All Your Fates (Currently editing/updating)

Chapter 14: Fastest Shooter (Part 1)

"That's his name... don't wear it out," said Pepper, popping her words.

I stared at her with wide eyes until I saw the little trickster twinkle in the corners of her eyes.

"You've been shitting me," I shook my head, "This whole time. You've just been spitballing."

Pepper had to suppress a giggling snort. Of course, she laughs like a pig.

"You are so easily had, David," she said while pulling her sweater up over her mouth to mute her incessant giggles.

"You had no intention of having him sign your boobs," I stated.

"No, of course not," Pepper admitted dryly.

"I knew it," I said, trying to claim the moral victory.

"I'm going to fuck him instead," Pepper announced with a leer towards the stage as the man of the hour finally took the podium to a rumble of applause.

"Uh....wow," I said, feeling as if I had been just punched in the gut. I squinted. He's not that good looking.

Sensing the moral judgment simmering below my words, Pepper darted her eyes at me. "What's that supposed to mean?" she said, daring me. 

"Well... you know," I said, backing down from my position somewhat, taken aback by her menacing tone. "We just... Did. It."

"Barely," Pepper scoffed, and that time I could feel the punch hit below the belt.

"Gee, thanks," I mumbled. 

Pepper's whole countenance changed to saccharine as she swiveled her voluptuous body towards mine and began to run her one hand up the back of my neck and into my hair. "Oh, I'm sorry, baby," she cooed, "I didn't know you wanted to make this exclusive. Maybe we should move in together."

"Now you're just mocking me." I stared her down.

"You're quick," Pepper spat back.

"Thanks," I sighed.

"And I mean that both literally and figuratively," said Pepper, going in for the kill.

I sank into my seat as she burst into peals of laughter.

"At least I can name off more scientists than just Stephen Hawking and Bill Nye," I muttered to myself, scowling. Not loud enough for her to hear me of course. And then I turned toward the stage and avoided looking in Pepper's general direction.

I'll admit I probably spent more time sulking during the rest of the lecture than actually listening to it. And why should I listen to a word? This guy was such an obvious hack, but nobody could see past the charisma, and good looks, and regal disposition, and the way he broke down complex abstract theory into simple illustrations for the masses to easily grasp. But beyond that, he was a complete phony! Just another pretentious twat shilling his wares on the bestseller book circuit.

Why does this stuff always happen to me? Stuck in a horrible lecture with a girl I just bedded (well, barely bedded) who would rather be dry humping the charlatan on stage and apparently just about anybody else to boot.

With my luck, I've probably gotten Pepper pregnant. That's what you get for being the Fastest Shooter in the West... Oh gawd. Why did I have to go and think of that for? It's like my brain is sadomasochistic and likes nothing better than torturing me.

I suddenly imagined a row of little Pepperettes seated beside us, all chewing their cud and swinging their thick legs back and forth languidly, with Uncle Attie at the end of the row turning and smiling at me with a wicked grin and a glint in his eye: Your soul belongs to me now, boy! (((boy ((boy (boy) boy))boy)))... Because, you know, evil echoes.