FANGED

Chapter Thirty-One

"What are you doing?" Fanged asked through gritted teeth as I took a hard right exiting the highway and headed towards breakfast pastry paradise.

"I'm hungry, duh." I was so busy rolling my eyes, I blew a stop sign. Drat! Fortunately, there wasn't a whole lot of traffic this time of night on the desolate section of highway, but that didn't stop Fang from slamming his boot damn near through my floorboard trying to push a brake that wasn't there. Maybe for Christmas I will get him one of those gag floor mats with a fake brake he can pump to his hearts delight.

"You are going to get us killed," he snapped.

"I would rather die than be held prisoner for one more second with the demon abomination," Courtanya piped up from the back.

"Oh? Like taking us to the nice, sweet Colony to meet the wonderful wizards of Waverly place was such a safe decision, Captain Kamikaze," I snorted at him. "And you pipe down back there pipsqueak. Nobody asked your opinion." I watched her flip me a double bird from the back. She was a naughty little minion. I couldn't help but like her, despite her eagerness to kill me.

"How long are you planning on holding that against me?"

"How long do vampires live?"

Shaking his head, he looked out the window. "Don't you think we are a bit underdressed for dining out?" he asked, running a hand over his bare chest.

My eyes watched as his hand brushed his pecs and inadvertently...his pert nipple. Saliva burst in my mouth as my tongue practically sat up and begged for a lick. Seriously, his hotness was going to drive me insane.

"It's the Waffle House at two in the morning. Trust me, we will be the best dressed in there," I muttered. The need for syrupy goodness was clouding my fashion sense. Besides, with abs like that, there was a good chance they would comp the meal.

I pulled into the practically empty parking lot and got of the car. The smell of bacon, sausage and broken dreams wafted to my nose and I breathed it in deep. My stomach gurgled in excitement...or in preparation for what was about to come. It was a well-known fact, if you eat at the Waffle House the chances you will shit your pants is a great possibility. Unless you had an iron-walled gut like mine thanks to years of meticulous Diet Coke and Flaming Cheetos training.

I was about to head into the land of lard and butter when I noticed an open all night convenience store next door. Taking a look at my ragged turtleneck and Fang's bare-chested, leather clad, Chippendale ensemble, I had a brilliant idea. I was becoming a regular savant these days.

Popping open the hatch, Bubbles growled like a honey badger with a hangnail and lunged out at me. I easily dodged her attack and she toppled out onto the asphalt. Grabbing my purse, I patted her on the head.

"Better luck next time, Court."

"My name is Courtanya!" she spat scrambling up onto her feet.

"Yeah, yeah...whatever. Fang, keep cupcake there on a short leash. I'll be right back."

Not waiting for a response which I'm positive was going to be full of whining and dire warnings, I broke into a trot and hustled over to the store. Walking in, I had a flash from the past from my Superpumper days. Standing by the rows of junk food, I took it all in. The smell of diluted Pine Sol, the squeak of the hotdog roller as sad, wrinkled, overcooked wieners spun round and round, the whir of the slushy machines...it was all music to my ears. A bored teenager sat behind the counter, flipping through a magazine and munching on Corn Nuts. Bad move, dude. That amateur mistake was going to give you some hellacious gas within a few hours.

Shaking off the nostalgia, I quickly made my way over to the dejected rack of t-shirts and started rifling through them. Oh dear baby Jesus, I was in kitschy tourist hell as I pulled out one Sasquatch shirt after another. What the hell was the fascination with a big hairy ape man walking through the woods?