The Gunfighter and The Gear-Head Read Free

sex, duh,” Gieo said. “Without it, girl-girl
sex could hypothetically go on indefinitely. I mean, how else would
you know when you were done?”
     
    “Usually when everyone’s happy or my jaw
starts hurting.”
     
    “You’ve clearly had better lovers than me.”
Gieo tossed the broken device over her shoulder, searched the
scattered items on the ground around her, and retrieved a leather
tool-kit. “Okay, let’s go.”
     
    “You’re over it, just like that?”
     
    “Catastrophe breeds necessity, which is the
mother of invention.” Gieo circled around to the passenger side of
Fiona’s car and waited to be let in. “My entire airship just got
blasted out of the sky—a little perspective here, please. Besides,
I stayed up two hours this time—a personal best!”
     
    “You do this a lot?” Fiona slid into the
driver seat and unlocked the passenger door.
     
    Gieo hopped in and situated herself on the
hot, vinyl seat. “If you know a better way to test whether
something will keep flying after being shot, I’d like to hear
it.”
     
    With a whiplash inducing jolt, Fiona’s car
spun back in the direction it had come and fired out in a straight
line across the desert, leaving scorched earth and a smoke trail
hundreds of yards long in its wake.
     
    “Is it always this loud?” Gieo shouted over
the thundering of the car. “Is this a Slark fighter engine? Where
did you get it? How did you make it compatible with a 2009 Allison
transmission? Why does your car look like a Challenger fucked a
Mustang? Can I take it apart? Why do you even have a passenger seat
if you don’t want to talk to passengers?”
     
    “I didn’t have a compelling reason to take
out the passenger seat until now,” Fiona grumbled.
     
    “Hey, I know you!” Gieo shouted, oblivious to
the barb.
     
    “I’m sure you don’t…”
     
    “Yeah-huh, you’re Fiona Bishop,” Gieo said.
“You’re the Victoria’s Secret model that stabbed the paparazzi guy
in the mouth with a penknife at LAX. What did he even say to
you?”
     
    “He wasn’t real paparazzi, just some
freelancer, and I don’t remember what he said.”
     
    “Uh-huh, sure, are you still crazy? I read on
Perez, back when there was an internet that you plead
insanity.”
     
    “I was crazy back when the world fancied
itself sane. Now that the world has gone insane, I like to think
I’m just a little more colorful than most. Besides, that was all a
long time ago.”
     
    “It wasn’t that long ago…like six years,”
Gieo said. “I had the hugest crush on you in high school.” Fiona
became uncomfortably aware that the purple-haired pilot was sliding
closer, leaning over the edge of the center console. “I used to
touch myself watching the Angel series video on your website. I got
kicked out of a SAT prep program for writing inappropriate essays
about you.”
     
    “What are you doing?” Fiona asked
quickly.
     
    “Nothing, shut up, keep your eyes on the
road, we’re going like a hundred or something.” Gieo’s hand found
its way onto Fiona’s thigh, gripping the tight, muscular quad
meaningfully. “I heard the model-turned-talk-show-host went all
stalker over you and tried to break into your house. What was her
name?”
     
    “Tyr...” Fiona squirmed when Gieo’s hand
pressed into the crotch of her leather pants, cutting off the rest
of her answer. “What if I’m not…”
     
    “…into girls? Into me? Whatever, it’s just a
hand either way, right? Don’t look down or over and I’m whoever you
want me to be.” Gieo’s deft fingers unbuttoned, unclasped, and
unbuckled everything in her way with remarkable alacrity.
     
    “What are you?” Fiona muttered, feeling the
soft, talented fingers make their way down the top of her unzipped
pants.
     
    “I’m the last scientist on earth, the airship
pilot extraordinaire, the three-time Junior Aerodynamic Expo of
Laguna Beach winner, but you can call Gieo or ‘oh baby’.”
     
    The pilot was