Superheroes Suck

Chapter 11: Being A Damsel in Distress Is Just a Side Job

Spitfire is an ass.

Spitfire is an ass with beautiful green eyes.

Spitfire is an ass with a green bowtie.

Spitfire is an ass with a great ass.

Damn.

"Fancy meeting you here, you know we met up there," He pointed up at the building and I felt the dejavu coming back full force, "You are really heavier than you look."

"Is that an insult or a nod to how new you are to actually saving people in danger because you have no idea what a real, living and breathing human being weighs." The chattering around us stopped, so I winked. A playful smile fought its way out. "I'll have you know my weight is perfectly average."

"It's not the only perfect thing about you." Spitfire gave me a quick once over and that look in his eyes said he was satisfied. "Not by a long shot as far as I can tell."

"Someone's feeling flirty I see." I sidled up to Mary and threw him my sharpest side-eye look. "But I brought a date to this event if you can't tell."

"I know." Spitfire was full on beaming, "It's me."

That threw me for a loop. Was he joking or trying to get a reaction out of me?

Wait. No. No. No?

Well, the alternative is dead.

"When you saved me?" I asked, crossing my arms. He couldn't be serious, could he? "I thought you were joking."

Spitfire clutched his chest of took a few steps. The look on his face displayed anything but pain however, the ass was mocking me. Why is this how every one of our interactions occurs?

"You wound me Lois Lane." Spitfire clicked his tongue and turned his back to me.

He just called me Lois Lane, Spitfire just called me a stupid damsel in distress.

"Lois Lane?" I can't believe him.

I swear, if we weren't a public place and if I weren't in this beautiful, fancy dress, I would chase this asshole and give him the beating of his life.It's probably a good thing I can control myself, what with all these cameras around. My job as a journalist is to capture the news, not make the news.

I'd prefer not to be on the front of the daily news chasing Spitfire around, outside the ball. It wouldn't really look professional. It would also probably end my career in journalism before it really ever started.

I took a deep breath in and turned back, "I guess I'll see you inside Spitfire."

"Why not walk inside together?" In a moment, Spitfire was right next to me.

"I'd rather not."

"You did promise to attend with me." As always, he was mocking me. Or flirting with me, I can't say I know which, "The least you can do is allow me to escort you into the ball. If you do, I promise you'll be on the cover of every major newspaper, and a few minor and less notable papers, come tomorrow."

"I can't say that's appealing."

"Why not? Isn't it every girl's dream to be," I kid you not he stopped and did a dramatic pause, "famous?"

"No, I want to be the name under the photo, not in the photo itself."

"So you're a journalist?" Spitfire looked away thoughtfully for a moment. It was only then that I noticed people were shuffling in around us, some were pretty annoyed that he and I were the center of everyone's focus.

"Yes I am, I started working for The Advocate."

So I'm basically only an intern, an unpaid one at that, but I'll take what I can get. I also won't admit that to Spitfire, it ruins a little bit of the legitimacy I have.