Heaven's Crime (gxg) ✓

thirty-eight. god abandons me. the end.

         "I'm afraid you're actually not going to be doing that."

         And at the end of the hallway, God incarnated, is the stupid love of my life. Stupid, and disturbingly sexy, as she incapacitates both of the officers in less than five swift movements.

          When both men are crumpled, black uniforms tousled around their bodies, Veah steps over them.

         I bite my lip. In my hand, I am still holding the cassette for Taken. "Maybe we should postpone the movie, because I really want to fuck you right now."

        And then I notice she is holding something―something that is not dangerous weaponry.

       Veah grins as she raises a paper bag with cinnamon-sugared steam rising from its edges. "I promise, I only had to kill a couple of people for this."

      Inside the bag, there are five warm, sticky cinnamon buns.

      "You're my other half," I say, sighing as I take out the first bun.

      "I hope you're talking to me," Veah teases. "That cinnamon bun didn't have to beat city traffic and a few Yakuza to get here."

      I take my first bite. I'm in love. "Whatever you say."

      "I can't believe I'm second place to a cinnamon bun," Veah groans, closing the door behind her and setting down her keys.

      "Get used to it."

      "Well, if you love that cinnamon bun so much, you can just use these two tickets I got to Hawaii and go on a honeymoon with it instead."

       In the bliss of a sugar-coated daydream, it takes about twenty seconds to register.

       "Hawaii?"

        "Yes, Hawaii, but if you don't want to go with me . . ."

       I finish the cinnamon bun. The warm, syrupy flavour melts on my tongue. "Well, maybe I love you, too."

       "Only a maybe?" Veah produces the two tickets from inside of her jacket. "I figure, you know, now that we're going to be on the run for a little bit . . . why not enjoy it? And considering we're newlyweds―"

       I throw my arms around her, and she kisses me.

       "You taste like cinnamon," she whispers against my mouth, gently biting my lower lip. I let out a soft, breathless moan, suddenly craving her.

       "You better make love to me right now."

       "Then you better admit you love me more than those cinnamon buns."

      "Jealous?"

      "Hardly," Veah whispers, her storm-and-slate eyes darkening. "But I'd like to hear it anyway."

      "Jealousy is a hot look on you," I argue, as her arms tighten possessively over me. I am on my tip-toes now, leaning up towards her lush, cherry-hinted mouth.

      "Every look is hot on me," Veah replies with a smirk.

      She's not wrong.

     "Fine," I concede. "I love you more than cinnamon buns." A pause. "Sometimes."

       Veah raises an eyebrow, her storm-grey stare electric in its intensity.

      "Fine," I confess. "Most of the time."