Not a Date

"You're not going to answer that?" Sam asked, eyeing Jules' cell phone on the dashboard. She had turned off the sound but the screen still flashed on and off every now and then whenever Scott decided he wanted to talk to her. Sam was secretly thrilled to learn their relationship was over—or at least to Jules it was.

"I told him that we were done a month ago," Jules replied, exasperated, pulling off her gloves before picking up her burrito. One of the reasons why he loved patrolling with Jules, aside from the obvious, was because she knew where the good food was. "I even spelled it out to him, no man is that dense."

Not that Sam could blame Scott for trying, but if he's really bothering her that much the least he could do was be a good friend.

Definitely no ulterior motives whatsoever.

Sam put down his food, licked a dollop of cheese from his thumb and borrowing a page from Ed's book, grabbed her phone, much to Jules' chagrin. For the first five seconds she was too stunned to react, but it didn't last long.

"What the hell, Sam?" Her hiss was followed by a painful smack on his arm.

"Hello! Jules isn't here right now but a little birdie told me you've been bothering her for- Yes, no, I am her boyfriend. What? She broke up with you, man, you gotta face the truth. Life is short, you don't want to waste your life and ours chasing a girl who clearly has no interest in you. It's Scott, right? The bartender? I'm Arthur. This weekend? Did you hear what I just said? It's over. Did you know she's a sniper? You don't want her to snipe your ass, man. We have a date this weekend anyway. You know, seafood, maybe slow dancing after dinner. Anyway, don't call this number again unless you want Jules to ask her computer whiz buddy to plant a virus on your phone. Okay, Scooter? Yeah, you remember that. Have a good night."

"He won't be bothering you anymore." Sam said, satisfied with himself and placed the phone back in its place.

The clock was ticking and ticking...

Maybe she would actually be happy. Relieved, at least. Mildly happy and relieved.

...and Mount Callaghan finally erupted.

"Are you out of your mind or something? Fuck you, Sam, I didn't need your help. You're crazy, you know that?" She was positively fuming. He shrugged, unrepentant. It was a dirty job but somebody had to do it.

"You're welcome, Jules." Sam was tempted to laugh but he had no doubts Jules could (and would) seriously injure him. He'd already started the fire, might as well throw some fuel on it – make it a huge festive bonfire. "So, you have a date this weekend."

"Shut up." Of all the cocky, infuriating, smug self-satisfied- the rant in her head trailed off as he started talking again.

"We could skip the slow dancing if you don't want to, I'm not exactly Fred Astaire myself." He had been laying low with his advances lately. He wanted her and he knew she knew it. He had settled for just friendship because that's what she wanted and he was okay with it- for now. Friends had dinners together too, right? If something happened afterwards, then they'd deal with that later. Hopefully though, something happened afterwards. "Are you allergic to seafood?"

Jules lifted her hand, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. "First, I don't appreciate your so called help to tell Scott to back off. Second, we talked about this before. I'm not going to endanger my place on the team. And third, I am so close to leaving you here. Maybe you can hitch a ride back to HQ."

His sexy sniper chick looked even sexier angry. He didn't think it'd be wise to mention the hot sauce on her lower lip. When he apologized, he tried to sound sincere. But honestly speaking, he was having too much fun to pull it off. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect. It won't happen again." - I'm not sorry. You don't know this yet but you will be mine. It will happen again if it has to.

Jules inhaled, closing her eyes and probably counting to ten. "Damn straight it won't. Even if I have a date, it'll be with Arthur, not you."

Sam tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Can I tell you a secret?"

She looked at him dubiously. "What?"

"Arthur's my middle name."

So he had to catch a cab back to HQ, but the look on her face was worth every dollar he'd spent. Even the snooping taxi driver pestering him for help with his traffic tickets once he saw the SRU uniform didn't seem so bad.

They would have that dinner one day; that's a promise.

Thanks Trish!