Page 32 of A Shot in the Dark
I clean the knuckles on the hand he plowed into Fireplug’s face, suggesting, “It doesn’t look too bad…”
“One of the perks of being me.”
Seated across from him at the room’s tiny table, I watch him wolf down more food than I’ve ever seen a man eat in a single sitting. “How do you not explode?” I marvel.
“Hollow leg.” He chuckles. “Don’t worry—I’m sure you’ll work it all back off of me soon enough. Actually…” He tilts his head, looking at me thoughtfully. “Your schedule’s changed.”
“Has it…?”
“Definitely. By now you would have clawed your way across me at least another two times.” He squints at me. “How do you feel?”
“Nice. Cozy, but calm.”
“Not ready to go roaming in search of random dick?”
I nearly choke. “No. God. I was really that bad, wasn’t I?”
“The worst,” he volunteers, throwing a piece of sausage at me.
“Hey!”
“Hey yourself.”
I return fire, launching tiny cubes of perfectly grilled potatoes at him and we demolish the rest of our meals in grand melee fashion before collapsing onto the floor in laughter.
This is a Boots I’ve never seen before, a soldier finally at ease.
I like it. I know I’m not supposed to—it’s all temporary. He’s just my driver. Delivering me to safety. But there’s something here, something about him that’s gotten firmly under my skin.
I’m still sitting on the scuzziest floor in the universe, leaning back against Boots when I mention “You twitch in your sleep,” in the most normal way I can.
“You snore.”
“I donot.”
“Do, too.” He laughs. “It’s this weird, high-pitched noise… It’s not natural. Not right.”
I smack at his arm then wind it around me.
“Guess you have to have one flaw, though,” he says into the top of my head.
I turn to nibble at his jaw. “You talk in your sleep, too.”
His eyes flash, catching and holding mine. Worry sparkles within them. “Can you make out any words?”
“No.”
“Okay,” he sounds reassured. “The twitching, the talking? The nightmares? They happen with people who’ve seen what I’ve seen.”
My fingers stroke the back of his hand. “You can tell me about it.”
“No, precious.” He lifts my hand to pet along the side of his stubbly jaw. “I most certainly cannot.”
A sigh escapes me. “I like that: precious.” I regain control of my hand and take his, running my fingers along each of his.
He shifts beneath me. “Don’t do that unless you want to head right back to bed…”
As tempting as the offer is, I stop. “You growl,” I add as lightly as I can.
