An Acquired Taste
After surviving countless bloody delights that would make fiction’s favorite cannibal blush, a pair of irritable assassins navigate love and loss as they face their biggest challenge yet: budding romance.
Full sample available upon request.
Jason’s eyes landed on the picture of a woman and two children, and his easy demeanor fell instantly. He could hazard a guess as to whose faces he was staring at. The photograph was dog eared, with white peeking through the folds to suggest how long it had been kept close at hand.
He felt his heart clench; there were no words for something like this, and it was just a reminder of how much more Francis had lost than he had. Everyone Jason knew had been lost to the passing years, not stolen from him in a blaze of gunfire. He had vague recollections of a younger sister, and he was sure that even before the war, if anything had happened to her, he’d have burned down the world to get her back. He couldn’t imagine anything happening to a child half her age.
Voice quiet, somber, he asked, “You ever find out who did it?”
Cody gave a long yawn. He took a long sip from his thermos, then lifted the binoculars. “So. Casual question. When exactly does this cross into stalker territory? Asking for a friend—Jesus,” he barked, standing at full attention as the stifled shot rang out across their small expanse of rooftop. He already had a rifle in hand, scanning the scene below, before he realized that Jason was the one who’d made the shot. “The hell are you doing?!”
“He didn’t answer my text,” Jason said simply, raising his head from the scope. “Saw him put his phone away and everything. You know how I feel about being left on read.”
Jason was grinning like a maniac. It was all the drama of a high school romance, with a hundred times the tactical precision. Actually, he didn’t think high school needed much of any tactical precision. His memory was still a bit fuzzy on that one.
“So—what?” Cody exclaimed. “Did you shoot him?!”
Jason scratched at the bridge of his nose. “Nah. Just misaligned his scope.”
“You are such an ass.”
Jason shrugged. The wild grin slid back into place a little too easily. He covered the scope to prevent any glare from shining off the glass, then snatched the binoculars from Cody, settling back down against the rifle. “Then he shouldn’t’ve left me on read,” he muttered. “Come on, moron,” Jason grumbled against the scope. “Who’s the only guy you know who can make that shot?”
“Excuse me, I’m right here.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can it.” Jason grinned, lining up another shot. “Come on, it’s right there! God, how many snipers does he know?”
“If this is how you show your love,” Cody said slowly, “then I think we need to get you back in touch with that therapist.”
“Not taking suggestions on my love life, Fletcher.”
“I’m just saying. Usually people don’t—I don’t know—shoot at the guys they’re trying to date. But, hey, that’s just my opinion.”
“Another opinion and I’ll shoot you, pal.”
“Down!”
Cody grabbed Jason and dropped him hard against the concrete floor, just as brick exploded right where they’d been standing. Jason rolled off the marksman and gave a crazed, breathless laugh, one that he had zero doubt made him sound like a complete lunatic.
“Oh my god,” Jason wheezed through the fit. “Christ, Fletcher. He’s perfect. I think I’m in love.”
Cody peeked up over the top of the ledge. “That is… really not the appropriate response to being shot at.” He whipped back around, voice serious. “Alright, barrel’s down. What’s the plan, Casanova?”
Jason paused, then slowly peeked over at the neighbouring rooftop. He couldn’t see the outline of the broad shoulders, and had no idea where his target might’ve disappeared to.
Jason swore and pulled out his phone again. Roses are red. Violets are blue, he tapped out, then paused, looking up. “What rhymes with ‘don’t shoot me’?”
At Fletcher’s expression—he would definitely be hearing about this later—Jason shrugged and looked back down. If you don’t shoot me, I’ll go on another date with you? (:
“I don’t like that face you’re making. Why do I get the feeling that whatever you’re typing is gonna get us turned to Swiss cheese a whole lot faster?”