The Writer Makes a Mistake
The morning is cold, as always. I’m currently trying not to spill coffee on the journal, and keep Scooter from knocking over my mug.
I had enough trouble last night as it is; I nearly lost my cool when he, I mean, Raine, turned around and handled me like a Marine would handle a terrorist—not only that, he actually was looking at the pictures!
That was for a reason I don’t know yet…but, I’m determined to find out.
A clatter from my mug made me look up, only to behold Scooter pawing my coffee cup. I push him away, and take a comforting sip of caffeine.
“I told you my name,” a voice said, making me hunch my shoulders in surprise.
“You did? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch it,” I remarked sarcastically, not afraid to let my face become a grimace. “What do you want?”
“Well, considering the fact that you towed me back from the desert, I think I should have the pleasure of knowing your name,” Raine said.
“If you cough up your real ID, then I’ll have no trouble with it.”
Did it just get colder?