Page 16 of Signed, I'm Yours!
Especially intruders who lie so terribly.
“What the heck are you talking about? I am a CREEP. A Criminal Rites and Evil Egregious Perpatrations agent. An inspector would know what a CREEP is.”
He crosses his arms and scowls.
“I know what a CREEP is. I feel like I’m looking at one.”
“You are.”
He narrows his eyes and stares for a moment.
“What kind of shit do you do, man? As a CREEP, I mean.”
I can definitely see the amusement on his face, and if anything, it makes me feel…giddy. Which, in itself, isn’t unusual. It goes part and parcel with my power, but still. He is a man, and I am, for all intents and purposes, straight, and I don’t often get giddy from making other men laugh. Especially not men like him—small, petite, feminine.
“Well…” I start. “I investigate brutal crimes by superpowered people.”
“And you named your department CREEP? That is…creepy,” he says without missing a beat.
“I didn’t name it! I just work here.”
Jay Walking shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s what a creep would say.”
I laugh again. He’s funny. I don’t know what it is about him, whether it’s his ineptitude with lying or the confidence in which he carries himself even though he’s a terrible intruder, but I’m absolutely and ridiculously hypnotized by him.
At the very least, it’s fun talking to him.
“You’re still an intruder, so if you don’t mind, I’ll get security now.”
He grabs my arm before I can whip my phone out of my pocket, and I stare at his hold on me.
“No, you will not. I’m meant to be here. How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”
“I don’t know.” I chuckle. “Try another hundred times while I call Karen.”
He lets go of me when I use my other hand to take my phone out, and he starts shaking.
“No. I…I don’t know…I’m an inspector, for fuck’s sake. Look!” He signs another Post-it Note, peels it off, and points it at me.
“Why do you keep sign?—”
“Take it.” He lets go of the note, probably expecting I’ll catch it, but it floats to the floor.
Jay Walking growls. He signs another note and, this time, sticks it to my forehead.
“Really?” I ask him, removing it from my face. He pulls at his hair with a shrill scream.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why won’t it work?”
Even in desperation, he’s funny. I kinda hate making him feel this way, but no matter my power, an intruder is an intruder. He’s got to be dealt with.
“Why won’t what work?” I’m a glutton for punishment because, despite everything, I’m still trying to understand what he’s trying to accomplish with the sticky notes.
“Mind your own business,” he barks at me, and I do. I lift my phone to my ear, but he slaps it out of my hand.
“You slapped me.”
“I did.” There’s a sliver of guilt on his face as if he didn’t mean to do that, which is quite funny considering he’s trying to pass himself off as a person with authority.
