
-----
"I thought you worked," Joren commented.
"It's my day off," Mindelan retorted.
"It's the first one she's taken off in two years," Queenscove told him, taking a right on Fresh Pond Street. "And she did it for you, too."
"Shut up, Neal," she said, reaching over and jerking the wheel. The car swerved sharply to the left, almost crashing into an oncoming truck.
"Shit, Keladry!" Queenscove gasped. "You near 'bout gave me a fuckin' heart attack!"
Joren forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat, leaning his blond head against the window, hands twitching spasmodically. Later he supposed it was good his client had done that; if he hadn't propped up against the window he never would have seen that flash of silver.
"Get down!" he screamed, lunging for his main priority: Keladry Mindelan.
Queenscove yelled and jerked at the wheel, sending the car veering off the road into the ditch. The bullet pierced the rear window. Shards of sharp glass spewed into the car, slicing furiously at the soft upholstery. Joren felt the splinters shower his back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Queenscove slip under the steering wheel, into the small cave where the breaks and acceleration were placed. Mindelan made a small sound deep in her throat, the kind a wildcat makes when it's caught in a trap.
Another bullet shattered the window, this time the passenger's side where Mindelan and Joren were squished. He knew it was a bad idea for her to be up front, out of his reach! When another sharp retort was heard, he shoved Mindelan in the hollow in front of the seat, an identical indention to the one Queenscove hid in. Glass cut the back of his exposed neck and arms. Blood stained the seats like red wine.
After four or five more shots, there was silence. Tense silence. Joren removed the gun from the holster strapped around his waist, hidden expertly from prying eyes, and cautiously peered over the jagged window. Just in time to see someone disappear into the woods.
When five minutes passed Joren murmured, "All's clear."
The green-eyed man reluctantly poked his head out from the little cave he resided in, face white as a sheet, mouth trembling, eyes wide and stark. Mindelan, shuddering, stood up, stooping slightly. Her eyes darted out the window tentatively. Her gaze returned to Joren and her eyes widened to enormous proportions.
"Joren," she gasped. "You're covered in blood…we've got to get you to a hospital."
"Why?" he said.
"You're white as death," she snapped. "And glass cuts tend to shed more blood than any other."
"So?"
There seemed to be two Mindelans. Great, his mind grumbled. Like I haven't put up with enough shit these last forty-two hours…
"We'll take him to my father," Queenscove said, though his voice sounded far away. Joren groaned and shook his head.
"I have a first-aid kit back at the apartment," he grimaced with a gasp.
"That's not going to be enough for all of it," Mindelan protested, gently wiping stray blood from his face with the hem of her shirt.
"Find something," Joren snapped. "Do I have to tell you everything? Honestly, Queenscove. You should know better, you being a doctor's son."
Queenscove glared at him. "You crabby old –"
"Neal! Get something!" Mindelan ordered.
"Right."
While Queenscove rummaged around in the back of car, gingerly clearing glass out of the way, as he searched for something to use as a bandage. Joren peered at Mindelan from under half-closed eyes. She seemed debating with herself, biting her lip and furrowing her brow. Finally she sighed, glanced at the empty-handed Queenscove, and started unbuttoning her shirt. His eyes widened.
"Mindelan…I know you want to make my last moments in consciousness comfortable, but…this is too much."
She glared at him. "I'm going to bandage you, not…not…"
"Strip for him?" Queenscove offered, quickly turning back to his task when her scowl was sent his way.
Joren kept his reverted his gaze away when she lifted up her shirt, but not before he saw the crest of her breasts. He shuddered. It was enough that I had seen her blue thong, but to see her near-naked breast…and she was wearing those strapless bras too, and…why the hell am I thinking about that? Stop…it's too…horrible…
With careful fingers, Mindelan ripped her shirts to shreds, carefully binding the worst of the slashes with the strips of cloth.
"You're probably just making it worse," Joren snapped. "All those threads that could get caught in the cuts…And for Mithros' Sake, Mindelan, don't leave your head up for everybody to use as target practice…"
The temptation was too much to resist. Joren later just blamed it on his lapse into unconsciousness. He snuck a peek at her barely clothed chest. He had seen better, but she was altogether quite pleasing. His gaze roamed down to her long, fairly shapely legs, up to her wide hips and flat stomach, back up to her breasts, up to slender neck, to her delightfully full lips, to her small delicate nose, up to her dreamy eyes, which were focused on him…
Oh shit.
Quick, act like it's just a joke! his mind screamed frantically.
"Not bad, Mindelan," Joren smirked, grinning wolfishly at the sight of her slightly reddening cheeks. Ah, mind games…what fun!
After a couple seconds she returned to her job, but her fingers were a bit clumsier. Joren closed his eyes as her hands moved up his arms, where most of the damage was done.
"Is he conscious?" Queenscove asked.
No, you ninny. I died.
"I guess not."
"What did the old hag tell you?" he asked curiously. "You know, back at the diner, when you got all embarrassed?"
She paused in the bandaging, as though considering. Or maybe just making sure Joren was not awake.
"She said…" Joren resisted a snort. He could hear the blush in her voice, although he was certain he would not have been able to see it. She was good at covering her emotions, he had learned. "She said…'it's obvious how much you're getting, Kel, with a fuck-machine the size of that…"
His lips twitched. He knew she saw it, especially when she tightened a bandage unnecessarily. Joren opened one eye, and met her reproachful gaze. He grinned cheerfully.
-----
Hmm…the link didn't show up. Anyways, I'm under the same name over at fictionpress. The link is on my profile. Please, I'm BEGGING you, READ THE FUCKIN STORIES!!!
So please, please, PLEASE read it…PLEASE. Just ONE. I'm begging you. As one of your favorite authors, do this for me. I'm begging from the bottom of my heart. Please.