(Mike)
Saturday, October 29, 2005
We woke up earlier than we needed to.
Not because of an alarm. Just because neither of us really slept that deeply anymore.
Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, gray and damp like every other October morning in Forks. Leah was already awake when I opened my eyes, watching me with an expression that was equal parts fond and mischievous.
"What?" I muttered.
"Nothing," she said innocently.
That was always a lie.
We shuffled into the bathroom together, bumping shoulders in the doorway because neither of us was willing to let the other go first. She grabbed my toothbrush before I could and held it hostage behind her back.
"Leah," I warned.
"Say please."
I narrowed my eyes at her, but she just grinned.
I lunged. She dodged. And we nearly took out the towel rack in the process.
Eventually, we ended up brushing our teeth at the same time, elbows knocking as she deliberately bumped into me. At one point she tried to brush my teeth for me, which turned into both of us laughing around toothpaste foam.
"Stand still," she ordered.
"You're the one attacking me," I shot back.
We moved into the shower next. The bathroom fogged up almost instantly, steam curling along the ceiling.
And that's when I forgot, once again, that our shower had been built for normal-sized people.
I leaned back slightly and…
Clack~
The top of my head smacked directly into the showerhead, making the metal rattle violently.
Leah burst out laughing.
"Careful, doofus," she snickered. "You're going to break it."
"It attacked me," I muttered, rubbing my head.
"You're almost seven foot. The shower didn't attack you. You just don't fit."
She reached up to adjust it for me, fingers brushing my shoulders. The teasing eased into something softer.
We helped wash each other, laughing turning into quieter moments, touches lingering a little longer than necessary.
Eventually, one thing led to another and we ended up entangled under the water.
A long time later, we stepped out wrapped in towels, steam rolling out of the bathroom behind us.
Leah looked entirely too pleased with herself.
"You're going to be the end of me," I said.
"And yet, you still love me," she replied smugly.
My eyes softened, "I guess I do."
Once we were finally dressed and ready, I checked the time and blinked.
"It's almost eleven."
She froze mid-motion. "What?"
"How about we skip breakfast and get brunch in Port Angeles?"
Her entire face lit up instantly. "I want burgers."
"It's barely…"
"I want burgers," she repeated firmly. "And I'm driving."
That last part made my stomach tighten.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door enthusiastically. I chuckled despite myself.
When we got into the car, I buckled my seatbelt with very deliberate care and sat a little straighter than necessary.
Leah noticed immediately.
"Stop being such a wuss," she said, starting the engine. "A little speed won't kill you. And you can run faster than this car anyway. What are you so afraid of?"
I didn't answer.
Because it wasn't about survival.
It was about my car.
She pulled out of the driveway, and immediately accelerated like she'd been shot out of a cannon.
The mailbox flashed past my window at a distance that felt deeply personal.
"Leah," I said carefully.
"What?"
"That was our mailbox."
"It's still standing."
Just barely…
She used to be a cautious driver before she shifted. Back when she thought about things like speed limits and braking distance.
But now?
Now she treated the road like it was a suggestion.
I stared forward, mentally calculating repair costs.
I wasn't afraid we'd crash. If we did, we'd walk away without a scratch.
But my poor car?
That was another story.
A deer suddenly bolted across the road and froze in the middle of our lane.
Time slowed.
Leah didn't even hesitate.
She yanked the wheel and swerved off the road entirely, the car bouncing violently over uneven dirt and grass. The suspension protested loudly as we hit a dip and launched slightly before slamming back down.
I winced.
My poor dampers.
She corrected smoothly and reentered the road like nothing had happened.
"See?" she said casually. "Perfect control."
"I think I just felt the alignment cry."
The ride took half the usual time.
By the time we reached Port Angeles, I had already decided a visit to the mechanic was in order.
I stepped out of the car slowly and placed a gentle hand on the hood.
"Don't worry, baby," I murmured. "I won't let her hurt you anymore."
Leah rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "You are so dramatic. It's just a car."
I leaned closer to the hood.
"Don't listen to her," I said quietly. "You're my special girl."
Leah groaned, grabbed my hand, and started dragging me toward the restaurant strip.
"Hurry up. I need food."
"You almost killed my suspension."
"You're welcome for getting us here faster."
I let her pull me along, shaking my head.
At least she was smiling.
And if I survived the drive back, I supposed that was something.
…
An hour later, we were leaning back in our seats, completely defeated by burgers, fries, and milkshakes.
Leah wiped her hands with a napkin and sighed in satisfaction. "Worth it."
"Every calorie," I agreed.
We didn't take long picking up Seth's PSP. Now we were standing inside a bike shop that smelled like rubber tires and chain grease, staring at a lineup of mountain bikes like they were sacred artifacts.
Seth would've lost his mind in here.
Leah crouched beside a sleek red model with black handlebars. "This one," she said decisively. "It's clean and simple. He'll love it."
I, however, had found something better.
It was black with red flames licking across the frame.
I folded my arms. "No. That one."
Leah stood slowly and turned toward me. "You're kidding."
"Look at it," I said, gesturing reverently. "It's clearly faster."
She stared at me.
"It's just paint, Mike."
I shook my head. "You wouldn't understand."
"It's just paint!" she repeated. "How the hell would that make it faster?"
"It's psychological," I said confidently. "Flames equal speed. Everyone knows that."
The seller, a guy in his late thirties with a ponytail and an amused expression, nodded along solemnly.
"He's got a point," he said. "Flames add at least five horsepower."
Leah looked between us in disbelief.
"Women, right?" the seller added with a conspiratorial shake of his head.
I nodded gravely. "They just don't get it."
Leah growled low in her throat, not loudly enough to alarm anyone, but enough to make me instinctively take a half-step back.
"Alright," she said tightly. "We'll take this one. Happy now?"
I grinned. "Seth's going to love it."
The seller clasped his hands together. "A wise choice indeed."
Leah shot him a look like she wanted to strangle him, making the poor man take a few steps back in alarm.
After paying, we wheeled the bike carefully out of the store and toward the car. It took some creative angling and folding down the back seats, but eventually we got it secured.
I patted the frame. "He's going to ride this thing into the ground."
Leah smiled at that. "Yeah. He is."
I shut the trunk and turned to her. "So. Now what? We've got the whole afternoon."
She tilted her head, then wiggled her eyebrows in a way that should probably be illegal.
"I have a thing or two in mind," she said slowly.
My brain immediately betrayed me.
Images flashed through my head, none of them remotely appropriate for public parking lots. I had to physically shake myself to clear them.
"But," she continued casually, "for now… how about the arcade?"
I blinked. "The arcade?"
"Winner gets a special massage," she added sweetly.
That did not help my imagination.
I very briefly pictured her dramatically pouring massage oil like some over-the-top movie scene and…
Focus.
I wiped the corner of my mouth with my sleeve before anything embarrassing could actually happen.
"You're on," I said.
Her grin sharpened. "Hope you're ready to lose."
"In your dreams."
We headed toward the arcade down the block, the faint electronic beeps and flashing lights already visible through the front windows.
Inside, it was a chaotic symphony of sound, racing games revving, buttons slamming, laughter echoing, skee-ball machines clattering nonstop. Neon lights flickered across Leah's face as she scanned the room like she was assessing a battlefield.
"What's first?" I asked.
She cracked her knuckles.
"Anything competitive."
I should have known better than to challenge Leah, who's got a competitive streak the size of a mountain.
Still.
If there was even a chance at that "special massage"?
I was prepared to risk my pride.
And possibly my dignity.
…