Author: SuzyJane PM
Layne was a shy, quiet werewolf. She just wanted to get her laundry done at the local laundry mat. She didn't want to be interrupted by some playboy who thought he owned the world or start a fire. That was just fate messing with her.Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Romance - Chapters: 6 - Words: 7,189 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 12 - Follows: 20 - Updated: 10-12-12 - Published: 07-10-11 - id: 2931548
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A new story! My first true werewolf fic! I'm very excited for this story. Please review! I welcome criticism. :)
Though I'm a bit worried I mention bras so much in this. xD But hey, she doing the laundry! :) Anywho, enjoy! :)
Caught On Fire
"Started as a flicker meant to be a flame"
Layne Sanders stood in front of the row of washing machines. She was washing her "delicates" as her mother would have called them. She was not about to let Dante wash her bras. She drew the line there. That would have been disgusting, wearing something that Dante had touched. She made a face just thinking about it. It. Was. So. Gross!
"Do you have a problem with me, Babe?" The guy across from her asked as he leaned against one of the dryers. A smirk tugged at his lips.
Startled and a little unnerved by someone calling her "Babe," Layne peeked up from underneath her wispy bangs. Her murky green eyes widened a little at the stranger as she attempted to find a reason he would think she had a problem with him. She came up blank. "Um... No," she said, witlessly.
The guy chuckled. "Then why are you making faces at me?" He pushed himself up from the dryer and practically stalked the four steps to the row of washing machines parallel to those that Layne was using. He leaned across the one on the opposite side of her, propping his elbows up and leaning in close. Too close, if you asked Layne.
She back up on reflex and tried to fight the blush that was creeping up on her cheeks. She couldn't possibly explain that she was here out of a misguided attempt to stand up for something for once in her life. Her father's hired man was not about to wash her bras!
"Yes, that face," he said. "Why are you making that face at me?" His tone was casual like he couldn't care less despite his question.
Knocked out of her thoughts again and noticing that he'd somehow managed to inch closer, Layne abruptly slammed the lid of the washer, wincing as the sound jarred her sensitive ears. She backed up a few more steps. "I'm not making faces at you," she said as matter-of-factually as she could, subconsciously pulling her hair out of it's braid so she could hide behind it.
"I'm pretty sure you were," the guy persisted, his slate gray eyes seeking hers out even behind the curtain of her blonde hair. Layne was trying to put her finger on what made him seem so well... frightening to her. Not his eyes even though they were so bold. Not the taunt muscle that made up his frame.
"I didn't mean to make faces at you," She murmured. And then she figured it out. It was his smile that worried her. It was all arrogant and self-assured. His smile was everything she was not.
"But you did. So why?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. His grin seemed to become more confident by the second.
Dammit, she thought fiercely to herself. Why was she being a weak little girl again? She didn't have to take this playboy's crap.
In the most scathing tone she could muster, she said, "I don't see how that's any of your business." And in one of her impossibly daring moments, she stepped back up to the washing machine, leaned in, and with her face only inches away from his, added, "And you're not my type, Playboy. So why don't you just skedaddle?"
He only looked startled for a second before he began to laugh. A good laugh from the sound of it. Layne had stopped watching him and instead busied herself with slipping quarters into the washer. Clank. Clink. Clank. He was still laughing! Clink. Clank. Clink. Layne glowered at the washer, hoping it would go up in flames and take Mr. Laughs-a-lot with it.
And when his laughter finally died down, Layne still didn't look at him.
"Babe?" There was still a hint of laughter lingering in his voice.
"What?" She snapped. Her head whipped up and she was prepared to fully chew him out for just being there when she realized something was wrong.
The washing machine was actually on fire.
She stared it and then at him. And then at him some more when she realized with a start that his shirt was on fire. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. What had she done? She didn't actually want to burn him to death! Or her bras for that matter!
Stop, she thought frantically. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop!
But of course it didn't. She wasn't consciously aware of her decision to jump over the burning washer and tackle Mr. Self-assured-and-arrogant to the ground. But she found herself on top of him, smothering the flames. His shocked expression normally would have made her die of embarrassment, but she ignored it and yanked him to his feet. He stumbled, coughing on the smoke.
Smoke that she had hardly noticed had started to fill the tiny laundry mat and suddenly the fire alarms came to life. The harsh sound momentarily disoriented her. She spun dizzily, gripping her ears with a soft cry and was surprised when an arm suddenly wrapped around her shoulders and tugged her in the direction of the door. She thought she might have heard, "This way." But her ears were ringing so bad that she couldn't be sure she heard anything. And then they were bursting through the glass door and tripping their way out to the sidewalk. It'd all happened so fast that the fire department hadn't even shown up yet.
And then she felt it, that familiar tingle that started deep inside and rolled outward to her fingertips and toes. She couldn't shift here! The adrenaline must be playing havoc on her nervous system! It was no good. She couldn't stop it once it started!
She pulled away from Mr. Caught-on-fire. "I have to go."
"You can't," he said, trying to grab her arm, but she dodged his hand easily. "The police will be here soon. They'll want to know your side of the story."
Right, her side of the story, Layne mentally rolled her eyes. Oh hey, Officer. I'm sorry that I magically caught the washing machine on fire and the arrogant guy that happened to be standing across from it. Yeah, that would go over great. She was so sure.
"No, you don't get it," she said, stepping back a few more steps, feeling the vibration of her fur underneath her skin. "I have to go. Right now. You can tell them what happened. Reilly will come find me for my side. I'm sure." Reilly was the chief of police and a werewolf.
Playboy looked dubiously at her. "How can he find you if I don't even know your name?"
She really didn't have time for this! "Layne," she said, turning and starting to jog down the sidewalk. "Layne Sanders." She disappeared from his line of sight and promptly fled into the woods.
Thanks so much for reading! Please review if you got the time! I hope you all have a fabulous week! :)