#love adler's reflection in Jane's window thing

[zasidd]

love this video, gave me a small chuckle, maybe even a giggle 😋 and i think the morse code translates roughly to

BELL: so do we get her

(it could also be 'did' instead of 'do' but probably not)

CASE: do i even know you ??

I might've immediately forgot what the text at the end was !

[inquisitorhotpants]

Support Your Local Writer! :D

So I’m going to be making a job change. There aren’t opportunities for extra money in it like there is for my job now, and so I’m going to take that extra free time and really get down to doing some fun stuff with my Patreon. 

Patreons aren’t really fun without patrons, though! I’d love to have you! 

There are still 8 days left in February to hit the goal of 28 patrons, at which point I’ll publish a bonus fic and Krys’ playlists from January and February (and if we meet it in the eight days, I’ll throw in March’s, as well). 

Along with Press Releases, I’m planning on doing some exclusive SWTOR stuff over there, as well, so stay tuned for that, too.  :D

If you’re not familiar with Press Releases, have an excerpt here under the cut.

Tuesday Afternoon

Krys Adler hates gas stations.

No, that’s not quite accurate.

She loathes them.

They’re gross. They always smell weird. Why are the floors always sticky? But it feels like she’s been in that too-small rental car forever and she’s absolutely dying for some beef jerky, so she’s going to suck up her dislike for the five minutes it’s going to take to run into this place somewhere in Ohio - Cleveland? She doesn’t know, she quit paying attention to any sign that didn’t say Erie, PA - and get a pack.

Ignoring the voice of her health-conscious roommate Jen echoing in her head, Krys barrels through the door and rounds the end of an aisle, eyes already focused on the colorful yet barren display, idly wondering if the absolutely mouthwatering man standing near it is going her way.  Not that it matters - her leisurely cross-country drive is only leisurely because it’s planned within an inch of its life - but oh lord, the things she’d do to that man if she had the time. He’s got thick black hair, a strong jaw, broad shoulders. Style is a little too preppy for her usual taste, but he -

He’s got the last pack of jerky in his hand.

Oh, hell no.

“Look, Mister Too Hot to be Real,” she snaps as she reaches him, “you need to put that jerky down, because I am not stopping at another gas station today and that’s the last pack here. I’ve been in my car too long and I need that jerky. Drop it right into my hand here.”  She stares up, way up - she knows she’s short, but holy hell, did his parents feed him Miracle-Gro as a child? - and opens her hand, her hazel eyes narrowed.  “Drop it,” she reiterates, not unlike one would tell a particularly disobedient puppy to relinquish a tennis ball.

To her annoyance, all he does is raise an eyebrow, utterly unfazed by her outburst.  “It’s generally polite to introduce yourself before demanding a complete stranger hand over a likely sub-par dried beef snack, you know.”

Krys heaves the world’s most put-upon, petulant sigh, determined to ignore that this marvelous specimen of humanity even has a sexy voice, a baritone with aspirations of being a bass.  “I’m Krys. And you are? Besides the world’s best looking jerky thief?”

The corner of his mouth twitches.  “I’m Max, and I’m not a thief. It’s hardly my fault you’re slow.” He dangles the jerky out of her reach, green eyes drifting from her floof of curly crimson hair and Butane Jane t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, to her bared tattoo-covered arms, ratty jeans, and bright pink Docs. “You’re so … tiny. It’s kind of cute. You’re practically pocket-sized.”

Short jokes are not the way to Krys’ heart, and she scowls even harder. “Pal, if you think I won’t kick you in the shin to get that jerky, you are very, very wrong.”

He calls her bluff with a smirk that leaves Krys torn between wanting to pelt him with Twinkies and wanting to convince him to get a hotel room with her, strolling past her toward the clerk. She sweeps back out the door, very much in a snit, and is almost to her rental car when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“All right, all right, jerky fiend,” he says with a chuckle when she turns. “Here.” He holds the package out, grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, then pulls it back. “Would this act of pure altruism net me a thank you in the form of your number?”

It’s ridiculous to give it to him. He’s never going to call. She knows this.

She holds out her hand and makes an impatient come on gesture. “Well? Give me your phone.”

Max pats one back pocket, then the other, extracting a swank-looking phone. Once he’s unlocked it, he hands it over, looking not at all sure if she’s going to put her number in it or toss it into the bushes. Or into the road. Her thumbs fly over the display, her phone rings; she taps his phone and hands it back.  “There. Not that it matters, we’re probably from opposite sides of the country. But you did give me my jerky, so I suppose this is fair.”

He takes the phone, slides it back into his pocket. “Drive safe, hothead.”

“You too, snack thief.” She tosses her own phone through the open driver side window, then gets into the Versa. Music blares from the speakers when she turns the car on, and she gives him a mocking salute before reversing and pulling out of the parking lot, headed back toward the freeway.

Tuesday Night

“So you’re telling me you were menaced in a gas station for a pack of questionable supposed beef sticks?”

Adriana, Max’s older sister, is making no effort to hide her amusement at the entire situation, and Max glares at the phone’s reflection in the mirror as he fingercombs leave-in conditioner through his hair.  “I was hardly menaced, Adri. Might I remind you that this woman was -”

Fierce. Obnoxious. Gorgeous. Not that he’s giving his sister any more ammunition than she’s already crafting out of this bit of nothing. He’s almost grateful when Adriana interrupts him.

“Tiny, yes. Among other things you just couldn’t help but notice about her.”  Adriana’s smirk comes through loud and clear.  He might have mentioned her hair. And her tattoos. And her eyes. “To be fair, little brother, most people are tiny to you. But she did threaten to kick you in the shins. For shitty snacks.” A pause.  “And your response was to buy them?”

Max leans toward the mirror, turning his head this way and that, taking mental tally of the silver starting to appear at his temples. “Well, what would you have done?”

“I wouldn’t have been buying overprocessed sticks of death at a gas station, first of all.”

“Death sticks,” he snorts.  “It’s just jerky. Don’t be such a snob, Adri.”

“Says the man who drinks Corona, of all things. Of course you don’t have any standards.”

Max swipes the phone off the bathroom counter and carries it out into the main room, setting it on the desk next to the open laptop.  “You don’t have to drink it. No one’s making you.”

“Good thing, too.”  Adriana clucks her tongue. “Our family couldn’t handle the shame of two of us drinking that terrible beer. You know Mom’s considered cutting you out of her -” Max’s text notification goes off, loud in the quiet hotel room, followed by a slightly stunned silence.  “Max. Are you texting?  You never text. Ever.” Confusion weaves through Adriana’s incredulousness. The entire family knows that if Max could uninstall the texting capability on his phone, he would.  “Who are you -”

Max closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, offering a silent prayer that his sister won’t put two and two together.

A small gasp from the direction of the cell phone speaker tells him that no deity in the universe deigned to answer his hasty plea.  “You’re texting her! The Gas Station Menace!” Adriana exclaims. “You are, aren’t you? No, you don’t have to tell me, your silence tells me everything. You - “

Time to end this before it gets even more out of hand. “I have to go, Adriana. Work calls.”

“You bought her that jerky to get her number! I knew something about that was fishy; I know you don’t ever, ever eat in that damn car of yours.”  Adriana chortles. “No way were you buying that for you. You smooth bastard.”

Just when he thinks his sister has reached peak obnoxiousness, the notification goes off again, and it takes all of his willpower to not simply lower his face into his palms and wait for something else to catch Adriana’s attention.

“Multiple texts!” Adriana sounds like she can hardly contain herself.  “I’ll let you get back to your no doubt torrid gas station affair, little brother. Remember not to text anything you don’t want on the news.”

“I’m going now, Adri.”

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t -”

“Goodbye, Adriana.” Max jabs at the screen harder than necessary, then looks at his laptop, telling himself that of course he’s not going to answer those texts right away, that would be silly.

He picks up the phone, taps the notification.

It’s good to hear you got through the rest of your day without making anyone cry over Ho-Hos, that’s for sure, Tiny. I’m proud of you.  How was your drive?