Here's Your Heinken

Within the moments it takes me to close the door behind me, Spike has claimed the bed I was occupying earlier and sprawled his scrawny carcass all over it. "Very nice, Spike. You are grace personified." I trudge over and grab a limp foot off the mattress, bringing my knee up so I can unlace the ever-present boots. I'm feeling particularly pissy. "And for fuck's sake, could you wear things that are a little harder to get off? Please, for me. Because, you know, it's so easy to do with you lying there all dead weight."



"Hmph."



"That's right. 'Thanks, Xander. You da man, Xander. I'd be bagging groceries back in LA if it weren't for you, Xander.'"



"Limme 'lone."



He tries to turn and I drop the first freed foot, tossing the boot over my shoulder. I start working on the second one. It's like pulling teeth.



"You're getting boot crap all over the bedspread."



He grunts and yanks his foot out of the remaining boot, flipping over onto his stomach, spread-eagle. I shuck the boot and glare at him not very convincingly from between the two beds.



"And now you're gonna sleep this off, and if you so much as utter my name before 7am, I'm gonna make it my business to FEED you your goddamn boots."



He smiles into his pillow, eyes closed. "Sod off, Xander."



I feel the corner of my mouth pull up. "Yeah. Whatever." I turn to the other bed but a hand grabs my leg. Damn he's got strong hands. "Spike, I need sleep. Seriously." He tugs at my pant leg, then at my hand, until I'm sitting on the bed. "Fine." I plop down next to him on my back, yawning. "Snore and die."



He doesn't answer, just scoots closer and throws an arm over my chest. I look at him. He's awfully close.



He's so pretty.



"'Katie'?" I mock.



He smirks. "Shut up."



"Cradle-robber..."



He kicks me in the shin, and I laugh.



"Do I want to know what you were going to do in the pool?"



"I was going to have hot raunchy sex with a really young, starstruck girl. Possibly in the sauna."



Ugh. Nope, didn't wanna know.



"Well that's nice, Spike. I'm sure you can do it in..." Where are we tomorrow? Oh yeah. "Dayton."



I'm answered with a little snore. Figures. I watch him sleep, half amused, half wistful. I touch the side of his face softly and he breathes little puffs of air against my neck.



Yeah. Maybe he can find a nice little Ohio girl, get married, and give me the night off. Or, maybe I could grow a spine.



Then the next thing I know it's 7am, and I haven't slept a wink.





* * *





"Spike, please, don't start."



"You can't make me."



"Spike, get in the shower. You smell like Jack Daniel himself."



I herd him toward the small bathroom, but he's having none of it. I'm running low on patience.



"Look. You're not getting on the bus smelling like a distillery. You're just not. Get in there or I'll hose you down myself."



I go for his shirt but he bats my hands away. "Leggo of me!"



Argh, I swear to god! "FINE."



He stops. "Really?"



"Yes. This is more trouble than it's worth." I turn away and finish putting the little luggage I took out back into my bag.



Spike grins smugly. "Go me."



"Yes, you've successfully outwitted a tired man. Go you."



"I don't know why you even try anymore."



"Whatever." I zip the duffel bag, leave it on [the] bed, and grab his arm. "Come with me."



"Where we going?" he inquires excitedly as I drag him down the hall.



"I think you'll like this."



Surprisingly docile, he follows me downstairs. We pass the front desk and I salute the manager. I get the impression he feels like flipping me off. When he finally reach our destination, I push the unlocked door and we step onto wet tiles.



"The pool?"



"Yes."



He eyes me suspiciously. "What are we doing at the pool?"



"This."



And I shove him right into the deep end, in a big splash of limbs and leather. Like I said, the guy isn't all that graceful. Seconds later he emerges, bleached hair plastered to his skull, bright blue eyes shooting darts at me.



"You're dead meat, Harris."



"Yeah, listen," I throw over my shoulder as I head for the door. "You have fifteen minutes to get changed, pack, and get your soggy ass in the bus, or we're gonna go find another rockstar. Kapish?" A string of colourful curses follow me into the hallway.



I have to admit, at times, I fucking love this job.