Covalent Bonds

by Trysh Thompson

  “Not cool, dude,” Emma growled.

  “My name’s not Dude.”

  “Look at all these people.” She gestured to the masses. “This is practically half of New York City. You’re telling me they’re all children?”

  “Yep.” He lingered for a second before patting her on the knee and bouncing to his feet.

  She shuddered.

  “Anyway,” he told her, “I’m here for work, so I should probably go do that.”

  Just before he slipped away, her eyes found themselves at the same level as his crotch. She detected a slight bulge, which gave her a little satisfaction.

  A half-hour later, she sat on the floor, digging fruitlessly through another back-issue long box, when he plopped down next to her. “I’m bored,” he announced.

  She didn’t look up from her mission. “I thought you were working.” She didn’t know what that work was supposed to be exactly, but she liked it because it meant he was somewhere else.

  “I don’t take my job seriously,” he replied.

  “I’m stuck on the fact that you have a job to begin with.”

  He shrugged.

  “So what do you do,” she asked, still not looking up, “collect women’s phone numbers for a living?”

  “I’m a mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper.” He then shook his head and admitted, “It’s a sleazy metropolitan tabloid, actually. And when I take off my glasses…”

  “You don’t wear glasses.”

  “Well, shit.” He shook his head. “I’m really bad with this secret identity thing.”

  She snorted, “A journalist.”

  He nodded.

  “For real?”

  He nodded again.

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Hey!” With a great deal of pride, he pulled from his pocket a palm-sized, spiral-bound notepad and waved it in her face. “I got one of these and I use it.”

  She snatched it out of his hand and flipped it to a random page, which was a list of women’s phone numbers. Some even had stars next to them. “You are so gross,” she told him.

  He took it back without the slightest hint of shame. “There’s actual reporting in there, I’ll have you know.”

  “Sure there is,” she said, returning to her mission.

  “Why are you here?” he asked. “Don’t you have enough comics?”

  She shook her head, choosing to ignore the implication of the question. “I’m trying to plug a hole in my collection.”

  “I assume that’s not as dirty as that sounds.” He craned his neck to peer over her shoulder.

  “I’ve been reading this fucking book religiously since the first issue—even when it turned to shit after Andy Douglas started writing it,” she explained, picking up an individual issue to examine it closely before returning it. “That’s how fucking loyal I am.”

  “That’s pretty fucking loyal,” he assumed.

  She threw up her hands in frustration. “But I’m missing number thirty-seven, and I can’t find the goddamned thing anywhere.”

  “What’s this book called?”

  “Hadron,” she replied.

  He rolled his eyes. “Not Hadron-Man? Or The Mighty Hadron? Or maybe Hadron-Lady?”

  She glared at him.

  “So what the hell’s a Hadron?” he asked.

  “Do you remember when the Hadron Collider was turned on, and everybody thought it would destroy the world?”

  “No.”

  “And how it discovered something called the ‘God Particle’?”

  “No.”

  “Well, this is the God inside the particle, made of science, powered by the—are you even listening to me?”

  “No.”

  “Goddammit, dude!” Emma snapped.

  Max pointed to a young woman dressed as the Star Roller. “Do you ever wear one of those outfits?”

  “I can’t pull off spandex,” she said.

  He smirked that dirty little smirk of his.

  She wanted to swoon, but held it together out of spite.

  “I’ve seen you naked,” he reminded her. “You could pull off spandex.”

  Emma blushed.

  He leaned in close and spoke softly into her ear. “There’s a whole lot of guys in this building who would love to see you dressed up.”

  “Besides you?”

  “That guy over there.” Max waved at a broad-shouldered hunk in a costume. The hunk waved back, a little confused. “He hasn’t stopped looking at your chest since first you walked by him ten minutes ago.”

  She frowned. “How long have you been watching me?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t watching you. I was trying to get Overgirl’s number. No luck, by the way.” He shook his head sadly. “So who’s Eye-Contact Man supposed to be?”

  “Brik Sollid.”

  “Seriously?” Max laughed. “That’s a real character name? Brick Solid?”

  She averted her gaze.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not blaming you for that.” He put a reassuring arm on her shoulder. “Sometimes these things are beyond our control. You should go hit on him.”

  “Yeah no,” she replied instantly.

  “If you go talk to him, I promise you, he will jizz his pants.”

  She laughed. “He will not jizz his pants talking to me.”

  “I bet you…” He bit his lip in concentration. “What’s that book you were looking for again? Starts with A?”

  She narrowed her eyes in amusement. “You seriously think you can find Hadron number thirty-seven.”

  “Of course I can,” he told her and flexed his bicep. “I’m a motherfucking superhero.”

  “It is impossible to find,” she said. “First appearance of Maege.”

  He was clearly unimpressed. “So?”

  “It’s worth a fortune.”

  “I bet you Hadron issue number thirty-seven…” He pointed. “…that man will jizz all over his pants if you go talk to him.”

  She cautiously got to her feet, her eyes darting between Max, Brik Sollid, and Max again. What the hell am I doing?

  Max called loudly after her, “I want to see semen everywhere!”

  She headed for the cosplayer and whispered, “Seriously, what the hell am I doing?”

  It didn’t take her long to realize the guy was actually brick stupid, but when she turned to give Max a look, he’d disappeared.

  Goddammit! Why did she let him do that to her?

  An hour and fifteen minutes later, Emma thought she’d check to see if Ted had found a seat at the panel. She hoped for his sake he had. For her sake, she hoped he hadn’t. She’d dropped off all of her portfolios, gotten all of her autographs, chatted sheepishly with all the artists she admired, and was pretty much conventioned out.

  But as she passed by an emergency exit, she noticed nearly invisible tendrils of smoke sneaking inside through a crack in the door. A second look revealed the palm-sized notebook propping it open. It was time to get rid of Max Fuentes, once and for all. That likely meant murder, and the very thought warmed her heart.

  She stepped outside to find him in a tiny alley, his back to her, desperately stubbing out a cigarette on the sole of his boot. He raised his hands and called out, “Sorry, Mr. Security Guard! I swear I didn’t see the sign that said no smoking within thirty feet of the door!”

  She caught a glimpse of the sign he swore he didn’t see, and a smile conquered her cheeks.

  When he swiveled around and saw her, he exhaled in relief. “Oh, you’re not security.” He peered around, cupped a hand over his mouth, and stage-whispered, “Good, because I actually did see the sign that said no smoking within thirty feet of the door.”

  Goddammit! Why did he have to go and be him?

  He lowered his arms and said, “Don’t let the door close, Em.”

  “My name’s not Em,” she replied, before she let it close.

  Even though it was too late, he sprinted over anyway, pounded on it with his fist, and
fought with the handle. “What in God’s name did you do?”

  “I locked us out.”

  He muttered, “Okay, so she knows what she did, but does she know why?”

  She rested a palm on that chest of his, dropped the bagged-and-boarded stack of comics onto the concrete, and shoved him gently against the closest wall. “This convention is the one place I thought I was safe from you.” She felt like her words would have had more dramatic heft had she still not been grinning, but she assumed the message came across to him.

  “Really?” His breath stroked the tip of her nose, igniting a shiver. “This is the only place you’d be safe from me. Really? Not in a locked vault? Or the ladies room?”

  “Definitely not the ladies room, you pervert.”

  “Touché.”

  “You make me insane, you know that?” she stated. “Everything about you makes me fucking insane.”

  He smirked that fucking smirk again.

  She grabbed a fistful of tie and dragged him closer to her. His eyes closed, his lips parted eagerly, and she shoved him back against the wall, a little more forcefully this time.

  He laughed in surprise. “I like this side of you, Em.”

  She slapped his cheek—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get his attention. Taking his chin in her fingers, she made sure their eyes locked before she reminded him, “My name’s not Em, dude.”

  He replied, “My name’s not—fuck it.” He lunged forward and kissed her.

  It was about damned time.

  She released his chin so she could drape her arms over his shoulders. He took hold of her waist and backed her against the opposite wall. Her leg wrapped around his, and she felt him freeing his lips from hers so he could concentrate on her neck. Her nails bit into his chest and she shoved him away.

  “What?” he gasped.

  She giggled for a second and pounced. This time their kiss rammed him into the door. She savored him for a long, long time before she pulled back, teasing his upper lip with her tongue. Resting her forehead on his, she breathed, “Hey, you.”

  “Hey,” he sighed.

  “What is the deal with us?”

  He responded by spinning her around and dragging her to him. His right hand slid beneath her MortalMan t-shirt and the underwire of her unremarkable bra, and the left rubbed the inside of her thigh. “Does it matter?”

  “Stop talking,” she panted.

  His thumb found the zipper of her jeans.

  “I hate it when you talk,” she told him, though this wasn’t always true. But now, more than anything, she needed his mouth for other things.

  He nibbled on her earlobe and replied, “Whatever you say, Em.”

  “My name’s not…”

  With only his left hand, he unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her jeans, and unzipped her fly, showing off the kind of dexterity she’d always admired in him.

  “Oh fuck it,” she said. “I don’t care what you call me.”

  He pushed past her panties and caressed the tip of her clit, just softly enough that she was aware of his presence but not quite enough to satisfy. She bit her lip and squirmed to keep herself from begging.

  The wetter she got, the closer his fingers got. She wasn’t going to wait for him anymore. She flailed her arm toward his lap until she found and groped his cock through his khakis. After dismantling his zipper, she reached inside and fumbled with his boxers.

  A deep tingle crawled over her limbs, accompanied by a shudder. He was full-on massaging her now.

  The only way she’d be able to concentrate enough to get him in her hands would be to stop what he was doing and drop to her knees in front of him. That wasn’t even an option, because she could already tell this orgasm was going to be magnificent. There would be plenty of time to give him a blowjob later.

  He moved faster; her hips pumped harder, and her knees buckled. She freed her hand, braced herself against his neck, and groaned, “Oh, God…”

  He chuckled and slipped two fingers inside of her.

  She gasped, “Oh, my fucking God!”

  “How are you doing there?” he asked.

  “Shut,” she hissed. “The fuck. Up!” She had to focus. It was right there, so close, stepping nearer and nearer to the rhythm of his hand. All she needed to do was relax and let it consume her.

  And then the latch on the door behind them clicked. By the time Ted peeked his head outside, Max and Emma were zipped-up and leaning on opposite walls, catching their breath.

  “Where did you come from?” Emma asked when there was enough air in her lungs.

  “The panel was full, so I came to find you,” Ted replied. “Some guy says he saw a redhead in a MortalMan shirt go through this door.”

  “That would be me,” she confirmed.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I took a wrong turn,” Emma said.

  “I’m not smoking within thirty feet of the door, I’ll tell you that,” announced Max.

  Ted frowned in his direction, giving her just enough time to tug the hem of her t-shirt over her still-disassembled belt. “I’m sorry. You are?” he asked.

  “Hi, I’m Max.” He handed Ted a business card with his left hand. “And thanks for the rescue.”

  “Max has been keeping me company while we were trapped out here,” Emma told Ted.

  Ted laughed. “You know, the two of you could have walked around the building and gone through the main entrance.

  “I’m really lazy,” Max said. “I don’t know what her problem is.”

  “I’m just dense,” Emma confessed. Now that she had regained control over her body, she headed for the doorway, stopping to collect her scattered comics, which now included Hadron number thirty-seven.

  “Dude,” she breathed, “where did this…?”

  Max grinned with an almost imperceptible shrug. “My name’s not Dude, Em.”

  “My name’s not Em.” She wanted to kiss him on the cheek for honoring his end of their bargain, but not in front of Ted. She made her way to the emergency door, whispering, “I’ll be home after nine.”

  “I’ll be in your home after nine,” he whispered back.

  Emma, still tingling, followed Ted back to the convention hall while Max stayed behind, probably to finish the cigarette he’d prematurely extinguished.

  “You know that guy?” Ted asked her.

  “Know that guy?” The weight of her new comic tugged at her, and her jeans threatened to slide off of her hips if she didn’t reassemble her belt soon. With her own smirk, she told Ted, “I can’t stand that guy.”

  From New Mexico to Nebraska to New York to Indiana to Qatar to Washington D.C., Jeremiah Murphy has lived everywhere. And he writes a lot. His work can be found in anthologies such as Fae Fatales, The Dark Lane Anthology, From the Corner of Your Eye, Pagan, and others, as well as at www.jrmhmurphy.com.

  Addie-cted

  Charlotte M. Ray

  Friday

  The sound of a car on the gravel outside made Addie’s heart beat faster.

  “He’s here,” she said into the microphone, and hoped the others couldn’t hear the smile in her voice. For a split second she thought about muting the mic, but seriously… no, she wasn’t that stupid. The others in the voice chat channel being able to hear what happened was her safety precaution, her lifeline. Everyone knew you weren’t supposed to invite people you met online into your home—at least not if you lived alone. And that was exactly what she’d done, without any hesitation until afterward.

  She dragged the camera view off to the side, as she always did when she stood up. She didn’t need more trolls in the livestream chat than she already had. Plus her private life was private. No one needed to know about her disability. It had no impact on her online life.

  Trent would find out now, though. That’s why she had butterflies in her stomach. Why she felt almost faint and, if she was honest, regretted having invited him at all. They could have found someone else to tank the raids, if not
the whole weekend then at least every now and then.

  The doorbell played its happy little victory fanfare from Final Fantasy. It made her jump, even though she expected it. It was too late to change her mind now, anyway. Hell, it was too late two hours ago, when she blurted out that he could come over and use her main computer.

  She grabbed the cane and made her way to the door. She might as well get that particular thing out of the way at once.

  “Hi,” she said as she opened the door and tried not to stare. Damn, he looked good in real life. Dark hair, shorter than in the pics he’d posted on their guild forum, almost fell over eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. The stubble matched his hair, framed his jaw and slim lips, and gave him a hint of danger. He removed the glasses and stretched out his right hand. She was struck by how kind his dark blue eyes were, completely at odds with the black leather jacket and broad shoulders.

  “Hi there, officer lady,” he smiled as he shook her hand. “Great to finally meet you for real. I’m Trent. Or Karaash, if you prefer.”

  Okay. She had to think of something to say to cover up for the sudden dryness in her throat, and the tingling that started where his warm hand touched hers, and spread all over her arm. Thank goodness she had the cane to hold on to with her other hand, or she might have face-planted at his feet.

  “Yeah well, can’t disappoint all the people that need a solid tank, can we?” she croaked and coughed a little. “Come on in, say hello to the guys on the voice chat before we set up stuff.”

  He shot her a glance she couldn’t decipher, and then looked around. Good thing her mother had visited a few days ago, which as usual had ended up with them giving the place a thorough cleaning. It was so much more fun to do it together, mom always said, but Addie knew her mother did it more because it was a pain to vacuum or mop floors with a cane in one hand. Thankfully, she hadn’t had time to make much of a mess since then.

  Three monitors crowded the old desk that dominated the small room. The middle one showed the game where her character sat on a mountain top, overlooking green plains and a walled-in city in the distance. The left monitor displayed the recording program with all the different things she needed to keep an eye on, with the camera’s view outside the active field. On the right, she had the windows for the voice chat, music player, and the viewer chat box, which already moved rapidly.