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96harmony96 · 3 years

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Chapter one.

“We should head to a bar and celebrate.”

I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic pronouncement. Cary Taylor found excuses to celebrate, no matter how small and inconsequential. I’d always considered it part of his charm. “I’m sure drinking the night before starting a new job is a bad idea.”

“Come on, camila.” Cary sat on our new living room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and flashed his winning smile. We’d been unpacking for days, yet he still looked amazing. Leanly built, dark-haired, and green-eyed, Cary was a man who rarely looked anything less than absolutely gorgeous on any day of his life. I might have resented that if he hadn’t been the dearest person on earth to me.

“I’m not talking about a bender,” he insisted. “Just a glass of wine or two. We can hit a happy hour and be in by eight.”

“I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time.” I gestured at my yoga pants and fitted workout tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit the gym.”

“Walk fast, work out faster.” Cary’s perfectly executed arched brow made me laugh. I fully expected his million-dollar face to appear on billboards and fashion magazines all over the world one day. No matter his expression, he was a knockout.

“How about tomorrow after work?” I offered as a substitute. “If I make it through the day, that’ll be worth celebrating.”

“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for dinner.”

“Uh…” Cooking was one of Cary’s joys, but it wasn’t one of his talents. “Great.”

Blowing a wayward strand of hair off his face, he grinned at me. “We’ve got a kitchen most restaurants would kill for. There’s no way to screw up a meal in there.”

Dubious, I headed out with a wave, choosing to avoid a conversation about cooking. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the doorman when he let me out to the street with a flourish.

The moment I stepped outside, the smells and sounds of Manhattan embraced me and invited me to explore. I was not merely across the country from my former home in San Diego, but seemingly worlds away. Two major metropolises—one endlessly temperate and sensually lazy, the other teeming with life and frenetic energy. In my dreams, I’d imagining living in a walkup in Brooklyn, but being a dutiful daughter, I found myself on the Upper West Side instead. If not for Cary living with me, I would’ve been miserably lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more per month than most people made in a year.

The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss Cabello. Will you need a cab this evening?”

“No thanks, Paul.” I rocked onto the rounded heels of my fitness shoes. “I’ll be walking.”

He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this afternoon. Should be nice.”

“I’ve been told I should enjoy the June weather before it gets wicked hot.”

“Very good advice, Miss Cabello.”

Stepping out from under the modern glass entrance overhang that somehow meshed with the age of the building and its neighbors, I enjoyed the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I reached the bustle and flow of traffic on Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right in, but for now I still felt like a fraudulent New Yorker. I had the address and the job, but I was still wary of the subway and had trouble hailing cabs. I tried not to walk around wide-eyed and distracted, but it was hard. There was just so much to see and experience.

The sensory input was astonishing—the smell of vehicle exhaust mixed with food from vendor carts, the shouts of hawkers blended with music from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of

faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders…And the cars. Jesus Christ. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was unlike anything I’d ever seen anywhere.

There was always an ambulance, patrol car, or fire engine trying to part the flood of yellow taxis with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. I was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigated tiny one-way streets and the package delivery drivers who braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic while facing rigid deadlines.

Real New Yorkers cruised right through it all, their love for the city as comfortable and familiar as a favorite pair of shoes. They didn’t view the steam billowing from potholes and vents in the sidewalks with romantic delight and they didn’t blink an eye when the ground vibrated beneath their feet as the subway roared by below, while I grinned like an idiot and flexed my toes. New York was a brand new love affair for me. I was starry-eyed and it showed.

So I had to really work at playing it cool as I made my way over to the building where I would be working. As far as my job went, at least, I’d gotten my way. I wanted to make a living based on my own merits and that meant an entry-level position. Starting the next morning, I would be the assistant to Mark Garrity at Waters Field & Leaman, one of the preeminent advertising agencies in the US. My stepfather, mega-financier Richard Stanton, had been annoyed when I took the job, pointing out that if I’d been less prideful I could’ve worked for a friend of his instead and reaped the benefits of that connection.

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” he’d said. “It’ll take him forever to pay off your student loans on a cop’s salary.”

That had been a major fight, with my dad unwilling to back down. “Hell if another man’s gonna pay for my daughter’s education,” Alejandro Cabello had said when Stanton made the offer. I respected that. I suspected Stanton did, too, although he would never admit it. I understood both men’s sides, because I’d fought to pay off the loans myself…and lost. It was a point of pride for my father.

My mother had refused to marry him, but he’d never wavered from his determination to be my dad in every way possible.

Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, I focused on getting to work as quickly as possible. I’d deliberately chosen to clock the short trip during a busy time on a Monday, so I was pleased when I reached the Crossfire Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman, in less than thirty minutes.

I tipped my head back and followed the line of the building all the way up to the slender ribbon of sky. The Crossfire was seriously impressive, a sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds. I knew from my previous interviews that the interior on the other side of the ornate copper-framed revolving doors was just as awe-inspiring, with golden-veined marble floors and walls, and brushed aluminum security desk and turnstiles.

I pulled my new ID card out of the inner pocket of my pants and held it up for the two guards in black business suits at the desk. They stopped me anyway, no doubt because I was majorly underdressed, but then they cleared me through. After I completed an elevator ride up to the twentieth floor, I’d have a general time frame for the whole route from door to door. Score.

I was walking toward the bank of elevators when a svelte, beautifully groomed brunette caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it, spilling a deluge of change. Coins rained onto the marble and rolled merrily away, and I watched people dodge the chaos and keep going as if they didn’t see it. I winced in sympathy and crouched to help the woman collect her money, as did one of the guards.

“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick harried smile.

I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.”

I’d just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the entrance when I ran into a pair of luxurious black oxfords draped in tailored black slacks. I waited for a beat for the person to move out of my way and when they didn’t, I arched my neck back to allow my line of sight to rise. The custom three-piece suit hit more than a few of my hot buttons, but it was the tall, powerfully lean body inside it that made it sensational. Still, as hot as all that magnificent maleness was, it wasn’t until I reached the person's face that I went down for the count.

Wow. Just…wow. She sank into an elegant crouch directly in front of me. Hit with all that exquisite femininity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned.

Then something shifted in the air between us.

As she stared back, she altered…as if a shield slid away from her eyes, revealing a scorching force of will that sucked the air from my lungs. The intense magnetism she exuded grew in strength, becoming a near tangible impression of vibrant and unrelenting power.

Reacting purely on instinct, I shifted backward. And sprawled flat on my ass.

My elbows throbbed from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I scarcely registered the pain. I was too preoccupied with staring, riveted by the woman in front of me. Inky black hair shoulder length framed a breathtaking face. Her bone structure would make a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched mouth, a blade of a nose, and intensely Emerald green eyes made her savagely gorgeous. Those eyes narrowed slightly, her features otherwise schooled into impassivity.

Her dress shirt and suit were both black, but her tie perfectly matched those brilliant irises. Her eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored into me. My heartbeat quickened; my lips parted to accommodate faster breaths. she smelled sinfully good. Not cologne. Body wash, maybe. Or shampoo. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering, as was she.

she held out a hand to me, exposing onyx cufflinks and a very expensive-looking watch.

With a shaky inhalation, I placed my hand in hers. My pulse leaped when her grip tightened. Her touch was electric, sending a shock up my arm that raised the hairs on my nape. she didn’t move for a moment, a frown line marrying the space between arrogantly slashed brows.

“Are you all right?”

Her voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach flutter. It brought sex to mind. Extraordinary sex. I thought for a moment that she might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough.

My lips were dry, so I licked them before answering. “I’m fine.”

she stood with economical grace, pulling me up with her. We maintained eye contact because I was unable to look away. she was younger than I’d assumed at first. Younger than thirty would be my guess, but her eyes were much worldlier. Hard and sharply intelligent.

I felt drawn to her, as if a rope bound my waist and she was slowly, inexorably pulling it.

Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released her. she wasn’t just beautiful; she was…enthralling. she was the kind of woman that made a person want to rip her shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions. I looked at her in her civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking.

she bent down and retrieved the ID card I hadn’t realized I’d dropped, freeing me from that provocative gaze. My brain stuttered back into gear.

I was irritated with myself for feeling so awkward while she was so completely self-possessed. And why? Because I was dazzled, damn it.

she glanced up at me and the pose—she's nearly kneeling before me—skewed my equilibrium again. she held my gaze as she rose. “Are you sure you’re alright? You should sit down for a minute.”

My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful woman I’d ever met. “I just lost my balance. I’m okay.”

Looking away, I caught sight of the woman who’d dumped the contents of her purse. She thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned to approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her and held out the handful of coins I’d collected, but her gaze snagged on the god in the suit and she promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just reached over and dumped the change into the woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the woman again, finding her watching me even as the brunette gushed thank-yous. To her. Not to me, of course, the one who’d actually helped.

I talked over her. “May I have my badge, please?”

she offered it back to me. Although I made an effort to retrieve it without touching her, her fingers brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness into me all over again.

“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting her and pushing out to the street through the revolving door. I paused on the sidewalk, gulping in a breath of New York air redolent with a million different things, some good and some toxic.

There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of the building and I saw my reflection in the spotless limo tinted windows. I was flushed and my brown eyes were overly bright. I’d seen that look on my face before—in the bathroom mirror just before I went to bed with a man. It was my I’m-ready-to-fuck look and it had absolutely no business being on my face now.

Christ. Get a grip.

Five minutes with Miss. Dark and Dangerous, and I was filled with an edgy, restless energy. I could still feel the pull of her, the inexplicable urge to go back inside where she was. I could make the argument that I hadn’t finished what I’d come to the Crossfire to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for it later. How many times was I going to make an ass of myself in one day?

“Enough,” I scolded myself under my breath. “Moving on.”

Horns blared as one cab darted in front of another with only inches to spare and then slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians stepped into the intersection seconds before the light changed. Shouting ensued, a barrage of expletives and hand gestures that didn’t carry real anger behind them. In seconds all the parties would forget the exchange, which was just one beat in the natural tempo of the city.

As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set off toward the gym, a smile teased my mouth. Ah, New York, I thought, feeling settled again. You rock.

I’d planned on warming up on a treadmill, then capping off the hour with a few of the machines, but when I saw that a beginners’ kickboxing class was about to start, I followed the mass of waiting students into that instead. By the time it was over, I felt more like myself. My muscles quivered with the perfect amount of fatigue and I knew I’d sleep hard when I crashed later.

“You did really well.”

I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel and looked at the young man who spoke to me. Lanky and sleekly muscular, he had keen brown eyes and flawless café au lait skin. His lashes were enviably thick and long, while his head was shaved bald.

“Thank you.” My mouth twisted ruefully. “Pretty obvious it was my first time, huh?”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Parker Smith.”

“Camila Cabello.”

“You have a natural grace, camila. With a little training you could be a literal knockout. In a city like New York, knowing self-defense is imperative.” He gestured over to a corkboard hung on the wall. It was covered in thumbtacked business cards and fliers. Tearing off a flag from the bottom of a fluorescent sheet of paper, he held it out to me. “Ever heard of Krav Maga?”

“In a Jennifer Lopez movie.”

“I teach it, and I’d love to teach you. That’s my website and the number to the studio.”

I admired his approach. It was direct, like his gaze, and his smile was genuine. I’d wondered if he was angling toward a pickup, but he was cool enough about it that I couldn’t be sure.

Parker crossed his arms, which showed off cut biceps. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and long shorts. His Converse sneakers looked comfortably beat up and tribal tattoos peeked up from his collar. “My website has the hours. You should come by and watch, see if it’s for you.”

“I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Do that.” He extended his hand again, and his grip was solid and confident. “I hope to see you.”

The apartment smelled fabulous when I got back home and Adele was crooning soulfully through the surround sound speakers about chasing pavements. I looked across the open floor plan into the kitchen and saw Cary swaying to the music while stirring something on the range. There was an open bottle of wine on the counter and two goblets, one of which was half-filled with red wine.

“Hey,” I called out as I got closer. “Whatcha cooking? And do I have time for a shower first?”

He poured wine into the other goblet and slid it across the breakfast bar to me, his movements practiced and elegant. No one would know from looking at him that he’d spent his childhood bouncing between his drug-addicted mother and foster homes, followed by adolescence in juvenile detention facilities and state-run rehabs. “Pasta with meat sauce. And hold the shower, dinner’s ready. Have fun?”

“Once I got to the gym, yeah.” I pulled out one of the teakwood barstools and sat. I told him about the kickboxing class and Parker Smith. “Wanna go with me?”

“Krav Maga?” Cary shook his head. “That’s hardcore. I’d get all bruised up and that would cost me jobs. But I’ll go with you to check it out, just in case this guy’s a wack.”

I watched him dump the pasta into a waiting colander. “A wack, huh?”

My dad had taught me to read guys pretty well, which was how I’d known the god in the suit was trouble. Regular people offered token smiles when they helped someone, just to make a momentary connection that smoothed the way.

Then again, I hadn’t smiled at him either.

“Baby girl,” Cary said, pulling bowls out of the cupboard, “you’re a sexy, stunning woman. I question any man who doesn’t have the balls to ask you outright for a date.”

I wrinkled my nose at him.

He set a bowl in front of me. It contained tiny tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy tomato sauce with lumps of ground beef and peas. “You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”

Hmm…I caught the handle of the spoon sticking out of the bowl and decided not to comment on the food. “I think I ran into the hottest person on the planet today. Maybe the hottest woman in the history of the world.”

“Oh? I thought that was me. Do tell me more.” Cary stayed on the other side of the counter, preferring to stand and eat.

I watched him take a couple bites of his own concoction before I felt brave enough to try it myself. “Not much to tell, really. I ended up sprawled on my ass in the lobby of the Crossfire and she gave me a hand up.”

“Tall or short? Blond or dark? Built or lean? Eye color?”

I washed down my second bite with some wine. “Tall. Dark. Lean and built. green eyes. Filthy rich, judging by her clothes and accessories. And she was insanely sexy. You know how it is—some hot people don’t make your hormones go crazy, while some unattractive people have massive sex appeal. This woman had it all.”

My belly fluttered as it had when Dark and Dangerous touched me. In my mind, I remembered her breathtaking face with crystal clarity. It should be illegal for a woman to be that mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying of my brain cells.

Cary set his elbow on the counter and leaned in, his long bangs covering one vibrant green eye. “So what happened after she helped you up?”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I left.”

“What? You didn’t flirt with her?”

I took another bite. Really, the meal wasn’t bad. Or else I was just starving. “she wasn’t the kind of girl you flirt with, Cary.”

“There is no such thing as a girl you can’t flirt with. Even the happily married ones enjoy a little harmless flirtation now and then.”

“There was nothing harmless about this girl,” I said dryly.

“Ah, one of those.” Cary nodded sagely. “Bad boys and girls can be fun, if you don’t get too close.”

Of course he would know; men and women of all ages fell at his feet. Still, he somehow managed to pick the wrong partner every time. He’d dated stalkers, and cheaters, and lovers who threatened to kill themselves over him, and lovers with significant others they didn’t tell him about…Name it, he’d been through it.

“I can’t see this woman ever being fun,” I said. “she was way too intense. Still, I bet she'd be awesome in the sack with all that intensity.”

“Now you’re talking. Forget the real person. Just use ther face in your fantasies and make them perfect there.”

Preferring to get the girl out of my head altogether, I changed the subject. “You have any go-sees tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Cary launched into the details of his schedule, mentioning a jeans advertisement, self-tanner, underwear, and cologne.

I shoved everything else out of my mind and focused on him and his growing success. The demand for Cary Taylor was increasing by the day, and he was building a reputation with photographers and accounts for being both professional and prompt. I was thrilled for him and so proud. He’d come a long way and been through so much.

It wasn’t until after dinner that I noticed the two large gift boxes propped against the side of the sectional sofa.

“What are those?”

“Those,” Cary said, joining me in the living room, “are the ultimate.”

I knew immediately they were from Stanton and my mom. Money was something my mother needed to be happy and I was glad Stanton, husband #3, was not only able to fill that need for her but all her many others as well. I often wished that could be the end of it, but my mom had a difficult time accepting that I didn’t view money the same way she did. “What now?”

He threw his arm around my shoulders, easy enough for him to do because he was taller by five inches. “Don’t be ungrateful. He loves your mom. He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves spoiling you. As much as you don’t like it, he doesn’t do it for you. He does it for her.”

Sighing, I conceded his point. “What are they?”

“Glam threads for the advocacy center’s fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshell dress for you and a Brioni tux for me, because buying gifts for me is what he does for you. You’re more tolerant if you have me around to listen to you bitch.”

“Damn straight. Thank God he knows that.”

“Of course he knows. Stanton wouldn’t be a bazillionaire if he didn’t know everything.” Cary caught my hand and tugged me over. “Come on. Take a look.”

I pushed through the revolving door of the Crossfire into the lobby ten minutes before nine the next morning. Wanting to make the best impression on my first day, I’d gone with a simple sheath dress paired with black pumps that I slid on in replacement of my walking shoes on the elevator ride up. My brown hair was twisted up in an artful chignon that resembled a figure eight, courtesy of Cary. I was hair-inept, but he could create styles that were glamorous masterpieces. I wore the small pearl studs my dad had given me as a graduation gift and the Rolex from Stanton and my mother.

I had begun to think I’d put too much care into my appearance, but as I stepped into the lobby I remembered being sprawled across the floor in my workout clothes and I was grateful I didn’t look anything like that graceless girl. The two security guards didn’t seem to put two and two together when I flashed them my ID card on the way to the turnstiles.

Twenty floors later, I was exiting into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman. Before me was a wall of bulletproof glass that framed the double-door entrance to the reception area. The receptionist at the crescent-shaped desk saw the badge I held up to the glass. She hit the button that unlocked the doors as I put my ID away.

“Hi, Megumi,” I greeted her when I stepped inside, admiring her cranberry-colored blouse. She was mixed race, a little bit Asian for sure, and very pretty. Her hair was dark and thick, and cut into a sleek bob that was shorter in the back and razor sharp in the front. Her sloe eyes were brown and warm, and her lips were full and naturally pink.

“camila, hi. Mark’s not in yet, but you know where you’re going, right?”

“Absolutely.” With a wave, I took the hallway to the left of the reception desk all the way to the end, where I made another left turn and ended up in a formerly open space now partitioned into cubicles. One was mine and I went straight to it.

I dropped my purse and the bag holding my walking flats into the bottom drawer of my utilitarian metal desk; then booted up my computer. I’d brought a couple of things to personalize my space and I pulled them out. One was a framed collage of three photos—me and Cary on Coronado beach, my mom and Stanton on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on duty in his City of Oceanside, California, police cruiser. The other item was a colorful arrangement of glass flowers that Cary had given me just that morning as a “first day” gift. I tucked it beside the small grouping of photos, and sat back to take in the effect.

“Good morning, Camila.”

I pushed to my feet to face my boss. “Good morning, Mr. Garrity.”

“Call me Mark, please. Come on over to my office.”

I followed him across the strip of hallway, once again thinking that my new boss was very easy to look at with his gleaming dark skin, trim goatee, and laughing brown eyes. Mark had a square jaw and a charmingly crooked smile. He was trim and fit, and he carried himself with a confident poise that inspired trust and respect.

He gestured at one of the two seats in front of his glass and chrome desk, and waited until I sat to settle into his Aeron chair. Against the backdrop of sky and skyscrapers, Mark looked accomplished and powerful. He was, in fact, just a junior account manager and his office was a closet compared to the ones occupied by the directors and executives, but no one could fault the view.

He leaned back and smiled. “Did you get settled into your new apartment?”

I was surprised he remembered, but I appreciated it, too. I’d met him during my second interview and liked him right away.

“For the most part,” I answered. “Still a few stray boxes here and there.”

“You moved from San Diego, right? Nice city, but very different from New York. Do you miss the palm trees?”

“I miss the dry air. The humidity here is taking some getting used to.”

“Wait ’til summer hits.” He smiled. “So…it’s your first day and you’re my first assistant, so we’ll have to figure this out as we go. I’m not used to delegating, but I’m sure I’ll pick it up quick.”

I was instantly at ease. “I’m eager to be delegated to.”

“Having you around is a big step up for me, Camila. I’d like you to be happy working here. Do you drink coffee?”

“Coffee is one of my major food groups.”

“Ah, an assistant after my own heart.” His smile widened. “I’m not going to ask you to fetch coffee for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you helped me figure out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers they just put in the break rooms.”

I grinned. “No problem.”

“How sad is it that I don’t have anything else for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Why don’t I show you the accounts I’m working on and we’ll go from there?”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mark touched bases with two clients and had a long meeting with the creative team working on concept ideas for a trade school. It was a fascinating process seeing firsthand how the various departments picked up the baton from each other to carry a campaign from proposition to fruition. I might’ve stayed late just to get a better feel of the layout of the offices, but my phone rang at ten minutes to five.

“Mark Garrity’s office. Camila Cabello speaking.”

“Get your ass home so we can go out for the drink you rain-checked on yesterday.”

Cary’s mock sternness made me smile. “All right, all right. I’m coming.”

Shutting down my computer, I cleared out. When I reached the bank of elevators, I pulled out my cell to text a quick “on my way” note to Cary. A ding alerted me to which car was stopping on my floor and I moved over to stand in front of it, briefly returning my attention to hitting the send button. When the doors opened, I took a step forward. I glanced up to watch where I was going and green eyes met mine. My breath caught.

The sex god was the lone occupant.

#camren #lauren jauregay #lauren jauregui #fantasy #fanfic #camila coelho

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isitmadness · 4 years

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A Handsome Stranger

summary: Driving 1,300 miles in a truck with a complete stranger. This will be fine. This was what desperation will get you. Desperation and something akin to love-at-first-sight.

relationships: Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

words: 1.4k

a/n: I liked the idea of these two idiots on a road trip in an AU/modern setting, so I wrote one. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I've made part of their trip before, but not all, so please forgive inaccuracies as I don't live on the west coast of the US. Google was my friend. Also, other characters will come in later.

Read it on ao3

Part 1: A Handsome Stranger at the Airport

At first glance, the man looked stuffy and fussy, standing there in his tan slacks, collared shirt and blue sweater. Cody watched with some interest as he animatedly spoke with the agent behind the counter. He gestured throughout the conversation, but to his credit, he never once raised his voice.That was a rarity in the airport.

Cody couldn’t quite make out what the man was saying from his vantage point, but it seemed the day was not going his way—his posture, tired and defeated. He laughed to himself when the auburn-haired man bent forward and laid his forehead on the desk. As Cody got closer, the agent leaned over the counter, he heard her ask the man if he was okay. “Sir? Sir...are you all right? As I’ve said, there’s nothing I can do for you. I do apologize.” The man picked up his head and groaned. Cody stood at the opposite end of the counter and waited.

“Yes, you have said. I understand. I’ll just be going then.” Was that a...Scottish accent? Or some English-Scottish hybrid. Cody couldn’t quite tell, but he’d be happy to listen to the man read the phonebook. He continued to watch as he knelt and picked up his bag and an old, battered suitcase. The man and the suitcase both looked like they had seen some better days. Cody was starting to feel rather bad for the guy.

He found his feet moving seemingly of their own volition towards the redhead who was heading to the exit rather quickly.

Right before he stepped through the sliding glass doors, Cody reached out and grabbed the elbow of his sweater. The man stopped and spun around, eyes wide. Cody held up his hands in an apology. “Sorry! Sorry…” And Cody himself froze. Fair and freckled skin, bright blue eyes combined with the auburn hair and neat auburn beard made him quite the handsome specimen.

“Can I help you?” The simple question brought Cody back down to Earth. He was a bit concerned at how easily he lost himself.

“I, uh...sorry...I overheard you talking to the agent over there.” Cody hooked a thumb over his shoulder back towards the counter. “You seem to have a problem, and I was going to see if I could help?”

The man’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Cody wanted to laugh, but he kept a straight face. “You what?”

“I what what?” Cody repeated. He winced. Smooth.

“You want to help me? I don’t understand. You don’t know me or know anything about me.” The man lifted an eyebrow, looking skeptical. But then his face softened and he leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “I could be a murderer, you know.”

At that Cody barked a short laugh. “You? I find that very hard to believe.” Cody crossed his arms over his chest.

“But that’s what I want you to believe, that’s what makes me good,” the man straightened up and honestly looked quite proud of himself. The little shit.

“Okay, well let’s say I live dangerously and am willing to help a murderer, where are you headed?” The man visibly slumped and looked more like he did back at the counter. This man was no murderer, he was too tired to murder.

“Well, I was trying to get home to Seattle,” he started. “And it’s a really long story, but I missed my flight and it seems I’m shit out of luck here on renting a vehicle. Seattle isn’t exactly next door, you know.”

“It’s not?” Cody already felt comfortable being sarcastic with the guy.

The man chuckled. “No, crazy, right?”

Cody couldn’t believe the luck, but was also a bit dubious about how well this was working out. “You may find this hard to believe, but I am moving to Bremerton, to work on the naval base there. I can give you a ride in my moving truck.”

At this the man’s eyes widened, “No shit?”

“No shit.”

He narrowed them again. Cody couldn’t help but notice how expressive he was. “So, you, some random guy in an airport, happens to overhear my struggles, and doesn’t ignore them, but instead comes over and offers to haul my ass nearly 1,300 miles up the west coast? Are you pulling my leg?”

Cody huffed a laugh, “Look, I barely believe it myself.”

“And you just happened to be going to nearly the same place?” The man finally dropped his bag and put his hands on his hips. Cody nodded. He stood still while the man weighed his options, stroking his beard, deep in thought. In the few minutes Cody knew this man, he seemed so young and so old simultaneously. He would put his age at 35, tops, but he had a feeling he could be even younger—he was just hiding it behind the beard.

“Okay,” the man finally said. He put a single finger in the air, “But I insist on paying for gas, miles, food, whatever you need. This is an incredibly generous offer, and I can’t pretend I understand why you’re willing to do this for someone you don’t know, but it’s the least I can do.”

“Well then,” Cody stuck out a hand and the man grasped it to shake. “It’s a deal.”

“Deal,” the man replied. He knelt down again to pick up his bag. “Oh, and the name’s Ben. Ben Kenobi.”

Cody smiled back, “Cody Fett.”

“Nice to meet you, Cody Fett,” Ben said with a bright smile. “I’ll follow your lead.”

###

Ben followed Cody to the parking lot, two or three steps behind the entire way. He might have made the murderer joke, but he didn’t know if this Cody Fett actually was one, so he preferred to keep his eyes on the stranger the entire time. His gut, however, told him Cody was all right, and his gut was rarely wrong.

He really still couldn’t get over a perfect (and handsome!) stranger offering help such as this. There had to be a catch. He’d figure it out—there was always a catch.

In the meantime, he could at least appreciate watching the man as he walked. He had incredible posture, quite unlike Ben, and carried himself well. It also didn’t hurt that he was extremely easy on the eyes with his dark skin, warm, brown eyes and short black hair that looked like it would curl if it were any longer. Not to mention the hooked scar around his left eye, which Ben thought added character. He was already convinced the trip would be bearable.

“Alright, here we are,” Cody stopped in front of a large, yellow truck with a smaller pickup truck attached to the back for towing.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Ben started as Cody unlocked the driver’s side door. “If you’ve got your trucks here, and I’m assuming all your things inside, why were you at the airport? Perusing the rental counters for your next victim?”

“Wait, I thought you were the murderer?” Cody grinned. “We can’t both be one.”

“Why not? Think of the story’s possibilities! Each one of us thinks that the other is, but no!, that can’t be because we’re making jokes about it, so we’re obviously kidding, but really BOTH of us are and somehow we’ve already tricked the other into believing it’s not possible. It’s the perfect setup.”

Cody just stood there and stared at Ben. “Right. I didn’t want to pay for all the gas on this monster alone, so I hung out at the rental counter until I found the first sucker who happened to be going my way so I could make them foot half the bill.” And he gave Ben a wink.

Ben finally broke into a laugh. “Oh, that’s good. You’re clever.”

Cody shook his head, “Alright, well, get in. You can put your things behind the seats, there’s plenty of room. I’ll get in and unlock the door for you.”

Ben walked around to the passenger side and waited for Cody to open the door. He handed Cody his overnight bag and his embarrassingly ratty suitcase, and hoisted himself into the cab. Cody busied himself packing Ben’s things while Ben had a moment of panic as he realized just how crazy this thing was he was about to do.

Driving 1,300 miles, from San Diego to Seattle, in a truck with a complete stranger. This will be fine. This was what desperation will get you. Desperation and something akin to love-at-first-sight. Anakin was going to give him such a hard time when he found out. (And Ben would have to tell him at some point.)

Cody started the truck and looked over at Ben, “You ready then?”

Ben sighed and smiled, “You bet.”

#my writing #fanfic #star wars #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #codywan #fluff #mutual pining #so much pining #like you guys....get a handle on yourselves #road trip #road trip au #modern setting #obi wan x cody

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allcitycabs123 · 3 years

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aonecab55 · 4 years

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We excel in punctuality and professionalism. Our mission is to make sure all our clients are transported, safely, comfortably, and in style.We provide prearrangement pick up and drop off services throughout San Diego, Riverside, and LA County. A-1 Cab is the best taxi service in Escondido. Visit our website- http://aonecab.com . call us-760-747-8888

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qasgroupcallcenter-blog · 4 years

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rentalgoose · 5 years

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You’ve made a playlist for all of Lafayette But you can’t do Picasso, I bet! Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso

Challenge accepted.

P - “Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads

A - “And Then There Were None” from Spring Awakening

B - “Boyish” by Japanese Breakfast

L - “Lonely Boy” by The Black Keys

O - “Old Yellow Bricks” by Arctic Monkeys

D - “DESTROYA” by My Chemical Romance

I - “I Wanna Get Better” by Bleachers

E - “Empire (Let Them Sing)” by Bring Me The Horizon

G - “Gives You Hell” by All-American Rejects

O - “Oops...I Did It Again” by Britney Spears

J - “Julie (Come Out Of the Rain)” by Josh Rouse

O - “Oh My God” by Hotel Mira

S - “Some Boys” by Death Cab for Cutie

E - “Every Other Freckle” by alt-J

F - “Family Friend” by The Vaccines

R - “Rut” by The Killers

A - “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” by Hozier

N - “Need” by Pinegrove

C - “Crazy Feeling” by Lou Reed

I - “I Got You Babe” by Bahamas

S - “Steadier Footing” by Death Cab for Cutie

C - “Cute Without The ‘E’” by Taking Back Sunday

O - “Old Friends” by Pinegrove

D - “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac

E - “Electric Chapel” by Lady Gaga

P - “Peach Pit” by Peach Pit

A - “Anna Molly” by Incubus

U - “ultimately” by khai dreams

L - “Lone Star” by The Front Bottoms

A - “Arsonist’s Lullabye” by Hozier

J - “Just One Yesterday” by Fall Out Boy

U - “Untouched” by The Veronicas

A - “A Musical” from Something Rotten

N - “No Shows” by Gerard Way

N - “Not Me” by Peach Pit

E - “Ever Since New York” by Harry Styles

P - “Poison Oak” by Bright Eyes

O - “Old Money” by Lana del Rey

M - “My Blood” by Twenty One Pilots

U - “Undercover Martyn” by Two Door Cinema

C - “Crying Lightning” by Arctic Monkeys

E - “Empty Gold” by Halsey

N - “Normal Song” by Perfume Genius

O - “Osama Bin Laden As The Crucified Christ” by Against Me!

M - “Misery” by Creeper

A - “A World Alone” by Lorde

R - “Random Number Generation” from Hedwig & The Angry Inch

I - “Inbetween Days” by The Cure

A - “All Is Full Of Love” by Death Cab for Cutie

D - “Drop the Guillotine” by Peach Pit

E - “Extraordinary Girl / Letterbomb” by Green Day

L - “Lisztomania” by Phoenix

O - “O Valencia!” by The Decemberists

S - “Smile Like You Mean It” by The Killers

R - “Running With The Wolves” by AURORA

E - “Eye Of The Tiger” by Foreigner

M - “Marigold” by Mother Falcon

E - “Echo” by Kevin Abstract

D - “Dead Man’s Hand” by Lord Huron

I - “i wanna be your girlfriend” by girl in red

O - “Ohio Is For Lovers” by Hawthorne Heights

S - “Summer, Highland Falls” by Billy Joel

C - “Creature” by It Looks Sad.

I - “I Fall In Love Too Easily” by Chet Baker

P - “Pink Stallion” by Mother Falcon

R - “Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)” by Florence + The Machine

I - “It’s hard to get around the wind” by Alex Turner

A - “About You” by San Cisco

N - “No One’s Gonna Love You” by Band of Horses

O - "O Children" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

D - “Drunk Kid Catholic” by Bright Eyes

E - "Easy Target" by blink-182

L - “Love Of My Life” by Queen

A - “Alrighty Aphrodite” by Peach Pit

S - “Something Wild” by Radiator Hospital

A - “AMBULANCE” by My Chemical Romance

N - “No Light, No Light” by Florence + The Machine

T - “The Secret Society” by Creeper

I - “In A Week” by Hozier & Karen Crowley

S - “Somebody Else” by The Front Bottoms

I - “It’s A Trip!” by Joywave

M - “Mariners Apartment Complex” by Lana del Rey

A - “All I Want” by Kodaline

T - “Tennesee” by P.S. Eliot

R - “R.I.P 2 My Youth” by The Neighbourhood

I - “Intruxx” by Glass Animals

N - “Never Going Home” by Hazel English

I - “I Don’t Love You” by My Chemical Romance

D - “Death Cup” by Mom Jeans.

A - “A Drop In The Ocean” by Ron Pope

D - “Dry Food” by Palehound

R - “R U Mine?” by Arctic Monkeys

U - “Unbelievers” by Vampire Weekend

I - “Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls

Z - “Zombie” by The Cranberries

Y - “Young Turks” by Rod Stewart

P - “Pools” by Glass Animals

I - “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” by My Chemical Romance

C - “California” by Rufus Wainwright

A - “A Decade Under The Influence” by Taking Back Sunday

S - “Sunflower” by Rex Orange County

S - “Sedona” by Houndmouth

O - “Obstacle 1″ by Interpol

This took me a whole hour and a half.

#astronomer-gay #ask

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danchanthongthip · 6 years

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18k Yellow Gold Onyx cab for this fresh forward helix from yesterday! Hanging out again today and tomorrow @enigmapiercing in San Diego come through! #danchan #fidelitytattooco #baltimorepiercers #marylandpiercer #travelingpiercer #anatometal #18k #gold #forwardhelix #piercing #yellowgold #piercings #gentlesafefancyaf #goldslinger #safepiercing @fidelitytattooco @anatometalinc (at Enigma Professional Piercing)

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damedarcy · 6 years

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Online shopping from a great selection at Books Store. Hi Jax & Hi Jinx Autobiography on @FeralHouse Love @DameDarcy -----------------Japan--------------------- Mom and I went to the San Diego Comic Con that year, and we met Press Pop, who invited me to come to Japan. Jim Woodring and Daniel Johnston were also there. It was Christmas, and there was a window display in the department store of Santa nailed to a cross surrounded by gifts. Speaking of gifts, they were so cute to me there, I received mermaid gifts of weird pale aquamarine toned glittery face powder and bright turquoise mascara. Also, there are eye drops that have this harsh minty stuff in them like dropping toothpaste in your eye which everyone loved and was addicted to. God I wish I could have that again. I saw a real geisha run past me in the dark hallway like alley paved with ancient cobblestones in Kyoto. They have the best socks in Japan, I think it’s because you have to take your shoes off everywhere so everyone sees them. Everything had a cartoon face on it and were made out of comics. Like for instance, in the cab, there were little public service STD announcements in little brochures hosted by smiling talking penis wearing a condom hat. There are crazy fashion trends beyond imagination. A lot of people have permed body waves and all kinds of colored hair. There were girls who had orange spray tanned skin and white lipstick and nails wearing all yellow. And dudes with permed afros and tons of gold chains emulating black rappers. Though in public places like the train station, there were only holes in the floor to stand over and pee. When I came down the escalator in this place, though as mentioned before everyone was really different looking they all stared at me like I was a unicorn freak or something. It made me feel a little self-conscious all the time. There was a lot of morbid innocence defiled imagery. Like animated baby heads vomiting black blood while their cities burned down. Maybe, it’s from when they were bombed in the forties. The Godzilla imagery. And I was astounded by the abundance of Lolita fashion and how this world and mine shared all the same elements.

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lolcat76 · 6 years

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Perdu

your-otp-prompts

Your OTP is dead and both of them live together happily in the afterlife…. until they find out Person A is due to be reincarnated. Person B refuses to spend the rest of existence without them and asks to be reincarnated too. They then spend their new mortal lives trying to find each other again.

@okaynextcrisis just a THOUGHT in case either of you are BORED and/or NOT ENTIRELY FILLED WITH ANGSTY FEELS“I think you were right,” Bill said as he sat on the side of the bed next to her. “The Gods – or God – they exist.”

Laura sighed and stretched, one long leg creeping out from the covers to tease his thigh with her toes. He always woke before she did, long before they’d found themselves in this cabin, where the days were always sunny and the nights were just cool enough that she needed to curl into him to stay warm. Back when she’d fall asleep without him, and wake up with him breathing ambrosia, or worse, Joe’s rot-gut on her neck. Even in the throes of his worst hangover, he was still awake before she was, breathing a night of regrets into her skin as he tried to keep the chill of mortality from creeping any further into her bones.

Then, he woke her with reports and updates. Now, he woke her with random thoughts. Was your hair always this red, or is it just the sun here? Are there fish in that lake? Is it against the rules to find out? There’s a constellation of freckles that looks just like Virgon on your chest. When I was a kid, we had a dog that kicked in its sleep, but damn, woman, nothing like you.

Non-sequiturs and random thoughts, but never theological debates, and she was too warm, too comfortable and too naked to engage in any sort of deep conversation. “Hmmm...I would have thought the cabin and the pantry that’s always stocked with food was enough to tip you off on that score.”

“I had a pretty good idea,” he agreed.

She liked his ideas, especially here, especially now, where there was no concern of infection or exhaustion or dropping dead while he rambled about gardening. She had some damn good ideas as well. Laura wiggled a little closer to him, her arms escaping the comforter to wrap around his waist. “If you want further proof, come back to bed, and I’ll shout them, or him, or whomever, down again just for you.”

He didn’t pull away – he never pulled away from her, not once, not since that first handshake after the end of the worlds – but he didn’t come any closer. This was apparently a serious conversation. Laura tucked the duvet under her shoulders. “Bill? What brought this on?”

“We had some guests this morning.”

Guests? They didn’t have guests. That was the trade-off – sacrifice for the good of humanity, die of cancer, and walk around naked if she so chose in her little cabin in the afterlife. She’d held up her end of the bargain, so why the frak were they suddenly worrying about guests?

Gods, if it was Ellen Tigh, she’d give up her immortal soul here and now.

“Maybe guests is the wrong word,” Bill sighed. “Landlords? And I guess our rent is due?”

“Bill, you know you’re awful at metaphors. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

He shrugged, the grin her teasing brought to his lips not quite reaching his eyes. “All this has happened before, and all this is happening again.”

He was even worse at quoting Scripture than he was at metaphors. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, I’ve been told I’m going back to Earth.”

***

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. She was not spending the rest of eternity alone in a cabin. She was not giving up Bill, not just when she’d gotten used to his snoring and was finally able to live with him without wanting to smack him every time he asked her why she didn’t just wash her dish rather than leaving it in the sink.

No. She might not have been the most devout follower of the Gods, but she was devout enough. And sure, she thought Baltar’s sermons were 97% bullshit, but she’d believed in the other 3%, so why the hell were the nebulous Almighties showing up now and ruining her happily ever?

No. She wasn’t losing Bill again. Not now, not ever.

Laura kicked off the covers and dug through the rumpled bedclothes at her feet to find the t-shirt she’d tossed aside last night. No, she muttered as she tugged the shirt over her head, no, not this time. She pushed him out of the way and strode into the living room of their cabin, ready to do battle with…with what, exactly?

They didn’t have a phone, and even if they did the cabin didn’t have a phone book. She couldn’t just look up Gods Comma The in the Yellow Pages, punch in a phone number and insist that whatever holy beings were in charge of their interior design report for the full Roslin interrogation. She didn’t even have a damn airlock here.

She might have been the more faithful, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t shove a deity or two out an airlock if it meant keeping Bill with her.

But deities were nowhere to be found, and she was left standing in one of Bill’s old t-shirts and bare legs, trying to choke back tears at the realization that if this was going to happen, there was nothing – nothing – she could do to stop it.

“Laura?’ Bill asked. So hesitant. He hadn’t been timid around her since she was dying of cancer. He wrapped his arm around her waist, so gentle that she could almost feel him slipping away.

There was nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing, except this. She twined her fingers with his, squeezing so tightly that she was almost certain she’d broken a bone. Hers or his, she couldn’t tell, and didn’t particularly care.

“You’re not leaving me again. I don’t care what they said, I’m holding on to you and I’m never letting go. If they want you, they have to take both of us.”

***

It was her little ritual to mark the day her life fell apart with a strong drink in a shitty bar. Counterintuitive, but she had a sick appreciation for life’s little ironies. A shitty bar was where Rick told her he wasn’t going to leave his wife, and a strong drink was what led her to wrap her car around a telephone pole.

If she’d been as good a drunk then as she was now, she could have made it home, her car, her criminal record, and her unborn child intact. But, shit happened, and she was perfectly happy to revisit her past mistakes every year on this day. Maybe this time would be the time she’d finally get drunk enough to really wreck her car and never wake up. Practice makes perfect.

“All this has happened before,” she muttered, before throwing back another shot of tequila.

“All this will happen again.”

Laura looked up, her vision more than a little blurry. Most of the regulars at Joe’s knew to steer clear of her, if not by her attitude, then by the sharp tongue of the bartender who usually lectured her about being self-destructive, then dumped her in a cab. Rich coming from a man who was well past retirement age, but still pouring shots and cleaning up vomit. All this will happen again, she’d heard Jack say every Friday and Saturday night, when she’d been perched on her barstool. She’d never heard someone say it so…hopefully. As if all of this happening again was a good thing.

Maybe for him it was. This guy was new, and by the looks of his white starched uniform, not someone she wanted to know. Damn San Diego anyway. She should have moved back to New York or headed north to Los Angeles. Any city where she could hide among the freaks and dregs, instead of fighting for a spot at the bar with sailors and college students.

He looked a little long in the tooth to be a sailor, white uniform notwithstanding. He looked too old to be in a bar like this, and if she hadn’t just knocked back her fifth shot of tequila – Your last shot, young lady – she might have thought she was too old to be there as well.

“What do you know about what’s going to happen again?” She wobbled on her barstool, and she would have fallen off if he hadn’t grabbed her by the belt loops of her jeans and jerked her upright. She yanked his hands from her jeans and slapped them on the bar. “I didn’t ask for a hero.”

“I didn’t volunteer.” He smiled at her. Warm, his smile. Warm, his voice, too low and rough to be safe. Warmer still, his hands curling into hers.

They fit, his callused fingers twined against her own. Laura hadn’t held hands with a man since the accident that had broken 17 bones in her body, including four in her hand, but damn if his grip didn’t fit perfectly in hers.

Jagged edges looking for a match. If she were less drunk, she’d be pleased. If she were more drunk, she’d fuck him on the spot. She was just drunk enough to know that whatever this was, it was a bad idea. “I’m going home.” She slapped a couple of bills on the bar and pushed herself off the stool.

“That’s only two bucks,” Jack yelled after her as she weaved past Chads and Brads and Tyffinies and sailors, but Jack knew she’d be back. She’d make it right with him tomorrow, or the next day. Tonight, she needed to get the hell out of this bar.

She swayed on the street, punching in her password for Lyft again and again before giving up and muttering fuck it, I’ll walk. Laura made it halfway down the block before the night caught up with her, and she ducked into a storefront to throw up a night’s worth of booze and fish tacos.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

“As far as birthdays go, I’m guessing you’ve had better.”

Yes, just what she needed, the creep in the Navy uniform following her home. “If you touch me, I’ll fucking rip out our balls and feed them to the rats.”

He shrugged. “In San Francisco, I’d be worried, but this is San Diego. There are no rats.”

Not with four legs, anyway. “Whatever you think is going to happen, I can assure you it won’t.”

He brushed her hair back, then offered her a bottle of water. She swished it in her mouth, then spat the remnants of $60 worth of dinner and drowned sorrows into the gutter.

“Thanks,” she said, and held out the bottle.

He grimaced “Keep it.”

“Well, I’m going home now.” She stumbled down the street and would have taken a header in the middle of Friday night traffic if he hadn’t caught her again.

“Do you mind?”

“Matter of fact, I do. You might be intent on killing yourself, but I don’t want to see it.” His hands were still on her waist, still holding her more or less upright.

“I’m not trying to kill myself,” she said, unsure whether she was trying to convince him, or herself.

“I’m glad,” he said, “because I’ve seen you die once, Laura Roslin, and I don’t want to see it again.”

Who the fuck is Laura Roslin, she wanted to ask, and she would have if those five shots of tequila hadn’t chosen that moment to knock her ass right out.

***

The first thing she thought when she woke was that she desperately needed to brush her teeth. The second thing was that she probably owed Jack an apology, and definitely a tip. The third thing was who the hell was in bed with her?

She was still dressed, more or less. Shirt, underwear, socks, but her jeans were gone. Cracking her eyes to survey her surroundings, she was relieved to see that she was in her own bedroom, and her jeans were folded nightly on her desk.

Small mercies, but it didn’t explain how she’d gotten into her own bed, or who was breathing on her neck.

She’d had awkward mornings after before; she could survive this one. Wake him up, send him home, pretend that nothing happened for another 364 days.

Only problem was, he was already awake.

He was always awake before her, waiting for her to open her eyes and smile at him before he got out of the rack and started his day. “I love waking up to you,” he said, every morning.

Dammit, Jack, she’d settle up her tab but she wasn’t giving him a tip if whatever he’d given her last night led to hallucinations like this.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. Nothing better than bringing up bodily functions to chase a man from her bed.

“Okay. Go.” He rolled onto his side and burrowed his face into his pillow, breathing into her 800-thredcount pillowcases just as easily as he’d breathed into her neck.

Is this all there is, Bill?

“You don’t have to be here when I get back,” she said.

Is this all there is?

“You said you wouldn’t let go.”

“No, I didn’t.” Yes, I did. Didn’t I? She didn’t remember saying it, but it felt real.

“Go to the bathroom. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Hair a little too processed, crow’s feet a little too prominent. She was too old for this, for waking up to a stranger in her bed. Even her robe, soft cotton instead of satin, was an old lady’s robe.

Is this all there is? A late night and too much to drink?

It was all that she had to offer. She tugged the belt of her robe a little too tight around her waist and ventured out of her bathroom, only to find her bed empty. Thank god, she sighed, breathing in a moment’s relief.

Until she heard pots and pans clanging in her kitchen. Why wouldn’t he just leave? She didn’t need to have breakfast with a stranger.

Saul will be here right after Jaffee brings breakfast, he said.

“Are you telling me you don’t want me to be here when breakfast is served?”

He pulled her closer, whispering the word no over and over again into her skin, brushing his lips against the ribs that had become too prominent in the last few weeks. “I want you to eat. If I could make you breakfast in bed, I would.”

Laura shook her head, trying to clear it from the fog of too much tequila and too much…whatever this was. She didn’t know any Saul. She didn’t even know this man’s name, or why he was here.

He was cooking her breakfast. Nobody had cooked her breakfast since college. He was making a mess of her kitchen, dipping low-calorie, high-fiber bread into an egg wash. He looked up and caught her eye, grinning at her as he dropped two slices of bread into a frying pan. “The French call it pain perdu, lost bread.” He gently laid a slice into her skillet. “Lost. How sad is that?””

“Lost bread.” Laura hummed. “It has a certain romance to it. Lost in what, I wonder?

“Do you really want to know?”

“No,” she admitted. She pulled plates out of her cabinets and folded napkins, waiting for breakfast to be ready. “I think I prefer things to be found, not lost.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” he muttered as he slid the French toast on her plate.

For the first time in she didn’t know how long, she thought God just might be listening.

#lolcat fic #spaceparents fic #Bill Adama #Laura Roslin #spaceparents #bsg #battlestar galactica

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