had dragged me out to a show, saying I was overwound. We got a bit crazy afterwards – whiskey highballs, beer chasers and salty peanuts – and I was still slumped at the bar when the night shift staff left and the strippers emerged from their dressing rooms looking for a liquid breakfast.
Heart sat on the empty stool next to me and I shoved him right back off. He got up and asked me why I’d done that. I told him I was drinking with my father and it wasn’t polite to sit on his seat.
Anyone else would have written me off for drunk-crazy or just crazy, but Heart pulled up another stool and asked to be introduced to Dad. I told him he not to be a fucking loony and that my father was dead.
He laughed and a half hour later we were in bed.
Course it wasn’t the stupid conversation about my dad that attracted him to me. I worked out pretty quick that it was because I hadn’t shown a single bit of interest in him when we met. When your job is to encourage women to paw at you every night, it’s kind of refreshing when one kicks your chair over. Basic reverse chemistry.
I didn’t overthink what came next. Sure he was attractive – inspiringly, if I stopped to think about it – but I didn’t have any interest in a relationship with a pretty man. Just some way to let off steam and keep me connected to the human race.
The unexpected bonus was that we actually talked well together. In the brief moments before he left, or when he arrived, our conflabs covered the dissolution of individual states, the country’s centralized government and the loss of our welfare system. Heart had an opinion and so did I. We often hit some kind of synchronicity.
“I know it’s been hard,” I said. “But things are better now. You’ve saved some dollar. Maybe you could consider alternatives.”
“What? You don’t like dating a stripper?”
“Is that what this is?” I said surprised by the quaint term. “ Dating ?”
He pulled me towards him so our naked waists touched. “You might have noticed I quite like you. Thought maybe we could spend some time together.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I mean… while we’re vertical.”
“You want to go out on a date?”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “For the novelty.”
I knew I wasn’t being very gracious about it but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. “Wouldn’t that… y’know… ruin things?”
“It might make ’em even better.” He’d started to move against me, his skin moist and hot.
“Can I take it under consideration?”
His smile grew wider and parts of him grew harder. “Always cautious, Virgin.”
Cautious? Like my play against Papa Brise’s men, facing them down to stop a shoot-out. “Yeah,” I said, softly. “That’s me.”
His hands began to move over me. “Let me help you with that particular affliction.”
I reached down between us. “Let me help you with yours.”
Less than an hour later, I was standing at Sixkiller’s door, my post-coital calm waning already. The Marshall was not there or not answering again.
I stomped downstairs and hopped a taxi to the Park. Normally I’d do the bus commute, but as usual I was a step behind my charge.
To pass the travel time, I trawled irritably through my messages, accessing my work ones first. A priority from Bull blinked at me, saying my sector would remain closed while the murder investigation continued.
The message did nothing to improve my mood but Leecey had Benny ready for me when I arrived. My horse snuffled and dribbled in my hand, her whiskers tickling my palm, reminding me I had some good things going on in my life.
“You look exhausted, Virgin,” was Leecey’s opinion as I mounted.
“Where is he?” I asked her.
“The Marshall? Went out about a half hour ago. Said you’d be coming in directly.”
“Directly, huh? Where did he go?”
“Dunno. Totes has got the door locked.”
“What?” I turned to her. Today her hair stood up in a golden-metallic crest,
Heart sat on the empty stool next to me and I shoved him right back off. He got up and asked me why I’d done that. I told him I was drinking with my father and it wasn’t polite to sit on his seat.
Anyone else would have written me off for drunk-crazy or just crazy, but Heart pulled up another stool and asked to be introduced to Dad. I told him he not to be a fucking loony and that my father was dead.
He laughed and a half hour later we were in bed.
Course it wasn’t the stupid conversation about my dad that attracted him to me. I worked out pretty quick that it was because I hadn’t shown a single bit of interest in him when we met. When your job is to encourage women to paw at you every night, it’s kind of refreshing when one kicks your chair over. Basic reverse chemistry.
I didn’t overthink what came next. Sure he was attractive – inspiringly, if I stopped to think about it – but I didn’t have any interest in a relationship with a pretty man. Just some way to let off steam and keep me connected to the human race.
The unexpected bonus was that we actually talked well together. In the brief moments before he left, or when he arrived, our conflabs covered the dissolution of individual states, the country’s centralized government and the loss of our welfare system. Heart had an opinion and so did I. We often hit some kind of synchronicity.
“I know it’s been hard,” I said. “But things are better now. You’ve saved some dollar. Maybe you could consider alternatives.”
“What? You don’t like dating a stripper?”
“Is that what this is?” I said surprised by the quaint term. “ Dating ?”
He pulled me towards him so our naked waists touched. “You might have noticed I quite like you. Thought maybe we could spend some time together.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I mean… while we’re vertical.”
“You want to go out on a date?”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “For the novelty.”
I knew I wasn’t being very gracious about it but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. “Wouldn’t that… y’know… ruin things?”
“It might make ’em even better.” He’d started to move against me, his skin moist and hot.
“Can I take it under consideration?”
His smile grew wider and parts of him grew harder. “Always cautious, Virgin.”
Cautious? Like my play against Papa Brise’s men, facing them down to stop a shoot-out. “Yeah,” I said, softly. “That’s me.”
His hands began to move over me. “Let me help you with that particular affliction.”
I reached down between us. “Let me help you with yours.”
Less than an hour later, I was standing at Sixkiller’s door, my post-coital calm waning already. The Marshall was not there or not answering again.
I stomped downstairs and hopped a taxi to the Park. Normally I’d do the bus commute, but as usual I was a step behind my charge.
To pass the travel time, I trawled irritably through my messages, accessing my work ones first. A priority from Bull blinked at me, saying my sector would remain closed while the murder investigation continued.
The message did nothing to improve my mood but Leecey had Benny ready for me when I arrived. My horse snuffled and dribbled in my hand, her whiskers tickling my palm, reminding me I had some good things going on in my life.
“You look exhausted, Virgin,” was Leecey’s opinion as I mounted.
“Where is he?” I asked her.
“The Marshall? Went out about a half hour ago. Said you’d be coming in directly.”
“Directly, huh? Where did he go?”
“Dunno. Totes has got the door locked.”
“What?” I turned to her. Today her hair stood up in a golden-metallic crest,
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