The afternoon sun faded quickly into night. The moon shone through the hollowed-out window of the cave like a dimly-lit flashlight. Feigning sleep, Wile was doing what he'd been doing since he got home: watching his past exploits on his wide-screen. He recently transferred all his previous failures onto DVD, so he can watch them over and over without fear of film breakage.

For once, he wouldn't think about the Roadrunner, at least not the way he's thinking now. He wouldn't think about her fit body, her beautiful plumage and large, sparkly, baby-blue eyes; yes, her eyes were blue, even though they didn't look like they were, but he didn't want to think about it now. No, he didn't dare think of her taste either, certainly not the kind of taste he was expecting. Like earlier today.

When she kissed him…

He shook his head quickly. Snap out of it, damn it! He yelled at himself. Get your head back in the game!

Around this time, he was watching the "lemonade" fiasco: he painted a fat stick of dynamite into a glass of lemonade, complete with slice and straw. He then attached the fuse to a plunger behind a rock and waited for the Roadrunner to take a sip. In the end, she got away less thirsty and the whole thing blew up in his face-literally.

He absently paused the DVD as the Roadrunner placed her lips on the straw. I wish I was that straw, he thought, forming a semi-jealous smile. His eyes suddenly went wide as he snapped back to reality. What am I doing?! He quickly shut off the television and looked away.

Wile was in pure shock. What possessed him to even think that? That wasn't like him at all. He should've seen the flaw in that plan, not what he was thinking! He sat on the floor and hugged his knees to his body, deep in thought.

What's the hell's wrong with me?

His brow furrowed. It's not me. It's that bird! She's lost her damn mind! She licked my neck, kissed me, scratched my back, rubbed my chest and belly; she never did any of that stuff to me until now. Almost like she's in love with me or something.

His eyes went wide when he heard what he just thought.

The Roadrunner…

In love…

With HIM?!

It was probably to him the stupidest idea ever heard of. A scrawny, stringy, anemic, ugly, misbegotten, stupid bird in love with a super genius like himself? Preposterous! She probably inhaled one too many bugs crisscrossing the desert roads.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to burst into laughter, not even a good belly laugh. This was unsettling to him; the funniest thing ever and he couldn't even so much as chuckle at it. Complete stone-face.

Still deep in thought, Wile laid flat on his back and stared at the ceiling. This was serious, more so than he originally thought. Normally, he'd scoff at this notion, maybe brand it ridiculous. Deep down, though, he knew…

…he knew he could be right.

No way! He grimaced. She's probably doing this in a feeble attempt to persuade me from not capturing her! It didn't work then, and it won't work now! He knew all too well what she's capable of, and he had the scars and bruise marks to prove it. One second, he's standing on a cliff; a 'Beep-Beep!' later, his face and body are implanted in the ground below. She's very persuasive for someone whose voice sounds like a car horn.

'Then how come you liked what she did to you today?' a voice rang out in his head. He unconsciously thought back to what happened earlier: the way she kissed him, the way she scratched his neck, the way that he, like a dog, offered his belly to her for it to be rubbed; that part especially stuck out in his mind.

I only did that just so she could stop what she was doing and leave me alone! He tried to justify himself.

'No. You did that because you loved it. You wanted more and you know it!'

He angrily sat up. NO I DID NOT!!! Waiting for the blood to settle in his head, Wile couldn't figure out what shook him up more: the fact that he was talking to himself…

…or the fact that he felt a burning sensation on his cheek.

Oh, God. No,… The poor coyote thought. He then slowly raised a paw to his cheek, almost afraid-yet half knowing-what it was. His fast breathing formed into a small gasp; all of his thoughts halted.

He was blushing.

He was blushing…again…

No, no, no!!!

He found himself back on his back again, upset about the whole affair. I can't be in love with her. I just can't be!!! He didn't start blushing until he thought about…her. Wile cringed at the bird's name. Now that he'd put two and two together, he really didn't want to think about her, not in that way.

It felt wrong to him on so many levels. There were so many rules that he'd be breaking--his personal rules (mostly), the inter-species rule, the rules of logic--but, most importantly, the golden rule:

Survival of the fittest.

She's a frigging bird and I'm supposed to eat her! He scowled. I can't be in love with my food! That's like Bugs marrying a carrot!

'But what else could it be?' The voice piped back. He knew very well that he'd never been in love period. His features softened up. He had desired to love, and be loved back, but never would he have guessed it would turn out this way.

Assuming it was true, it would explain a lot: how he tried constantly to catch her, but failed miserably; how he never gave up, even though he knew it was hopeless; how, secretly, he wanted his crazy inventions and fanatical schemes to screw up on him so he could prolong the chase.

That is, if it was true…

And it was.

He couldn't deny it any longer:

He was in love with the Roadrunner.

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