as arrogant as you were before."
"Well, I'm either terrified, or I'm faking it
because I have some sinister plan ready to go into effect. You'd
better hope it's the first one, because I'm really in the mood to
exsanguinate a couple of minor-league thugs and their new
hooker."
"Is that another word that I'm not supposed
to know what it means?"
"What word? Hooker? Surely you know that
one."
"Hey, George, I think you're getting a bit
worked up," said Lou. "Just ignore him."
"Oh, no, he's not getting ignored. Not at
all. There's our exit."
Lou gave him the I knew that look that
George had seen a hundred times. George cracked his knuckles. He
encountered a lot of scumbags in his line of work, but there was
something about Ivan that he truly disliked. He wasn't going to
hurt him, or even touch him, but the werewolf was going to lose the
attitude, no question about it.
This town seemed quite a bit larger
than the last one, although there still wasn't much there. Every
other establishment on Main Street seemed to be an antique shop.
George hated antique shops.
"Find us someplace
isolated," George said. Lou gave him another I knew that look.
It took about a mile and a
couple of turns to find a dirt road with a misspelled sign in green
spray paint that said " No
Tresspassing ." Lou turned onto the road,
and after rounding a corner there was more than enough tree cover
to keep any witnesses from seeing what they were doing from the
paved road.
Lou parked and shut off the engine.
"You ready to talk?" George asked.
Ivan smiled and gave him a thumbs-up sign,
though now his smile seemed kind of forced.
"Please don't cause us any trouble," George
told Michele.
"Please don't damage our investment," she
said.
George grinned and got out of the van.
* * *
Michele's day had started with a pregnancy
scare. She'd thought it would improve from there.
The stick had not turned
blue, thank God. The non-father, Aaron, was the only guy to whom
she'd ever provided pity sex. He'd been so distressed when his girlfriend
broke up with him, and his prospects of landing another girl in a
timely manner were bleak, and Michele wasn't exactly getting it on
a regular basis, so she'd slept with him.
The "during" part had been pretty good,
despite the fact that he kept singing during sex, but when she woke
up in the morning Michele really wished she'd gone with the
original plan of spending her evening with some microwave popcorn
and a DVD. She'd carefully extricated herself from their spooning
and hid in the bathroom for an hour, trying to will herself not to
take the cowardly way out and sneak out of the apartment before
Aaron woke up.
When he did wake up, beaming, she'd sat on
the edge of his bed and explained that it had been a one-time
"friends with benefits" thing. He'd cried. For ten minutes he'd
sobbed into his pillow about how his heart had been broken a second
time in twenty-four hours, and finally Michele decided that her
best plan of action was to go away.
He kept calling and sending her text
messages and e-mails. He changed his Facebook relationship status
to "It's complicated." She kept trying to explain that she'd lost
herself in the moment and wasn't looking for a boyfriend. Finally,
a week after their night together, she'd gotten completely fed up
with the situation and used the term "pity fuck." He quit calling,
texting, and e-mailing. He changed his Facebook relationship status
to "Single."
Michele felt terrible. She hated losing a
friend.
This morning, after a mildly restless
sleep that came from being nervous about the fact that her period
hadn't started quite yet, she'd awakened feeling sick to her
stomach, rushed into the bathroom, and vomited.
She couldn't be pregnant.
They'd used protection and she was on the pill. One-night-stand pregnancy
came from drunken flings, not pity sex.
She'd prayed to God that it was just food
poisoning. She'd thawed the chicken out on the counter. You weren't
supposed to do that. She knew
"Well, I'm either terrified, or I'm faking it
because I have some sinister plan ready to go into effect. You'd
better hope it's the first one, because I'm really in the mood to
exsanguinate a couple of minor-league thugs and their new
hooker."
"Is that another word that I'm not supposed
to know what it means?"
"What word? Hooker? Surely you know that
one."
"Hey, George, I think you're getting a bit
worked up," said Lou. "Just ignore him."
"Oh, no, he's not getting ignored. Not at
all. There's our exit."
Lou gave him the I knew that look that
George had seen a hundred times. George cracked his knuckles. He
encountered a lot of scumbags in his line of work, but there was
something about Ivan that he truly disliked. He wasn't going to
hurt him, or even touch him, but the werewolf was going to lose the
attitude, no question about it.
This town seemed quite a bit larger
than the last one, although there still wasn't much there. Every
other establishment on Main Street seemed to be an antique shop.
George hated antique shops.
"Find us someplace
isolated," George said. Lou gave him another I knew that look.
It took about a mile and a
couple of turns to find a dirt road with a misspelled sign in green
spray paint that said " No
Tresspassing ." Lou turned onto the road,
and after rounding a corner there was more than enough tree cover
to keep any witnesses from seeing what they were doing from the
paved road.
Lou parked and shut off the engine.
"You ready to talk?" George asked.
Ivan smiled and gave him a thumbs-up sign,
though now his smile seemed kind of forced.
"Please don't cause us any trouble," George
told Michele.
"Please don't damage our investment," she
said.
George grinned and got out of the van.
* * *
Michele's day had started with a pregnancy
scare. She'd thought it would improve from there.
The stick had not turned
blue, thank God. The non-father, Aaron, was the only guy to whom
she'd ever provided pity sex. He'd been so distressed when his girlfriend
broke up with him, and his prospects of landing another girl in a
timely manner were bleak, and Michele wasn't exactly getting it on
a regular basis, so she'd slept with him.
The "during" part had been pretty good,
despite the fact that he kept singing during sex, but when she woke
up in the morning Michele really wished she'd gone with the
original plan of spending her evening with some microwave popcorn
and a DVD. She'd carefully extricated herself from their spooning
and hid in the bathroom for an hour, trying to will herself not to
take the cowardly way out and sneak out of the apartment before
Aaron woke up.
When he did wake up, beaming, she'd sat on
the edge of his bed and explained that it had been a one-time
"friends with benefits" thing. He'd cried. For ten minutes he'd
sobbed into his pillow about how his heart had been broken a second
time in twenty-four hours, and finally Michele decided that her
best plan of action was to go away.
He kept calling and sending her text
messages and e-mails. He changed his Facebook relationship status
to "It's complicated." She kept trying to explain that she'd lost
herself in the moment and wasn't looking for a boyfriend. Finally,
a week after their night together, she'd gotten completely fed up
with the situation and used the term "pity fuck." He quit calling,
texting, and e-mailing. He changed his Facebook relationship status
to "Single."
Michele felt terrible. She hated losing a
friend.
This morning, after a mildly restless
sleep that came from being nervous about the fact that her period
hadn't started quite yet, she'd awakened feeling sick to her
stomach, rushed into the bathroom, and vomited.
She couldn't be pregnant.
They'd used protection and she was on the pill. One-night-stand pregnancy
came from drunken flings, not pity sex.
She'd prayed to God that it was just food
poisoning. She'd thawed the chicken out on the counter. You weren't
supposed to do that. She knew
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