Hannah didn’t know why, but she felt… warm and relaxed.
It’s like all the tension in my shoulders and back just disappeared! Like I’m getting massaged… Damn, a massage would feel so good right now. I am FLOATING. Eheheh!
“We’re here.” Gordon hit his flashers as he pulled over. “Do you need help carrying him up?”
“Huh?” She glanced at Mac, sound asleep like he was back on the couch in their safe house. “Oh. Uhh…”
Carry Mac… Up? Gordon help? No. He’s Babyboy.
She flexed her arm. “Me strong. Me can carry Mac up myself.”
Gordon chuckled. “Heheh! Alright. Me ’n Suzie Red’ll stick around till you’re safe inside, okay?”
“Thaaank you Gordon!” Hannah undid Mac’s seatbelt and stepped out. She opened Mac’s door and kidnapped her princess. He hung onto Hannah’s shoulder as his face stirred.
Eheheh. Babyboy.
She smiled and rocked him gently as she shut Suzie Red’s door. Coming around Suzie Red’s back bumper, Hannah noticed the stickers on her trunk lid.
Is that crayon? Wow, Gordon must really love his kids if he just lets them slap them on his baby like this. Wonder if having a family is really all that…
Misjudging the step onto the curb, she tripped, but an impulse from her cybernetic spinal cord bailed her out with a cream cheese landing: right in between lard and 1-grit.
Ooh, careful. One thing at a time. Shouldn’t have been checking out Suzie Red’s tramp stamp. What am I, some kind of car pervert? Heheh. Feel good, but I still feel kinda off… Did Rajiv really have to make his smoke bombs pink and smell like stinky mango? Wait… Nah. That can’t be it. Just was a long day. Shit, I could really go for a cup of Darjeeling and some finger sandwiches right now.
Keys. Gate. Vroom! Stairs. Lobby.
Elevator out of order? It’s only five flights of stairs. And Mac’s probably like 165 soaking wet… Eh. More time with Babyboy. What? It’s fate. It can’t be helped! And he’s really cute when he’s tired. She grinned, her eyes glowing brighter than the neon lights of the Quantum Promenade.
Hannah opened the door to the stairwell, taking care not to mash the crash bar. Her heels clicked against the steps like an amateur poker player Oscar-baiting like their dog just died, clacking their chips in mourning while holding pocket aces.
Need to be quieter… Ahh, guess it’s been a while since I hit calves anyways. I’ll just tiptoe.
Pad pad pad. Much better!
She crept up the first flight of stairs.
That could have been the last 15 minutes of our lives back there. Would’ve been a hell of a way to go… A ramen shop quad-cross that went up in a stinky, pink, mango-scented cloud and a hail of bullets? Who thinks of this shit? Rajiv must be Neon Jesus or something.
“Heheh. Neon Jesus,” she whispered.
She crept up the second flight of stairs.
Could have died a legend… But Mac wants to live. Maybe I should be more careful. For him, at least.
She crept up the third flight of stairs. Mac murmured before cuddling closer.
Aww… Babyboy… What is it about him anyways? He can’t fight, he can’t think, he can’t hack, and he can’t drive. He’s just kinda… him. And yet?
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
She crept up the fourth flight of stairs.
He’s full of surprises. Didn’t think he would clean up so well in such a simple suit. Didn’t even wear a tie. Not to mention his monocle… When he stood in as a fake date, he sold it so well… I know the man’s “supposed” to be taller, but he was all I got. Not a lot of guys taller than me, anyways. Who made that stupid rule anyways? I thought love was love? Love? Must be nice.
She crept up the fifth flight of stairs and took them through the hallway door.
My favorite part was when the waitress gave us couple’s menus—WAIT. HE’S REALLY GOOD AT ACTING. WHY DID I NOT NOTICE SOONER? I’m the daughter of a media mogul and an actress forchrissakes! Man, my brain always takes the long way when I’m thinking about him, but tonight? Even more off the pace.
Hannah moonrivered down the hallway until she found a door that looked vaguely like hers.
What is happening to me right now? I swear we went past some units twice.
She checked the apartment number again.
Yeah. Definitely… ours? Mine? Or is that too selfish? Mac can’t go home right now lest he wants to get diced up, freeze-dried, and fed to a billionaire’s pet shark. But on the other hand it’s under my name. But YOU offered to put him up here, Hannah, and it was my fault we crossed paths. Ours. Mine. No. Ours. Sticking to it. Ours.
Unlocking and opening the door, she slid out of her heels and into her favorite pair of Adidas slides.
“Phew.” Fuck me, need to work out more. 165 used to be light work for me. Mac’s cooking is deadly…
She looked at him in her arms and remembered his words: “I’m a light sleeper. Always have been.”
He must be dead tired. Maybe he can have my bed tonight. Wait… It’s big enough for two. I don’t wanna sleep on the couch either. Hmm… Still owe him one from the first time we met. And he also made soup for me when I got sick. So really, I owe him twice. Share? Our safe house. Yeah. Share. To bed!
Pomf! Hannah delivered them to her bed, a cloud of the finest cashmere. Loro Piana, of course.
He still has his shoes and jacket on. Eh. Don’t wanna wake him up. Just look at him! Babyboy… She yawned.
Getting really sleepy now. I should hit the lights.
Reaching over to her nightstand, she grabbed the remote for her bedroom lights and shut them off. She turned back to him and settled into her pillow before shutting her eyes.
I had hella fun tonight Mac. Even if we almost died.
---
Light shone through her closed eyes, and Hannah faded into consciousness. A crack of the day’s first rays peeped through a gap in her blackout curtains. She smacked her mouth. It was unbearably dry.
Why the hell am I so dehydrated? Other than that, I feel fantastic!
Soft breathing. She turned around. A charming man in a wrinkled suit and a borrowed monocle lay on his side comatose, a cousin state to that dead cop who miraculously only took himself out doing 180 in the most ridiculous car crash the world had ever seen, now forever memorialized in the Bay as Crash Out Day, celebrated this year and evermore with a fragrant feast of Indian food, wild, drone-captured, neon-lit sideshows in intersections from Cloverdale to Gilroy, Livermore to San Francisco, and chugging entirely too much mango lassi.
Oh. Babyboy. Babyboy? Wait, why is everything so… pink now?
She pried her eye open with her fingers, tinkering with the aperture of her pupils.
Something’s wrong with my lenses. Knew I should’ve gone for the Infravisions instead. Could’ve seen through the smoke if I had those. These Truthseers have been acting UP lately. Weren’t worth a damn when I tried to read Rajiv. Nothing but issues with them ever since I met—MAC? HE’S IN MY BED?!
Pulling the emergency brake, her thoughts skidded to a stoppie. Kernel panic.
MAC?!?! I don’t remember much after we bailed from the ramen shop. How did we end up here? Why does Babyboy sound so familiar? Babyboy? We’re not even like that yet—yet? Shut up, shut up, shut up YOU STUPID BRAIN!
Her brain complied. For a second, anyway. Long enough for her to think the worst thought she’s ever thought in her 27 years on Earth: But is it really so bad that I like him? He always has my back, he never complains, he cooks meals worthy of three Michelin Stars, he keeps the house spotless, he’s kinda jacked, he’s goddamn funny, AND he’s ADORABLE. I can do waaaaay worse. With that… Is that even logic? Treason? No. Can’t be. If this was self-betrayal, I’d be fighting it right now. But here I am, doing a pros and pros spreadsheet on this perfectly disheveled, stubbly DORK passed out in my bed. My eyes aren’t even working right: they have the shoujo manga filter permanently turned on! But I still FEEL like my analysis is correct. Whatever it is, I can’t argue against it. Hoo boy. Yeah. I guess I’ll be the cliché. Welcome to the club, girl.
Checking him out again, she lit her gaze, her vision melting pink and burning feverishly. She warmly beamed. “He’s such a liar. ‘Light sleeper,’ huh?”
