And another chappie...
I had a whole lot of time on my hands, so I wrote another chapter. Wonder why a popular romance novelist such as Buffy needs to hustle pool and live at home?
Buffy pulled the short leather jacket around her as she walked to the Bronze. Should have had Willow pick me up, she frowned. It was a little chillier than she'd anticipated while she was dressing. And just who had she dressed for anyhow? It's not like Professor Benson... no, Spike... it's not like Spike would be there anyhow. And she didn't even know if she wanted him to be there.
She'd left Mr. Pointy at home, not wanting to piss the already pissed-off locals any more than neccessary in the game room. Nope. No hustling tonight. Just some dancing and a few little drinkies for this girl, she thought.
She opened the heavy door to the Bronze and slipped inside, immediately scanning the room for her red-headed friend. Willow usually sat at the bar sneaking what she hoped was unnoticed peeks at Tara. She looked over to the bar. No Willow. Maybe she wasn't there y--
"Buffy! Over here!"
Willow was sitting at a high-top flanked by Angel, Xander and him. What the Hell was she doing? She was waving her arms wildly above her head and grinning, trying desperately to get Buffy's attention. She probably was grateful Buffy was there to save her from her college professor.
She walked slowly to the table, her eyes locked on Spike's. What was it about him that had her drawn to him like a moth to a flame? She reached the table and forcefully averted her gaze.
"Hey Xan," she smiled slyly at the dark-haired boy who was already tucking into a plateful of wings.
"Buffster," he grinned, wing-sauce coating his fingers and lips. He held up a drumstick. "Wing?"
"Uh, as tempting as that looks, I'll have to pass," she replied, looking at him like he had three heads.
He shrugged and went back to his meal.
"Hi Angel," she tried with a sweet smile.
"I'm still mad at you," he told her gruffly.
She rolled her eyes. The man sure could hold a grudge. No wonder Cordy had dumped him.
"Suit yourself," she said unapologetically.
"Guess who has herself a hot little date?" Spike piped in.
Buffy looked from him to Willow and back to him again. Willow? Was she on a date with.... him?
"You've got to be kidding me, right?" she asked.
Willow looked crestfallen and Buffy quickly tried to cover her faux pas.
"Oh, Will, that's not what I... I just... he's your professor," she sighed. "Aren't there rules against that kind of thing? And I thought you were more of the ladies type anyhow?"
"I was," Willow said defensively. "I am, I mean. I'm not on a date with him is what I mean. What I mean, uh, he means... I asked Tara if she wanted to come to my Wiccan group. That's what I mean."
"Oh," Buffy breathed, surprisingly relieved. "I, uh... that's wonderful, Will."
She gave the red-head a squeeze and turned to pull a barstool to the end of the table.
"I was just worried that, you know, I didn't know you meant a date with Tara... and I didn't want you to get in trouble with the school or have to drop out or whatever happens when a professor is caught, you know... and a student, and that's just not of the good," she stammered.
"I know, Buff," Willow nodded, reading between the lines.
Yeah, Buffy. I know, alright. You just wanted to make sure Mr. Salty Goodness was still available, she smiled to herself.
"So, uh, where's your friend tonight, Love?" Spike asked, looking for the tool she used to emasculate the weaker sex.
"Mr. Pointy?" she asked improvidently. "Left him at home. I've got four chapters in the can. I should be able to get my next advance before I run out of the money Riley so kindly offered me."
"Not that it's my business, but what's an accomplished novelist doing hustling pool and living at home with mum?" Spike asked, not really concerned with whether or not it was his business.
"You're right," Buffy said tightly. "It's not your business. Now, Will, tell me when this date with Tara came about?"
"Ladies'?" Willow asked brightly, sensing a need for a break from Spike on Buffy's end.
As the two girls disappeared into the sea of people bobbing and weaving their way through the crowded club, Angel cast a quick glance over his shoulder. He turned back to the bleached blonde across from him, hands clasped on the table top, and leaned forward.
"Buffy's money problems are kind of a touchy subject," Angel told him. "Even more touchy than my botched relationship with Cordelia."
"It's not like I meant to upset the chit," Spike told him defensively.
"Promise you'll keep your gob shut?" Angel asked, insinuating that he was going to reveal the reason behind Buffy's financial despair.
Spike nodded solemnly. Angel glanced around again to make sure that the girls were still out of earshot.
"Buffy makes great money with her books, I mean, they're not something I'd read, but she writes some pretty good Jackie Collins quality chick stuff. She has a huge following among romance readers," he explained. "There's a reason why she uses a pen name. There's a reason that the photo inside the cover looks nothing like her."
"What? She in witness protection or something like that?" he asked with a smirk.
"Something like that," Xander interrupted.
"Remember that big court case all over the news about three years ago? The man who would charm the pants off of rich, lonely women and then wipe out their entire savings, disappearing without a trace? The Ladykiller?" Angel continued.
Spike searched the recesses of his mind. He could picture the nicely dressed middle aged man with the stunning smile that never faltered as he played to the jury, the judge and the Court TV cameras. What was that bloke's name? Sutton? Studdard? No. Sumner? Hank Sumner... Summers. Hank Summers. He remembered. Xander was the one who caught the glint of recognition in Spike's eyes and nodded.
"Yep," he told Spike sadly. "Hank Summers, the Ladykiller. That's bastard is Buffy's father."