Easier said than done, because I’ve come to realize I have a funny little fear of birds with large wingspans and beaks that could peck my eyes out if I don’t abide by their laws. And there’s one in the bunch that looks particularly menacing. I’m talking, he looks like he’s plotting all of the ways he can kill me just to steal a single loaded fry from the tray to my left.
Instead of blurting all of that out, I ask, “And how are we going to do that when we’re a man short? We’ve been abandoned and left to perish. Out of the four of you, I never would have expected such a betrayal from the man who spends most of his time at work with me. It’s always those closest to you.”
I jerk my thumb over to a different truck where, sure enough, Ryan stands with two plastic bags in his hand while he watches us from afar like a betraying spectator. I narrow my eyes on him, and the bastard sends me a charming smile that does nothing to elevate the nervousness thrumming through me, the feeling only doubling when that same brave seagull flaps its wings and hops onto a nearby wall.
Oh God, it’s the nasty one. The one that will kill me and my entire family for a lick of a delicious potato-based snack. Why did I have to throw that goddamned nacho chip? My mother has always warned me, she really has. She has told me time and time again that being curious isn’t a bad thing until it puts you in a situation where it might cost you your life.
Well, mama, it looks like my life is very much on the line. I never thought I’d die via birds. I would have taken the stairs over this.
I flinch hard when the bird lands so close that I feel the gust of wind that comes when it flaps its wings again. The moment it turns its head, I just know we’re fucked before anything even happens, because one moment the bird is simplystanding on the short wall, and the next he’s screaming like a man who just saw a Victorian woman’s ankles. It’s like a call to war, the screech for his people spreading far and wide, and my fears are verified when the swarm descends like bloodthirsty vultures.
Wings are flapping, beaks are pecking, feathers are ruffling, and I’m screaming like a raving banshee and scrambling from my seat when the table is suddenly overrun with seagulls all beak-fucking the feast of food spread out before them. It’s like they know they outnumber us, know they have the upper hand, and decide to act on their newfound confidence rather than cower on the sidelines.
“Oh, shit,” I hear Caid exclaim, a freshly developed fear in his voice when I spy one seagull peck at him in warning right before it screeches in his face.
Now isn’t the time for “I told you so,” but it’s written all over my face when I glare at Caiden before backing away from the table and the glorious selection of food I didn’t even get to try. Instead, the daylight robbers scarf it all down like the greedy bastards they are, leaving nothing behind but torn napkins and shredded paper plates.
Caid looks over at me, face slightly ashen, and he nods at the look on my face before turning to watch the birds devour everything that was on our table. “Okay, yep. Valid. That look is absolutely valid, even if you’re the one who caused this.”
I’m turning my head when his words sink in, and I snap it right back over to him, glaring harder because my life just flashed in front of my eyes and I do not need his blame-pushing right now. Even if it was my fault. It’s not the kind of negativity I need in my life after I just witnessed a food genocide and considered myself already dead before the flock attacked.
Holding his hands out in surrender, Caid chuckles, the sound a little strained. “Yep, my bad.”
Nodding as though it is his bad, I send the table one last look of bone-deep sadness before carefully sneaking back to snatch my purse from the bench and skittering away when a nasty fucker snaps its beak at me before it continues to devour my food.
“Greedy assholes,” I whisper as I walk toward Caiden, keeping an eye on my surroundings just in case the seagulls develop a hankering for more than chicken, burgers, and nachos.
As soon as I’m close enough, I reach for his hand, fumbling for it before linking our fingers. The moment the warmth of his fingers and palm surrounds my smaller hand, I grumble, “If reincarnation actually exists and I come back as a seagull, I need you to promise that you’ll put me down immediately.”
Once again, Caiden loses his mind to his laughter, apparently recovering quickly after the great bird attack. I turn to look at him, only to find myself pausing as I gaze at him in utter awe, the beauty of this man something to be painted and hung in an art gallery somewhere famous. The light hits him just right, highlighting the lighter strands of blond in his honey-colored hair. His green eyes look brighter, more vibrant and popping, while his smile looks as though it was created by the sun itself. I don’t even care that he’s laughing at me and my ridiculousness, because he looks so breathtaking right now that I can do nothing but scramble for my cell phone and snap several quick shots before he’s done.
Blinking rapidly, I shake my head and look down at my cell, heading straight for my photo album to look over the photos while I distractedly reinforce, “I mean it. That is not a life I am willing to live. So put me down and cook me into a Thanksgiving dinner, okay?”
“Whatever you say, Blue,” he laughs, and I go to smile at him at the exact same time he glances down at my cell and catches me scrolling through the photos I’ve taken of him with a small smile on my face.
Instantly, I tense, almost like a reflex brought on from the past. I brace myself for irritation or annoyance, mentally shielding myself before he even utters a single word. I’m already watching for any shift in his mood, almost waiting for the inevitable switch, but my efforts are wasted. I mean, of course they are. Caiden and the others are nothing like Toby, they’ve proven as much time and time again already. Ryan had no qualms about me taking photos of him in the studio, even though that scenario was different and didn’t fill me with dread. I suppose being in a work environment helped, the camera in my hand keeping a professional barrier between Ry and me rather than the selfies or candid shots taken on a cell would offer. It was still a nice surprise to see Ryan happy with the photos I took, and I should have expected much the same reaction from Caid.
So it’s to no one else’s surprise that the words that come out of Caid’s mouth are, “Damn, that’s some good lighting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my eyes that green before. Thanks, Blue.”
My entire body turns to liquid, instantly relaxing when there isn’t a single note of anger in his voice, and the smile I’d been about to give him breaks free even wider as my chest feels light and airy. “You did look pretty damned handsome, even if you were laughing at my bone-deep rejection to being turned into those flappy fucks. You still didn’t promise, by the way. Reincarnation is no joke, and the universe has a knack for shitting on me just for the giggles. So should I come back as an overgrown trash compactor with wings, put me out of my misery.”
“But what if I’m reincarnated as a seagull, too?” Caid asks, lit up with amusement as he tugs me along toward where Ryan now stands at a different truck, a dessert truck that sells tasty-looking cheesecake, with several more bags hanging from his hands and arms.
Wow. Unbelievable.
While Caiden’s and my lives were at stake, Ryan was shopping as though he didn’t care for our survival.
Raising an eyebrow at the guy, wincing slightly when I hear another seagull screech I’m no doubt going to hear in my nightmares, I tell Caid, “I don’t think the universe hates us so much that we’d both be turned into seagulls, so it’s a nonissue.”
“You don’t know that,” he argues, leaning against a bird-free bench with my hand still clutched in his. “What if I get turned into one of those things? Are you going to turn me into a Thanksgiving dinner?”
I give him a playfully dirty look before deadpanning, “I’d rather throw myself into the army of winged rats still eating our food than attempt to eat your cooked seagull carcass. So I guess I’m going to have to set you free or something.”
“You wouldn’t even keep me as a pet?” he pushes, overdramatically outraged by the idea that I wouldn’t home a fucking seagull.
I shake my head in all honesty, admitting, “If you were a pigeon, I’d keep you, because they used to be useful before we domesticated them and then set them back into the wild. Pigeons are cute. Pigeons won’t peck my face off for a crumb. Come back to me as a pigeon, okay?”
“Do I even want to know what conversation you two are having?” Ryan suddenly asks, words full of curiosity, but nowhere near cute enough for me to forget the sheer abandonment we suffered no thanks to him.
