150 Bullets

010. Jealousy

His shoulders are broad – that coat hides it well. You watch him rub shoulders with some of the locals at the bar. They pat his back, congratulate him on a job well done turning those bandits out of town.

"First round's on me," a woman purrs next to him. She rubs one of his shoulders. His ears go red, and you turn away with a silly gut feeling reserved for jealous teen girls. Luckily, your meal order comes.

"Alright," the man says, setting down two large sets of plates, "got your house special here, and two bread bowls with our daily soup." He wipes his hands and gives you a smile. "That's a lot for a lady!"

"Oh, uh," you blanch at the slight insult, "my friend, he's..." you gesture toward Vash. The woman is hanging off his arm now, and it's hard to tell if his coat or cheeks are redder. Still, he gives her a charming smile. Your stomach curdles. You thought that was your smile.

The man looks toward Vash and clicks his tongue. "Wouldn't want to be him. Gabby has a way of getting into your wallet when you aren't looking." Alarmed, you stand, but the man laughs and waves you down. "I just mean her looks, darlin'. Fellas always throw her gifts and presents when they walk into town. Our hero might just find himself some double dollars short if he lets her keep at it." He pauses and smiles, "'Sides, maybe he deserves it for leaving you alone." He looks you over and gives a wink. "Couldn't be me if I had someone like you around all the time."

Now you feel hot. A shaky laugh escapes, but you're still slightly charmed by his obvious flirting.

"Here," he continues, and slips a fat slice of cake on the table. "It's not much, but you're a hero like him. I saw the way you tricked those bandits into going outside. Wouldn't have turned out nearly as nice if you hadn't." He takes your hand, bends down, and presses a light kiss to your knuckle. The man thankfully waves and goes back to the kitchen afterward.

You don't know why, but you're touched by the gesture. Not often people even notice you around when Vash saves the day – or ruins it, depending on who you are. You hum and pick at the cake, thinking of eating it before Vash can even smell it.

"Who was that?"

You jump at his voice and watch Vash slide into the booth. He gives you a smile, but it's off. It's one of his reserved ones, the one where he isn't sure about something. "Oh," you say, "just the waiter from the kitchen. He was just chatting."

"Looked like flirting to me," he comments. His mouth skews, his eyes watch the waiter go back through the swinging door with a strange intensity. "He was getting a little comfortable, wasn't he?"

And just the way he says it, after he had a woman nearly in his lap not two minutes ago...An ugly little monster crawls up your throat and says, "Maybe he was." You stab a bit of the cake and take a bite. "Wouldn't mind getting picked up by him. Good lookin'."

Those broad shoulders slump, and you feel no joy in the way his eyes sadden. "Oh, well..." he clears his throat and picks up a fork for his soup, "good for you!"

Any mirth you got from his reaction is short lived. He swirls the fork in his bread bowl, picking it up and letting the liquid dribble off the prongs, then doing it again. It's like you kicked a puppy. You sigh and get up. Damn his thick skull. Vash watches, suddenly afraid you're leaving (where? To the waiter?), but instead you sit beside and hip-check him to make room. "We'd better eat this cake before Gabby gets her grubby hands on it, too."

Your shoulders brush, and you feel more than see him perk up – at your closeness, and the promise of cake. He's too easy to please, you think. But your forks pick away at the cake before your dinner, and as you both fight over the last piece in a duel of utensils, you think you're easy to please, too.

Especially when you have that charming smile all to yourself again.