© Copyright 2012
All work is property of Leah Crichton, any duplication or reproduction of all or part of the work without explicit permission by the author is illegal.
Seven in the morning was ungodly. These were the hours of the working class, which he was not. Sawyer should be out partying until the wee hours of the morning and sleeping until noon. That was pretty standard for musicians, was it not?
At least Lane set the coffee pot timer so fresh brew was pouring into the carafe that very minute. He trudged from the bedroom, to see Devin who was sound asleep on the living room couch. She'd refused to show him her art project but with one quick glace he saw what it was.
On the coffee table beside her was her helmet for when they rode together. One side was a shiny mess of faux jewels in the pattern of a skull and crossbones complete with a hair bow. Sawyer couldn't help but laugh as picked it up and shook her shoulder.
Devin's eyes fluttered open and she stretched her arms high above her head. “Morning,” she said brightly.
“What the hell is this?”
She grinned wide. “It's my helmet. You like?”
“No,” he said. “I don't like. You bedazzled a perfectly good helmet.”
“Lane and I gave it a feminine touch,” Devin countered. “It's beautiful.”
“It's gaudy,” Sawyer said. “You cannot seriously believe Ima let you on the back of my Ducati wearing a bedazzled helmet.”
“I seriously do think that, yeah,” Devin said. “You can't say no to me. Even if you tried.”
“I could,” he said. He wondered who he was trying to kid. He wouldn't tell her no even if her helmet was the tackiest thing he'd ever seen. He did however, plan to have words with Lane at some point.
“Nice try.” Devin pulled her covers to her chin and rolled away from him to face the back of the couch. “I'm still sleepy. I'll see you after work.”
“Community service,” he said. “I hate your helmet.”
Devin's response was muffled but it was something to the effect of, “have a nice day, sunshine.”
He headed to the kitchen to pour some coffee but Devin's voice followed. “Oh, and Sawyer?”
“Yeah, sugar?”
“You love my helmet.”
No. He did not.
“Devin?”
“Hmmm?”
“I love you, not your bloody helmet. Go back to sleep.”
The steam from the coffee rose as he poured it swirling up and into his nostrils. Why no one had bothered to invent java scented things to infuse the air with was beyond him because it was quite possibly the most wonderful smell in the universe. He poured himself a bowl of cheerios and stared blankly into the sea of milk as he ate it.
How did he get himself into this mess? Oh right... she was snoring on the couch. He needed to find a way to get out of the mousetrap he currently found himself in. Maybe he could make a generous donation to Paper Planes in exchange for hours owed. He had five hundred and forty two left. Assuming the going rate could be twenty bucks an hour or so, that was what? Just under eleven grand. He could afford that, no problem.
He put his bowl away in the dishwasher thinking he'd have to make an appointment with Dr. M to plead his case just as Lane came out. He always looked the same in the morning, his blonde hair disheveled and his eyes half their normal size, still lidded from the arms of sleep.
