Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 118 - Seductive Quiches and Other Addictions

He blinks at me, and yes, I heard what I just said, and I know that would mean now, but I'm over the grogginess the pills cause and the dreams I get without them. I'm just over everything. I don't want to sleep ever again.

I snap my fingers, call, beg, but try as I might, I cannot get any of his animals to transfer themselves and their affection to me. Only Red is fast asleep; the others turn their eyes to look at me, even move as if they want to come to me, but then decide that Coach is home base and they're not abandoning him. I give the dogs full marks for loyalty. Red would've come if he bothered to wake up, and if Grey weren't going nuts in the sandbox in the laundry (I can hear her all the way over here), she would've been on my lap by now.

"Seriously? Not even one?" I grumble, making Coach chuckle.

"Go on," he tells his cuddly horde. "Go give Tan some love."

Like an arrow out of a bow, always willing to please, Gizmo launches himself from the recliner, kicking Red in the head, but the cat just opens his eyes long enough to glare around him before he curls up for some more naptime. The little dog scrambles into my lap and up against my chest with enough enthusiasm to kill me, and now I regret wanting some love. 

This is bloomin' torture!

"Have you figured out what species he is yet?" I ask, trying and failing to calm the busy little dog.

"According to Doc Winston, he has some Chihuahua, Basset Hound, Shih Ttzu and a traffic light in his genes. I still think Hunter should register him as a new animal species he discovered; he'll be famous."

"Or arrested for taking him from his natural habitat, wherever that is," I chuckle, fluffing the mongrel's ears, trying to dodge the tongue aiming for my face. Honestly, I saw him lick his butt with that same tongue earlier! 

About three weeks ago, when Hunter found the dog limping somewhere between Falls Creek and Briar Cove, the poor animal had been starved and sick. We put up flyers to find its owner, but nobody claimed him. He is probably the offspring of stray dogs, though we didn't find any other dogs in the vicinity. He became Coach's spoilt little lap monster. "He is really starting to look good... You should totally try feeding him after midnight... could be fun..."

Sasha and Leo reached me with a lot more dignity, and after putting her head in my lap for a pat and some whispered sweet nothings, Sasha hurries back to her lord and master, the love of her life, to sit at his feet with her head once again resting on his elevated leg. Leo places his big head on my thigh, tilting it to the side to look up at me with large, beseeching eyes.

"You and me both, Buddy," I mutter, rubbing his head, groaning when Gizmo works himself into the space between my side and the chair, rubbing against my bullet wound.

No, that doesn't sound right. It could probably only be called a bullet wound if the bullet actually entered my body; this is just a skid mark. A bullet skid mark... kinda cool, I guess... well, if I think about it like an insane person. Maybe I should get a funky tattoo over it, make it look like the contrails of a Boeing...

"Try doing something fun to give that brain of yours a break; it might help," Coach interrupts, picking up his phone buzzing on the small table beside his chair to check his messages.

"Designing funky tattoos is fun," I tell him, and he frowns at me, clearly not getting what I'm on about. I watch him read his message and reply with a grin.

"Surfing porn with a minor in the room is a criminal offence, you know?" I inform him.

"Shut up," he snorts, his smile widening when another message buzzes its way into his phone. Seriously, I've never seen the guy look like that while he's chatting on his phone; it's obscene... in a good way. It can only be Aunt B he's talking to, and now I'm so friggin' curious to know what they're chatting about.