It's Just a Game I Like to Play
No. I told him once I told him a million times, absolutely without a doubt, NO. Will, take me out for dinner! No. Will, what say I go over to your house tonight? No. Oh but, why Will darling? Because, because I said NO! Pretty please with sugar on top? Sutcliffe, that metaphor means little to nothing to me. I don't care about the physical appearance of the 'pretty' nor if it's covered with sugar. I told you no, and that's the end of it. "Sutcliffe, why do you so frequently ask me if you know my answer?" the redhead fluttered his long plump black eyelashes flirtatiously, mischievously, as if daring me to take a guess. Like the answer was plain and clear, as easy to see as the viper green in his eyes. "Don't you get it, Mr. William T Spears?" Was it wrong that the way he coolly mimicked the way I usually addressed myself made my heart freeze? "It's just a game I like to play."
A game? What's a game without a winning or losing side? And if there is a winning or losing side, then which is he? Which am I? What's the goal in his game? All of these questions brought on a wicked headache, which I fruitlessly attempted to stop by pinching the bridge of my nose between my index finger and thumb. At that very second, the much spoken about Grell Sutcliffe strode in, dressed in a pale yellow dress, with brown leggings and knee high boots. Somehow, I much preferred him in the buttercup yellow dress than his normally provocative thin lacy and of course, brilliantly red dresses- if you could even call them dresses. They were more along the lines of lingerie. This one was modest, reaching to below his knees, with slightly puffed short sleeves. Even his fingernails had been trimmed into neat ovals, shiny and glossy with a clear coat of nail polish.
He glanced over at me, and our eyes briefly met. He smiled, not his usual all out "you're-not-to-take-me-lightly" smile, but something shy, cutesy, and radiant.
"Well, I must say, I never expected you of all people to gawk at yours truly," he said, voice a mix between embarrassed, amused, shocked, and topped off with the perfect edge of sarcasm. "Like what you see?" What was that response? The one I always used to answer his questions. No. My lips formed the word, but no sound came out. "N-yes." His grin widens, pupils dilating slightly in surprise.
"What was that?"
"…" I refused to answer again. Not because I wasn't one to repeat myself, but for once, I truly was stunned speechless. "W-why are you in here this time?" I tried to return to my normal, cold apprehensive professional tone.
Grell scoffed, neatly sitting himself down in front of my desk, in the velvet loveseat. He crossed his legs, and then his arms."Why else would I be in here?" he asked this like he never was in here because he was in trouble, or wanted to flirt, or was in a bind. "I came to tell you work is over, and you and I should start to head out." When did the redhead ever come here to tell me that work is over unless he had a bargain to make with me? I could already smell his plan.
"Oh? And what is it you and I would do after clocking out?" I asked, making sure to drop the hint that I knew what he was up to.
He smiled a sarcastic sharp toothed smile. "Pfft! I don't know, go home? Rest up for tomorrow? Come on, surely you know exactly what happens each and every time we clock out." What was his tactic? Making me look like a fool, or making it seem like he wasn't playing his game today? Whatever it was, it was convincing. It was maddening.
"…Right. And you have nothing, nothing at all to ask me?"
"Yeah, in fact I do."Check mate.
"Why do you keep questioning me like I'm a criminal? Suspicious are we? Or maybe you're hinting at something?"
Well well, every angle he played was working excellently. This sarcastic tone he spoke to me in, so unlike his effeminate and flirtatious tone, was… well, electric. Exciting. Gorgeous. Sexy. I shook my head, filing away the papers, and pulling my coat off the back of my chair, slipping it on.
"Fine. Then um… what say I take you out to dinner?" I couldn't believe these words were coming out of my mouth. He glanced skeptically at me, checking his nails."Hmm. I don't know Mr. Spears, I'm a pretty busy person." he responded dryly. That sexy sarcastic tone drove me wild. I waited for a heartbeat, hoping he'd respond otherwise."Oh."
"…But, I guess I'm free right now. Let me get my coat." he winked at me, and brushed his hand across my chest as he passed, exiting smoothly, as sleek as a cat.
A breath I didn't know I was holding escaped my mouth. I told him once, I told him a thousand times no. "It's just a game I like to play." What's a game without a winning or losing side? And if there is a winning or losing side, then which is he? Which am I? Suddenly, it all became clear to me. Grell was clearly the winning side.
And like a lovestruck fool, I was the swooning losing side.
He came back inside, a brown leather jacket covering his smooth porcelain arms.
"Well?" he asked, expecting. His sharp tooth smile sold what he was really feeling. "Are you ready, Mr. William T Spears?"