Of Painted Water (Logan Lerman Love Story)

I Mustache You a Question

A short one, but it's kind of just a filler until I manage to decide what I want to happen next. Also, I'm always open for suggestions:)

"Two tickets to uh- that one." Logan pointed to a large poster on the wall of the theater depicting a man with a gun, and a woman with an evil smile, all dressed in black. I glanced at it boredly, before resuming my 'manly stance' and looking at the guy behind the counter. He was young, with massive curly red hair shoved under the hat all the cinema staff had to wear. He looked miserable, but never once took his eyes off me.

And man, did he have a right to.

I was looking fine (sarcasm) in my getup. Sexy as hell, I tell you. If you had told me at the beginning of the summer that I would be standing in a theater dressed as an old ranch owner with Logan Lerman, I probably would have punched you in the face to knock some sense into you.

"Fifteen sixty is the total, sign on the line." the boy slid a thin sheet of paper under the little semi-circle in the glass with a cheap pen, hunching over on his stool.

I adjusted my cowboy hat, pulling it down lower over my head.

Obviously the ghost of Devon's sanity had come back to haunt me while I was picking out an outfit to wear for this occasion.

I was in disguise as an old man with a cowboy hat, and let's not forget the absolutely rockin' pillow I had stuffed under the light blue flannel shirt to pose as a beer gut.

Surprisingly, it didn't look at all fake, but I think that's because Logan had helped me to adjust it, all the while murmuring about how he was helping his girlfriend dress as a man.

I suppose it would be somewhat strange if you didn't know me or the spontaneous things I do. It's in my genes to do stuff like this, and to have fun doing it.

The massive leather belt with the horrible ostentatious buckle shimmered under the lights in the room, and I scanned the place once again, taking in the little kids at the arcade and the parents ordering popcorn from the concession stand.

Something at the corner of my lip tingled, and I knew my fake mustache was peeling off again.

Logan did a little flourish of his hand, making an unrecognizable signature so that no one would notice. Especially the very large, very nosy woman behind us, tugging her husbands hand like one would with a dog leash. He was much smaller than her, and I had some serious pity for the poor man attached the hand she was tugging at.

She was constantly looking over my shoulder, peeking around my stuffed figure to see the front of the line.

There was a possibility that she recognized Logan, but I wasn't too sure. Something told me that if she knew who was standing in front of her and didn't loath him, she would have said something already, or drawn attention to the situation and at the same time, herself.

Not to judge a book by its cover or anything, but sometimes you can just tell.

I casually reached up to push the large glasses further up the bridge of my nose, also smoothing out my mustache in the same manner I had seen my grandpa do thousands of times when he was nervous or tired.

Logan grabbed the tickets and pushed through the small crowd of people at the theater. It was a hot day in L.A, and the AMC always has the airconditner on full blast, even in the dead of winter. (The lowest temperature it gets to at that time here in Cali isn't too bad, but regardless, the bill on this place must be through the roof)

We were an odd pair, the two of us, mostly because of me and my flashy disguise. It wasn't that it was odd to see a man dressed in the same manner that I was, but rather there was a certain something off about me, and even if people didn't know me, they could tell.