by Tempe O'Kun
The canine handed her the remote.
Her fingertip teased the play button as she looked his way. “Have I ever been wrong?”
He gave her a dubious look. “Yes.”
She punched him in the shoulder. “You’ll like it.” With a wink, she hit play.
An opening shot of Paris stock footage flashed onto the screen, then cut to a high-octane gun battle down a street in some other city.
Ears perking, the husky aligned his muzzle on the screen. “Did he just take down a helicopter with his own severed leg?”
“I like how they’re all bleeding carrot juice.” She propped her webbed feet up on the coffee table, popping a shrimp into her mouth. “And they all become a slightly different breed when they have to do a stunt.”
Max squinted through decades of VHS degradation. “The Manx they’ve got playing the cyborg turns into a calico whenever she does a backflip.”
“Which would be okay, if she could walk instead of backflipping.”
He nodded. “Design flaw.”
The film flashed back to the protagonist’s pre-revengining days.
“Ah, okay.” Max talked over the layered dubbing. “The guy’s wife gets killed, so he builds a killer robot that looks like her to avenge her. Makes perfect sense.”
The otter tapped a claw on her lip, then pointed at the screen. “They keep calling her a cyborg, though. I think it’s actually her.”
“But we saw her funeral.” His brow furrowed. “Did she punch her way out of the grave?”
A peal of laughter burst from the lutrine. “That would’ve saved this movie.”
The last of the daylight left the sky outside and the breeze coming in through the window gained a bite of damp chill. As cars and buildings blew apart, the dog found his otter friend scooting closer and closer on the sofa to benefit from his warmth. She must have missed him a lot, since she slipped under his arm during the helicopter chase. He smiled; otters could be so touchy-feely. He’d missed her too.
Kylie groaned. “Aaaaand he’s falling in love with Cyborg Wife.”
The husky tapped a paw pad against his lips. “Legally, since death parted them, I think they have to remarry.”
She writhed into a more comfy position on the sofa, curling up beside him. “Cyborg Ex-Wife sounds so wrong.”
He gave a grave nod. “Even more dangerous, though.”
“True.” She giggled. “And stop staring at her boobs. She’s technically dead.”
“I’ll stop when her nipples stop firing lasers.” He watched said breasts lay waste to a platoon of allegedly deadly mercenaries. “Though she probably could’ve fired the lasers through her shirt instead of taking it off.”
“And ruin a perfectly good tube-top?” The otter tugged at her shirt.
The canine’s head tilted. “Does he have his leg back? He’s limping around.”
She popped another shrimp into her mouth. “He probably didn’t have a full-size spare.”
He laughed, which she must have felt, her cheek resting on his chest like that.
“If you ever get killed and I build a cyborg to avenge you, I’ll be sure to make it look like you.” She patted his knee.
“Laser cannons should to go somewhere other than my nipples.” He examined his pectorals. “Doesn’t seem practical.”
Credits rolled, listing fifty Turkish names, the one original French actor, and an English-looking name as director.
With a charming smile, she propped her hands on his thigh and tilted her head toward the laptop. “Wanna watch another?”
He returned her smile, feeling, for the first time since the show ended, at home. “Sure.”
A brilliant flash woke Kylie completely and Max not in the least. The younger otter found herself with her head propped on the canine’s chest. With reluctance, she lifted her head to meet her mother’s gaze. “What?”
Laura stood in the doorway with a mischievous grin and admired the photo on her camera display. “You two look pretty comfy.”
“You’d better not post that for your friends.” The younger otter grumbled, careful to let the sleeping dog lie. “The last thing I need is ten thousand middle-aged ladies telling me what a cutie-pie I am.”
“You should have thought of that before you were so cute in your sleep, dear. Awww, look.” The elder otter showed her daughter the picture. “The boy doesn’t even drool. He’s a keeper, honey.”
She sighed and patted his side. “I’m aware.”
They hadn’t woken Max with their quiet conversation, nor were they very likely to. During production, the young husky had once been napping on set and slept through the filming of an intense firefight, complete with simulated grenades and gunfire and all the yelling of the cast and crew. He’d been upset with her afterward for letting him miss the action. In the living room, it took Kylie and her mother working together to haul him up onto his feet, and even then he was only half-conscious as they aimed him toward his room, gave the husky a gentle shove, and let momentum do the rest. He shuffled off to his bedroom and shut the door. A moment later, he hit the mattress with an audible thump.
By the time Kylie and Laura sat at the kitchen table, they could hear Max snoring.
“I’ve always thought he was a good kid.” Laura set a steaming cup in front of Kylie and smiled over her own mug of chamomile. “I wouldn’t have promised to keep an eye on him during the show if he wasn’t. Let alone stay at my house while my daughter has a crush on him.”
The younger Bevy propped her chin on her palm. “I know…”
“You and Max have had a good thing for a long time.” A tinge of regret colored the edge of her voice. “You’re still sure about changing it? You wouldn’t be the first girl to mistake safety for romance.”
“So I should just stop being attracted to him?” She crossed her arms. “It’d be a lot safer not to risk my friendship in the first place. I just don’t know what to do.”
“What do you think you should do?”
A sigh deflated her. “Tell him.”
Laura looked up, webbed paws spread. “What happened to telling him before he got here?”
“I tried! I couldn’t find a good time! ‘Oh hey, by the way, while you’re up here, I’d like to prove all the fan sites right and start making out’ is a tough thing to work into a conversation with your best friend.”
Her mother adjusted her glasses, looking as wise as possible. “I’ve found I regret more things I didn’t say than the things I did.”
The younger otter gripped her own whiskers in frustration. “I’m afraid of scaring him off forever, but I’ve only got—” Her eyes flicked to the calendar. “—nineteen days left!”
Laura rolled her eyes and reached out to grip Kylie’s shoulder and plant her firmly in her chair. “First off: relax.”
Kylie shrank a bit in her chair. “What if he says yes, but only for my sake?”
“Do you think he’d lie?” She took a sip of tea.
“No, I think he just likes to protect me.” The younger otter sank in her chair. “I just need to find a way of finding out how he feels without risking our friendship.”
“I’m sure Max feels the same way, honey, but I think you’re forgetting who you’re dealing with here. That boy would sooner step in front of a train than hurt you or make you uncomfortable.” The elder otter traced a claw around the brim of her teacup. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to make the first move.”
“I know that. I mean, I’d always planned to, more or less. I just wanted to, I dunno, warm him up to the idea first.” She shot her mother a mini-glare. “Don’t say anything to him.”
“I’ll keep quiet and let you work your magic. Or at the very least, let you find some magic to work.” The curvy otter winked. “So far, it seems like your master plan is to carry on your existing friendship, but with you wandering the house in your panties.”
Kylie squirmed enough to make the chair creak. “That wasn’t on purpose!”
; “More’s the pity. I thought you were onto something.” The middle-aged lutrine smiled over her cup of tea. “A thoughtful gift is often helpful in this kind of situation.”
The younger otter interwove webbed fingers around her teacup. “We could give him something from the show.”
Laura examined a chip in her own cup. “Not exactly romantic, but it’s certainly applicable.”
The younger otter cast a glance out the dark window. “Not my fault I got bad flirting genes.”
“I’ve got plenty of game; you’re proof of that.” Her mother stretched into a deep yawn. “Lucky for you, I don’t think it’ll take much.”
Kylie muttered over her own cup of herbal tea. “I’ll remember you said that when I’ve alienated my best friend forever.”
“If it comes to that, being a wacky spinster has its upsides.” The elder otter pushed up her glasses. “You’d be surprised how seriously people take you.”
“The wackiness is what I’m worried about.” She looked around the dark, sprawling house. “We have a family tradition of crazy. Bit of a turn-off for most people.”
“Oh sweetie, try not to worry.” Laura patted her daughter’s paw. “Life’s all about finding a way to channel the crazy.”
“Like you did?”
A shrug rocked her back in the squeaky kitchen chair. “I suppose. Sometimes I wondered if it was this place that was the problem. People’d hole up in here for years and chase their demons round and round until nothing else mattered.” Laura gave her daughter a wise look over her teacup. “I’d rather inflict my demons on a paying audience.”
She glanced to the door of guest bedroom. “I’m scared of my audience changing the channel.”
“You can’t let the worry of something going bad keep you from having good things.” She took another sip, then wiggled the tea from her whiskers. “I really don’t think he’s going to stop being your friend, no matter what happens. He’s the loyal sort.”
“You’re probably right…” The younger otter gripped her teacup, letting the heat chase the chill from her finger webs. “What would you do if you were me?”
“Hmmm…” Her mother leaned back in her chair, pondering. She closed her eyes, setting a scene. “Invite him to a picnic.” She tapped through the points of her plan on the table. “You show up in that new sundress of yours, with a nice bottle of wine.”
“We’re only 20.”
“Then drive up to Canada to do it. Or pick something cheap out of the wine cellar. Do I have to think of everything?” She waved the concern away. “So you sit on a hilltop, slowly edging closer to him as you work through the wine. As the sun sets and he’s just starting to notice what pretty eyes you have, the college marching band you hired comes out playing ‘La Vie en Rose’ and you gently take his muzzle in your paw and—”
“So I’m shipping a band across the border now?” Kylie tilted her head. “Won’t they need passports? Am I renting a bus?”
“You know, lots of people pay good money for my advice. In fact, you can’t have this one.” She jotted down some hurried notes on her legal pad. “I smell a romcom brewing.”
With a grumble, the younger otter slumped into her chair. “Glad one of us got something out of this chat.”
— Chapter 4 —
Camping
Kylie bounced into the guest bedroom to find Max laying sideways on the bed, jeans clinging to that cute butt, accenting that fluffy tail. “So I was thinking…”
The husky looked up from his laptop and lifted his ears.
“We should go camping.” How had she not thought of this before? What could be more romantic than sitting around a campfire? Maybe even snuggling up for warmth afterward? “I have a tent and sleeping bags and everything.”
He wagged. “Sure. On the manor property?”
“Yeah, the back yard is nice and flat, once you stomp the grass down.”
A grin spread up his muzzle. “It’s not camping if you can see houses, rudderbutt.”
“You wanna camp in the woods?” Her heartbeat capered forward down the road to hope. A little privacy might be nice. The otter hid her enthusiasm with a wiggle. “I mean, sure, that’s cool.”
“Cool.” The canine sat up, reaching into his duffle bag. “Just let me pack. We’re only staying out one night?”
Looking up from texting her mom the plan, she blinked. “You wanna leave tonight?” Her eyes flicked to the window. Sunlight traced long shadows across the driveway. “It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
“We’ll be fine.” He stuffed a toothbrush and flashlight into his backpack. “Not like we’re going that far.”
She took issue with the husky’s definition of “not that far.”
Otters aren’t built for hiking in the woods. They have short legs and heavy tails. Pine sap sticks to their fur where water would roll right off. Tiny, inedible shellfish buzzed about harrying her nose and ears—she’d never liked bugs that didn’t stick to water. Roots and rocks tripped her whenever she looked up. Worst of all, she needed proper hiking boots; on the rough terrain, her sneakers kept pinching her toe webbing.
Max marched onward, tireless. Branches snapped unnoticed against his powerful frame. Tender blue eyes peered back over his shoulder at her, making sure she didn’t fall behind.
The woods loomed, woven thick with hungry shadow. Just once, just at the edge of her hearing, a rustle or snap echoed through the woods. No matter how she looked around, nothing ever seemed out of place, save for an extra perk to Max’s ears. Not wanting to ruin the mood, though, she didn’t complain about the creepy forest or her sore feet. Still, though, her hackles refused to lay flat for ten more minutes. They pressed on.
After what felt like hours, they arrived at a clear hilltop.
He surveyed the area with a swish of his tail. “Perfect. Plenty of wood. Good drainage if it rains.”
The lutrine collapsed like a warm jelly. “Ugh…”
With a sniff of concern, he crouched to put a paw on her back. He wasn’t even panting. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her muscles ached. Had she really gotten this out of shape? Had she ever been in shape? The world seemed to think not.
The dog patted her on the shoulder, then pulled the tent from his pack. With a clatter of steel clinks and nylon whispers, he popped it up and staked it down before her eyes. “I’m going to find some firewood.”
“I’ll be here.” Muzzle-down in the cool grass, she waved him away. “Unless a large bird of prey carries me off.”
“Holler if that happens.” He headed down the hill, toward a small wash of dead branches.
As Kylie watched him in the fading sun, she noticed more than a few antlers and bones tangled in the fallen wood. Was that normal? She’d have to ask, if and when her body started working again.
Songbirds warbled from the foliage. Crickets chirped down the slope. The sun sank, carving lines through the forest with tree trunk shadows.
The husky returned with a massive armload of dry branches, then padded back down the hill to return with rocks. Just as she wondered if he was showing off, he plunked them down in a ring a ways from the tent’s entrance. He followed her gaze to half-rotted pile of timber. With a gingerly pinch, he picked up a dirty skull. “Feral deer.”
She knew that. The eyes were too far to the sides and the neck attached at the wrong angle, leaving little room for the brain. Still it looked enough like a sapient deer’s skull to give her the creeps.
Walking up to the edge of the slope, he tossed it deep into the brush. It shattered on some unseen stone with a dry and hollow crackle. The sound echoed through the forest, distorted like a nasty rumor.
Even under the weight of weariness, Kylie found the energy to shudder.
One last trip down the hill, Max hauled up a wide, weather-bare log. With that in place, he knelt before the fire ring and started constructing some kind of tiny lean-to out of sticks and bark. With a woof of accomplishment, he pulled a matchbook from his ba
ckpack and lit the little structure. He knelt further to blow into the kindling.
Bent over like that, she got another great look at his butt, which was more than an exhausted otter could hope for.
Smoke rose from the wood, then the sputter of flame. That fluffy tail swayed near enough to stir air past her whiskers. At last, the canine stood and watched his crackling fire. “There we go.”
“Mmmf…” With an agitated chitter, she tried to sit up, but found herself wedged under the weight of her backpack.
He unlashed the sleeping bag from her pack, then his, and tossed them into the tent. “I figured by the tent that you’d been camping before.” A wide white paw lowered to help her up.
“I have been camping.” The lutrine accepted his assistance and struggled to her feet. “In a back yard. In a city. Where ‘camping’ consists of being closer to the neighbor’s duplex than your own.”
With a chuckle, he sat down with her on the log. “I could’ve carried you if I’d known you were so wiped out.” His elbow bumped her ribs, about the only thing on her that wasn’t sore. “You’re normally a tough little thing.”
“Not tough enough.” She slid out from her backpack and snatched the water bottle from it. She poured the last of the precious liquid into her muzzle. “I should’ve brought more water.”
By the time she looked back to him, he’d already grabbed her another bottle. His backpack must have weighed more than she did. Crazy sled dog.
Heat glowed into the fur of her shins. Firelight fluttered along the surrounding grass and through the webs of her hands. “I never knew you were such a sporting dog.”
He shrugged, brushing ash from his whiskers. “I’m a little rusty: usually don’t have to blow on it like that.”
The otter shook her head, remembering her little campouts as a pup. “Mom and I just use gasoline.”
