Disclaimer: Yup once again I own absolutely nothing! Fox and Hart Hanson and Co. own BONES – I'm just playing around trying to make the wait till we get new episodes bearable!
A/N: One shot, think piece, without a real plot, but also hardly any smut this time. Just what has come out of me not being able to fall asleep a few nights in a row and hence has been thinking about fic ideas. Once again I owe a world of Thank you's to my wonderful Beta; G! You rock gal, best beta a writer could wish for! In fact this time around it's not enough to call her a beta. Just like I promised her she's getting bumped up to CO-WRITER this time around.
"The Man Without a Type"
He'd never really thought about what his type was before. There had been all sorts of girls and women in his past. He knew the saying "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," but that didn't mean that he didn't appreciate physical appearances.
He knew he was an attractive man himself, he wasn't clueless to that fact, but he also knew that that hadn't always been the case. Growing up he'd been a scrawny teenager with a comic book collection which was now worth a small fortune. And then, in high school, he'd discovered his nag for hockey. His body changed after he'd started playing and with his new looks, came the girls.
He still had the comic book collection, he'd never let go of that, he hadn't even thought of giving that one up when he was down on his luck and lost everything in Vegas. But that was all in the past, well not in the present any way. He'd learned the hard way that his gambling issues were never really in the past, but he didn't want to go there now.
It was something else in his head that had started this train of thoughts to begin with: Her.
Her… She was different that any other woman he'd ever known. To think that he'd dismissed her initially as not being his type. There was that word again. Type – what was his type anyway?
Looking back he sure had gone for the cliché. He'd had his fair share of petite blondes to go with his whole tall dark and handsome look. Rebecca was a testament to that fact he guessed and so was Tessa. He'd even found himself hypnotised and in need of some release after watching the small blond from that vampire show on TV from time to time. At times he had found it in the way of the January 1999 issue of Playboy, which had another small blonde on the cover.
And yet, all those blondes couldn't be further from his mind as he lay here, in Camille's bed thinking about his ruby haired goddess.
Temperance – even her name was different from the ones of the other woman that had been in his life. But then again, Seeley wasn't that run of the mill either… Temperance and Seeley – it had a nice ring to it.
He'd been fooling himself, thinking that he could stay away from Her by rekindling his fling with Cam. It wasn't fair to Cam, he knew that. In the past he had prided himself of knowing that he had never cheated on a woman once in his life, and yet the past months he could feel himself feeling more and more guilty.
He knew that what he was doing now was just as bad as cheating. He might as well have been cheating on Cam, because every time he kissed her he was thinking about Her and not Camille. Every time he buried his face in her raven hair he wished it was Her auburn tresses.
In the dark of the night he came to a decision: he would break things off with Cam, because he was leading them both on: Camille by making her believe things could actually work out this time and himself by continuing to think about types.
"Who says you need a type anyway?" he said while closing the door of the apartment behind him.