In fact, the girl at the counter — Mandy, this time — was pretty much well-engaged
taking a quiz in a well-thumbed issue of Cosmopolitan and didn't seem to care how
long he stood in front
of the cold case. The 2% was looking good, but JC was awake enough to feel guilty
about drinking milkfat and so perhaps the skim would save him heartache in the long run.
"Hey, JC?" Mandy called. "What would you say a guy looks for most in a girl?
Sexiness or sense of humor?"
"What a guy looks for more," JC corrected automatically, then scrunched
his face up, annoyed with himself. "Sorry, Mandy — I've been up proofreading all
night, I'm running on automatic right now. Uhhh...honest? I gotta say sexiness."
"Pig," Mandy said, but she was smiling. The bell on the shop door tinkled and JC
shook himself, frowning determinedly at the milk. What kind of moron couldn't even
decide what kind of milk he liked to put on his cornflakes, for heaven's sake? He
opened the cold case door and stood in it, deciding that the drafts of cold would force him
to choose more quickly.
"Hey," some guy said a little behind and to the right of him, and JC automatically
shuffled forward to leave more room for the guy to get past. But nobody went past,
and when that registered, JC started to turn around to see what the guy wanted and
found himself staring at a knifepoint.
"Oh," JC said dumbly, then fell back against the milk bottles, rows of freezing
cold against his back. "You're —"
"Gimme your fucking money, dipshit," the guy said, looking as though JC was an
idiot. JC swiped weakly through the pockets of the hoodie he'd thrown on and brought
out three dollar bills and two nickles. He frowned at the crumpled, dirty money
and tried the keep the apologetic tone from his voice when he began, "This is all I —"
Another guy loomed up behind the one who had the knife, and this guy was even
creepier because even though he had no sharp pointy weapon, he had weird red-and-black
eyes that glimmered in an unsettling, beetling way. One of those freaks who liked
fancy contact lenses for shock value, JC told himself, then felt an entirely inappropriate
wave of annoyance wash through him. It wasn't fair, really; even thugs like this
could afford expensive contacts, but not losers like him who wore sale-price glasses
and shopped for milk at four in the morning.
"Leave him be," the new eye-guy said, and knife-guy turned around, pissed, and swung
his hand back. He didn't
get far, though, because the eye-guy raised one arm and just kind of chopped
him across the throat, and the knife-guy made a funny hkkk noise and dropped,
just like that.
The eye-guy picked up the knife and smiled at JC. "Looks to be a little chilly in there,
cher," he said. "Wanna come on out now?"
"Mandy —" JC gasped suddenly, stumbling forward. The eye-guy caught him and hauled
him up easily.
"Easy there, hien? The shop-girl is fine, I took care of this one's friends before
I reached you." His voice was smooth, amused, and JC was suddenly a little irritated by it.
The idea of this guy with his silly ladybug eyes laughing at JC's perfectly reasonable
desire to not get stabbed made the hair on his arms ruffle up in prickles. JC straightened
up and shook himself, thumbing his glasses back into place.
"Okay, good," he said, a bit haughtily. "I'm glad. Thank you." The man nodded, casually
smiling that easy, hot smile and let his arm linger where it was around JC's waist.
And his arm was very very strong, JC noticed, and their hips were still
touching slightly, and really, this was the strangest way for a trip to the corner
store to end, wasn't it?
"I have to --" JC said, making motions at the milk bottles. "I came for...I need
some milk. Some —" he broke free and grabbed the first thing he could, "— banana
milk." He cringed inwardly.
The man smiled and made a strange sucking sound with his teeth, of which there were
many. "Banana milk," he repeated in his odd charred voice, then stepped aside and
swept a hand towards the counter, ushering JC down the aisle.
The stupid banana milk cost two thirty-five, and JC cursed it as Mandy white-facedly
counted out his change. "Police are gonna be here for those guys," she whispered
to him, and JC turned slightly to see the Cajun guy deftly and casually tying all
the thugs together with some pink clothesline. "I wonder what he is?" Mandy's eyes
shone with excitement. "Some kinda bounty hunter or private eye or something?"
"Mandy, you watch too much tv." JC absently picked up the plastic bag with his banana
milk as he watched the guy's arms flex, watched the tight strain his thigh muscles
made against his long dark jeans when
he crouched down, watched the graceful way he stood up. The guy looked like a million bucks.
And maybe JC spent too much time watching tv, too. At the very least, he spent too
much time alone in his apartment with no company other than red pens and rough drafts.
Taking a deep breath, JC picked his way carefully over to the group of tied-up thugs
and watched the eye-guy smile slowly at him as he approached. "All neat and easy,"
the guy said, prodding one with his booted foot. "Cochon."
JC cleared his throat. "I was thinking," he said carefully, and the guy's smile
inched wider and hotter, full of promise and enough to knot JC's belly. "You just
probably...saved my life, back
there, and I'm a student so I don't have any money or anything, but —" he blinked and held
up the plastic bag, dangling it from his fingers, "— I got enough banana milk for two."
The guy licked his teeth and casually put one arm around JC's shoulders. "I'm Remy,"
he said. He smelled like cinnamon gum and cigarettes. "And I love bananas."
The good thing about a store where people knew you, JC reflected blearily as he
dithered for the sixteenth time over 2% versus skim, was that they didn't mind
when you came in at four in the morning in your pyjamas and couldn't decide what
kind of milk to buy.