Main Bonus #54: Shake Shack & The Space Babe (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

MUSIC: we listened to "Hysteria" by Def Leppard, plus all the music mentioned in the bonus while writing this bonus scene.

WHEN I’M OUT AND ABOUT in the city, I sometimes pretend that I’m an undercover spy on Earth. The hood of my oversized hoodie obscures my face, and I stuff my hands in the little kangaroo pouch. (I don’t know what else it’s called, but Sulli agreed with me that “kangaroo pouch” is the absolute “best fucking” name.) My shoulders also naturally bow forward when I’m trying not to be noticed.

But the hunching and the hood over my head has a purpose. It’s so I can scope out Philly undetected. No one knows that I’m from another planet. Here to examine human life and all that it has to offer.

Including its edible delicacies.

The bell to a Shake Shack in the Rittenhouse area chimes as I enter with my trusted otherworldly companion. Only, he fell from his spacecraft when he arrived on Earth, so he’s unknowing of his alien origins.

He thinks he’s just my human bodyguard.

I smile at the backstory to a simple food outing. It’s more fun this way.

Quinn Oliveira does a silent sweep of the Shake Shack on our way to the counter. He’s mastered the furrowed brow “I’m not hear for chitchat” brooding stare. The scar below his eye kinda makes him more menacing too.

He fought an extraterrestrial baddie with razor-sharp nails. The scratch to the eye was brutal. I didn’t witness it, but he’s the talk of our otherworldly workplace. Starbeam Intelligence Corporation. SIC for short.

I really need to write all this down. It’d make for a cool short story to post on Fictitious.

“Are we grabbing and going?” Quinn asks me.

“Uh-uh. I’m gonna eat here.” No one is giving us any second glances or even a double-take, so I’m going to milk this anonymity while it lasts. “If I can, I want to take my time eating one of Earth’s greatest foods: the burger.”

He stuffs his hands in his bomber jacket. “Earth’s burgers aren’t that great.”

I glance over at him. “So this isn’t your first time on Earth?”

Quinn just smiles like I made a funny comment. His company is nice to share—he’s not rolling his eyes, mumbling “oh my gods” or acting like I’m the most embarrassing creature on this planet.

We reach the counter, and I know Quinn is okay to eat here. He’s very go-with-the-flow since he’s attached to whatever I wanna do.

The Shake Shack employee asks what I’d like.

“A SmokeShack with fries and a vanilla shake.” I look to my otherworldly companion. “I got you. What do you want?”

Quinn gives me a short and sweet look. “Thanks, but…”

I know the ending. Thanks, but you’re not supposed to pay for a bodyguard, Luna. Yeah, yeah.

I could pin this on him falling from his spacecraft, but he’s not suddenly acting out of the norm. There’s never been an instance where he would let me pay for him like he’s Eliot or Tom.

Quinn is twenty-one.

I’m turning nineteen in only twenty days, and with our close ages, I guess I figured he’d be more like a friend to me when he became my 24/7 bodyguard. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll change his mind. Like maybe he’s decided today that he’s a friend of mine.

But the longer he’s been on my detail, the more I’ve realized Quinn Oliveira is like a protective older brother.

“…you know how it is,” he finishes.

I nod, understanding. Once I pay and grab the receipt, Quinn orders a vegetarian ‘Shroom Burger and a bottled water. He’s such a healthy eater that I sometimes wonder if my food choices make him internally gag.

Externally, he’s never appeared that repulsed.

Our food doesn’t take long to come out, and with our two trays in hand, we choose a table with a booth on one side and two chairs on the other.

“I’ll sit here, if that’s okay?” Quinn is already sliding into the booth, even as he asks me. His back is to the wall, and he has a direct view of the small dining area. He’s been my bodyguard for almost a whole year, so his need to have the best vantage of threats isn’t new or that surprising.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I pull out my chair, and I take a quick glance at my surroundings that I’m about to turn my back to.

Only a few tables are occupied. At a high-top table near the big windows that look out at the city street, three human teenagers with school backpacks are chatting and only munching on fries. A lone man (also likely human) is reading on his phone and eating a burger at another table. In a booth, a human baby and human mom are together.

The teenagers seem to be half-interested in us, and I sit down quickly before I catch their gazes.

After I slurp my milkshake, I ask Quinn, “The scar under your eye—what happened?” I don’t know why I haven’t asked before.

In my mind, I’ve made up a bunch of different scenarios. He fought off Darth Vader on the cold ice plains of Hoth. He battled a cyborg in a post-apocalyptic future and saved a crumbling town. I know none of these things are real, but I always imagined a scrappy, battle-worn Quinn Oliveira with a tested resilience.

And I guess the details are fake, but the spirit might be true.

He swallows a bite of ‘Shroom Burger and unscrews his water bottle. “I was boxing—pro-boxing,” he clarifies fast. “It was a fight. The guy got me in the eye pretty good.”

“Did you like it?” I wonder.

“Boxing?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No,” he doesn’t even hesitate. “I think I hated it.” He takes the biggest bite of burger, stuffing his mouth, maybe to avoid answering another question about the subject.

“Were you good at it?” would’ve been my second question. Because there is sadness in being great at the things you despise. I don’t know what’s worse. That, or being awful at the things you love.

I could be an awful writer. I chew on my straw before slurping again, hoping to rid the tossing sensation in my stomach. If I suck at writing, it won’t make me stop creating stories for myself or Fictitious—because I know I love it too much. If you hate what you’re great at, I guess the struggle is to find the will to stop, but once you do, you’re free.

“Are you thinking of going to South Philly Brew?” Quinn asks since Sulli asked if I wanted to join her earlier today. I think Moffy and Jane are already there. Sulli has probably made it, too.

I shrug. “Maybe later.” I had a Shake Shack craving, and I’ve thrown off public attention so much today that I wonder if I can extend it for longer. “You want to join them?” SFO will be where my family are.

“I don’t care either way,” Quinn says, and I believe him. He acts like joining all the other guys isn’t too important.

While he takes another bite of mushroom burger, I notice that he hasn’t touched his radio much.

I smile into my bite of burger.

He’s a wild card among security while he’s protecting me, but he’s my wild card that can slip away without alerting the bodyguard fleet. But, in the past, he has confessed that he’s told SFO things that I’ve told him. Mostly to do with my ex, Andrew Umbers.

My guess: Quinn is partially a rule-follower. He likes to bend the rules when he can, but he’s not a total rebel.

And he’s way better than before Quinn. BQ is an era of bodyguard protection that royally sucked as an American royal. I’d been so burned by bodyguards who’d tell my parents everything I’m doing, and it’s nice to have the inverse now.

I’m about to scroll on my phone to check Fanaticon forums for The 100. I’m on a rewatch binge, and it’s fun to reread episode discussions.

But it takes only a second to realize my phone has died.

Damn. I pocket my useless cellphone. “Have you watched The 100 yet?” I ask him since he said he’d try the show out.

“Uh, just one episode?” He has an apologetic look. “Like ten minutes of it. It was…interesting.”

I shrug. “It’s not for everyone.” I pop the lid off my milkshake and stir. “Have you watched anything lately?”

He thinks. “ESPN?”

It should be noted that my otherworldly companion comes from a different planet in our solar system. Where ESPN is the main form of entertainment. “That’d be cool if there was a new sport with bungees and glow-and-the-dark outfits and they televised it. It’d be called something...like...” I mentally try to brainstorm names and realize I haven’t made up enough fictional sports in my stories.

Now I really wish I had my laptop on me. There could be a love story involved with the players. Oooh maybe it’s forbidden to date your teammate. Or would a rival team love story work better?

Quinn is a lot quieter.

I look up, seeing him trying to avoid the teenagers. He’s wadding up his trash and tensing more. He casts a few glances that way.

I take the smallest peek over my shoulder.

One of the girls is not-so-slyly taking a photo of us, her phone beneath the table.

I look back to Quinn. “Covers are blown.” I munch on a fry.

“I think they noticed me first,” he admits, his face tightening. “Sorry.” He’s the most popular among the security team in the media. The Casanova of SFO. I’ve seen that nickname trending on Twitter before. His frustration bunches his brows.

“It wouldn’t last forever,” I mention, not that upset. We were bound to get noticed at some point.

And I’m happy SFO didn’t get fired for gaining some fame. Security thought it’d be a detriment or a distraction to their job, but I’m selfishly glad my bodyguard is experiencing what I’m experiencing. Quinn understands what this feeling is like, and I guess it makes me feel less alone having someone from SFO here.

He bows his head a bit, maybe hoping to allude her camera shots.

Even if we’ve been caught, I’m not really in a hurry to leave. They’re not bothering us for autographs or anything, and there aren’t that many people here. So I just finish half my burger in peace.

The bell to the door dings, but I don’t turn to look at whoever has entered Shake Shack.

Quinn blows back in the booth, his muscles tightening even more. His eyes seem to say, shit. Like he’s going to be in trouble. Huh…?

I sip my milkshake slowly.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asks, and before I turn, there’s already a response.

“Looking for her.”

Donnelly.

His voice is unmistakable, and I try to shelter a burgeoning smile. Is he human or is he alien? I peer over my shoulder just as Donnelly reaches the table. Origins unknown.

His chestnut brown hair is ruffled from being outside, and he pushes the strands back with one hand and grabs the vacant chair beside me with the other. “This seat taken?”

“Not by any human life form. I can’t speak for any invisible extraterrestrials, though.”

He grins. “Guess I gotta take my chances.” He does this thing where he rotates his chair to face me, not the table. And I know it’s mostly so his back isn’t to the teenagers and other earthlings eating burgers—but I pretend it’s also because he likes looking at me.

Maybe he does.

Quinn frowns with the shake of his head. “How’d you find her?”

Donnelly rests a forearm on the table and looks over at him. “Photos on some fandom sites caught you two in the area.” He motions his head to the teenagers’ table without glancing at them. “Then they must’ve been the ones who tweeted a pic of you two here. ‘Cause I saw the Shake Shack logo on her drink.”

If Starbeam Intelligence Corporation were interested in new hires, Donnelly would be a perfect candidate. He has top-notch spy skills.

“Busted by the milkshake,” I quip.

“Chocolate?” he wonders.

“Vanilla.” I offer him a slurp.

He tries it, and my pulse shouldn’t pitter-patter. We’re only sort of now just friends. The kind of friends who once hooked up for an experiment. My experiment.

It wasn’t even that long ago. Just last month. But is he here to hang out or…? I don’t know why else he’d be here. We haven’t exactly hung out one-on-one at all.

Quinn seems more edged, and I wonder if this is about security, more than it’s about me. He finally asks, “I thought you’d be at South Philly Brew?”

He passes me the milkshake. “Left early, then grabbed my radio.” He has his earpiece dangling on his collar, but he fits it in his ear while looking at me. “Everyone’s been wondering where you are.”

I take this to mean that everyone was worried about me.

I’m not easily forgotten. It feels good to be remembered by people you care about.

Donnelly remembered me.

“My phone died,” I mention.

“You want me to tell them where you’re at?”

“Sure,” I shrug, not minding.

Quinn grimaces and sinks partially in his seat.

“What’s wrong?” I frown, not knowing why this update is bad.

“Quinnie,” Donnelly is about to touch his mic, trying not to laugh. His smirk grows as Quinn looks more distressed. “Just let him rip you a new one and move on with it.”

“I didn’t do anything Farrow wouldn’t have done, so why am I going to be chewed out for not answering comms?”

Quinn is going to get in trouble for not telling security where I am?

“Farrow does get slapped on the wrist, man. And he still does it. Consequences and all that be damned.”

He sighs out roughly, then nods and motions for Donnelly to use comms.

I watch Donnelly speak to comms. “Donnelly to SFO, I found the space babe.” His blue eyes flicker to my eyes, his grin on me.

I feel my smile expand.

He replies to them, “Shake Shack. Her phone is dead.” Another pause. “Sure thing, boss.” He takes one more beat. “Some fandoms posted pics of her in the area.” After that, he looks to Quinn. “Akara says to get on comms.”

Quinn straightens up in the booth and unwinds the cord to his radio. He’s not muttering about how it’s such bullshit. He seems more readied to take the heat.

I appreciate it more than he probably knows. “Thanks,” I whisper over to him, but I don’t know if he hears me.

Once Quinn has his earpiece in, his brows crinkle. “Wait, slow down. What was that, Thatcher? Cheese fries…? Two orders?” Quinn focuses on me. “Tom and Eliot are asking for two orders of cheese fries.”

I grin now. My best friends must be at South Philly Brew, and they want some food. “Tell them, it’s coming up.”

He relays my message to Thatcher, who’ll tell Tom and Eliot.

“I’ll put in a to-go order on our way out,” I tell Quinn once he’s done talking to Thatcher.

Quinn nods and grips his empty water bottle. “I need to take a leak.”

I wonder if that’s bodyguard code for the boss wants to talk to me. Or if he really does need to pee.

Donnelly is turned towards me. “I got her,” he tells Quinn.

He has me.

I know he means protecting me, but I let those three words roll over in my head. Probably for too long. It’s been determined that he’s not exactly here to hang out.

He came here just to make sure I’m okay.

“You can go piss,” Donnelly adds casually.

“Thanks,” Quinn says tensely and stands up. He mentions something about how he’s on comms if Donnelly needs him. And then he leaves for the bathroom.

I slide my fries over to Donnelly. “Fries are better than the shake.”

He tries one. “Oh yeah. These are dope.” He eats another one, and I want to ask him about the Scotland trip. He’s going as Farrow’s friend, not as a bodyguard, and I’ll be there too.

Hawaii, I remember the code name for the trip. Just in case someone overhears. But all those questions fall to the wayside when I catch Donnelly glancing towards the teenagers—and then more so out the windows. Out at Philly.

He has this far off look in his eyes, and I wonder what he’s thinking about.

“How long are you off-duty for?” I ask him.

“All night. Your brother’s schedule isn’t that hard so far.” He’s been assigned to my younger brother’s detail. It’s a recent development. It hasn’t even been two weeks. I thought he’d always be Beckett’s bodyguard and living in New York, but now he’s in Philly. Around my family.

I don’t know if he likes it any better. Or if he’s wishing he could go back to Beckett and the Cobalts.

All of that seems too personal to ask. Too much for what we are.

He asks me something next anyway. “I dunno if your brother likes me or not yet.”

“I think he’ll like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Xander has a good heart…and I think he appreciates when people are genuine.” I frown in thought. “But sometimes, I’m not sure if he can tell if people are being disingenuous.”

“Can you?” Donnelly wonders.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

He gives me a soft smile that fades pretty fast. “Hey, you know any Elvish?”

“Yep.” And so I teach Donnelly a line of Elvish that I know well.

“Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad,” Donnelly repeats after me. It takes a few tries with his South Philly accent, but he get is quickly. “It means, what?”

“Hear my voice, come back to the light.”

Donnelly begins smiling and nodding. “Sick.”

“Starbeam Intelligence Corporation. That’s my kinda SIC.”

“Mine, too. Sign me up,” he says while standing. I just realize Quinn is walking back to the table.

I rise with him, about to go order cheese fries. “Are you coming to the pub?”

“Nah, I was just there. I’m going home.” He takes out his earpiece and turns off his radio. “I’ll catch you later, Luna.”

I throw up a Vulcan salute. “Farewell.”

He flashes the “rock on” symbol, and when he turns his back, I watch him leave. As Donnelly pushes through the door, he casts a single glance back at me, and the light inside his eyes and his grin illuminates inside of me.

Where is home for you?

I wish I could’ve asked him. But maybe, again, that’s too deep. I like how easy this was between us, and while I wait for cheese fries with Quinn, a smile still on my face, I realize that I love today a thousand times more than I ever thought I could.

Thank you so much for reading this month's main bonus! It was a blast being able to show Luna and Quinn's bodyguard/client dynamic when he was her bodyguard. PLUS, our hearts basically melted as soon as Donnelly shows up. This was a moment heard on comms in the books, so we loved being able to show exactly what was happening. 

There's still another bonus scene coming this week! So keep on the lookout!!

xoxo Krista & Becca 

"Shake Shack & The Space Babe," Copyright © 2022 by K.B. Ritchie