Harlem's Deck 17: Unexpected Quarters.
By Paul Smith.
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Harlem's Deck 17: Unexpected Quarters.
Paul Smith
Copyright 2014 Paul Smith
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to people, places or events is purely coincidental, and bears no malicious intent.
ISBN: 9781310158001
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'Because geeks are amazing.'
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Author's note:
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Thank you.
17: Unexpected Quarters.
Beth had glanced up from her journal and scowled in irritation.
Being proven right... she'd mused, as she crossed to unlock the door to the store... is not always a pleasing experience.
It was pissing down outside, and she stepped back well out of the way as Elliot came shivering in out of the cold. Why anyone had chosen to settle one of their world's major city's so far north when there was a perfectly decent tropical belt circling the planet's equator she could never understand. Though she did concede that for many of the original Tibetan settlers the conditions here would have been practically balmy. And of course the vampires like the long winter nights.
She stood back, hands on hips, regarding the bedraggled excuse for a man stood before her critically. “You're in some serious shit my friend. You do realise that?”
Elliot bobbed his head, sneezing. “I do.”
Beth relented. “You know where the bathroom is, go dry your hair. I might have a spare tee shirt somewhere, though I'm afraid you'll have to cope with sitting in your wet trousers.”
“I wasn't expecting anything...”
“Oh shut up Elliot. Not going to leave you like that; you look like shit...”
“Thank you.” He bowed his head, embarrassed. Shrugged out of that beautiful coat before heading for the bathroom, shoes squelching.
He really does look awful, Beth thought, eyeing his retreating back. Sighing, she went to hang it with the kids coats – Nigel was running the shop's weekly game night upstairs, a task he'd really taken to – and went to root in the stockroom for something that might fit the kya's slim, broad shouldered frame.
Now he sat with a steaming mug of coffee clasped between his hands, hair a towel-dried mop pushed half-heartedly back, fringe tucked behind one ear.
She'd found him two options, a small part of her unable to resist the opportunity play with a male ego. Had only been mildly surprised when Elliot picked the purple girl's tee with its pink and blue confection of a winged unicorn on the front over the more manly but far too large mustard yellow offering featuring a business-end shot of the spider tank from Orbital Drop.
With his chipped nail varnish and the remanence of Tuesday night's eye make-up he looked like the opening to some emo girl-porn. Certainly most of the kids she got in the store would have been swooning if they'd been treated to the sight of him shrugging into the proffered shirt. All those long, lithe muscles moving beneath skin like alabaster.
Should get a shot for the store, in case he's cleared of charges. Sell a boat load of these with it...