CRUSH ON YOU
Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation belongs to CBS & Jerry Brukheimer; I'm just borrowing these characters for my own amusement.
Summary: She already crushed on a co-worker that went no where except for one dinner date. Will it be different this time around on a different guy?
PhoenixRae's Note: I got the idea for this fic while reading one of the convos going on at CSI message board under the SoNic thread. It's just a little something that needs to be written out and explored.
I.
IS IT WRONG TO FIND SOMEONE ATTRACTIVE? I believe it's only human nature to be drawn to a member of the opposite sex. And I am drawn to him, am I not? We worked on a couple or so cases together since I came back to Vegas as a detective, and he has proven to be one helluva charmer whether he was aware of it or not. Must be that slow, quirk/smirk smile of his and the twinkle in his eyes that promised a thousand…something. It always leaves the woman wondering what lurks beneath that cool, smooth veneer of his. God knows we both went through hell this past couple of years, but somehow we both miraculously pulled through it and now…we're better individuals than ever – I think.
WHACHA SCRIBBLIN' IN THAT LITTLE BLACK book of yours, Detective?" CSI Nick Stokes appeared behind the blond detective working on yet another case with him, this time it involved a botched home invasion resulting in the thief and homeowner shooting each other in a western-style stand-off; both victims were dead and they are pursuing a possible accomplice who witnessed the standoff.
Detective Sofia Curtis closed her small steno writing pad where she was busy scribbling down notes this past few minutes while Nick went ahead and ordered them some breakfast en route to Barstow where a lead on the accomplice showed up. She was supposed to be documenting little notes pertaining to the case, but this one particular notepad of hers was meant for her writing down her thoughts; more like her journal if she actually kept one. She used to have a diary when she was a little girl, but after one misbegotten incident when she accidentally packed her diary in with her school books when she was in elementary and a kleptomaniac schoolmate got a hold of it, all her secrets were divulged and from then on she resented diaries.
"Just notes," was her glib reply and accepted the white Styrofoam cup Nick handed to her with a smile and a nod of thanks.
"Just notes?" he echoed quirking an eyebrow, his own Styrofoam cup held in mid-air en route to his mouth.
Sofia tried not to look at those thin as sin lips and concentrated on meeting the transplanted Texan CSI's eyes instead. Thank God for bumblebee-like sunglasses; it helped shade her straying eyes.
"I like taking notes." She doesn't know why she had to justify her actions. It's not like she was questioning his method of processing a scene.
"You've been taking an awful lot of notes on this case, Detective. I'm starting to wonder if these notes are work-related notes or are you a J.D. Robb in the making writing down bits and pieces for your manuscript?"
Sofia nearly choked on the scalding hot liquid she was ingesting at Nick's accusation. She a novelist? Never in her entire adult life did she dream of becoming one nor did she read any books by J.D. Robb.
Nick was beside her in a split-second when he heard her choking. He gently patted her back, but it felt more like caressing than patting that Sofia had to step away so he wouldn't feel her shiver at his touch.
"Are you okay?" Concern laced the dark haired Texan man's voice as he watched her thump her chest to clear the airway.
"Y-yeah," she choked out in-between cough.
"You know I was only teasing you about the novelist part, right? But it looks like I was right." He looked all smug about this so-called knowledge of his, a peek into Sofia Curtis' private life that no one at the station or lab knew about.
Sofia wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.
"I know you were, and no, you're wrong," she quickly dashed that smugness off him and coughed out one last cough that cleared her airway passage. "Oh cripes, I think my vocal chord's scalded," she groaned when her throat felt raspy.
"Want me to look down your throat and have a look-see that it's not inflamed or something?" Nick offered.
Sofia gave him a look that said he was nuts. Nick misinterpreted her reaction as to him saying he wanted to take a peek down her shirt.
"Hey, I'm only concerned here because I don't want you going back to Vegas with a sore throat – people might think you did a lot of screaming at me while we're in Barstow."
"And why in the world would I be screaming at you?" The only 'screaming' Sofia had flashing in her mind were of her straddling him like a cowgirl and both of them having their wicked ways with one another. Now that was something she'd rather not picture if she wanted this trip of theirs to Barstow to be complication-free.
"Oh you know, because I was so good and you want more," he grinned devilishly and added a malicious wink telling her his mind was in the gutter.
"Nick Stokes, I'm appalled at your way of thinking."
Nick merely chuckled and rounded to the driver's side of the midnight blue SUV company car carrying all of Nick's things. Sofia decided to hitch a ride with him instead of taking her own car.
"And what do you think you're doing?" Sofia questioned when she saw him walking to the driver's side.
Nick stopped, gave her a comical look, and then looked back at the driver's door before looking back at her. "I believe I'm getting in behind the wheel and drive us both to Barstow, ma'am."
"Wrong. I'm driving this time," she announced and marched towards him.
Nick straightened up, squaring his shoulders and met the approaching detective's sunglasses-covered eyes. "I believe this is my truck," he reminded her.
"I know," she nodded. "And I'm still driving," she grinned mischievously.
"And why are you driving instead of me?"
Sofia cocked an eyebrow and glanced down at the brown paper bag he was clutching against his coffee cup. "Because you'll be eating your breakfast en route to Barstow and I am not." She knew it was a lame excuse, but she needed to be behind the wheel instead of seated beside him the rest of the way to their destination. With the way her mind was going plus Nick's subtle innuendo, she wouldn't be able to justify herself if she did something out of character.
WHAT IS FATE? DOES EVERYBODY BELIEVE IN IT? Is Fate doing its magical wonder on us right now? Is this some sort of sign? If this is, what kind of sign is this? God knows I can't act on this growing attraction of mine towards him, even if he has given me quite a helluva lot of reasons to want to jump him the entire time we were investigating the accomplice…
QUIT YOUR GRUMBLING, ALRIGHT? IT WASN'T my fault the tires were slashed and the doors were jimmied with the windows busted just before we're leaving Barstow." Sofia lugged herself into the motel suite she and Nick booked in to for the night while their SUV was being worked on at the garage. "You chose to park there after I told you I have a bad feeling about the area."
"Oh yeah, blame it all on me!" Nick jabbed his own shoulders hard after crossing the suite threshold and closing the door after him. "How was I supposed to know that this accomplice was a thug whose posse doesn't like authorities?"
Sofia stopped in the middle of the room, craned her head over her shoulder and gave her companion a pointed glare. "All thugs hate authority figures."
Nick made a face. "You know what I mean."
"Of course," she gave him a sugary sweet smile that was so fake ants would go into major protest at the sourness of it. She whipped off her sunglasses, walked to the circular table set by the kitchenette area and deposited it there. She took a quick three-sixty degree survey of the room, her hands planted on her hips when she turned to Nick and said, "There's only one bed."
"I know," the Texan CSI nodded and walked towards the double bed set in the middle of the room. He sat at the edge and propped one leg atop his knee to unlace his shoe.
"Where am I gonna sleep?" she asked.
Nick frowned. He looked at his companion then over his shoulder at the neatly made bed before turning his attention back at the blond detective.
"This bed is big enough for two," he replied with a nonchalant shrug.
Share a bed with Nick Stokes? Oh great. Just great. It was exactly what she needed after tampering down her libido's screams of release every time he did as much as turned to her with that sexy as sin smirk of his while they were questioning Dawg and his cronies about the murder case they're working on.
Nick must've sensed her scandalized thought at the prospect of sharing a bed with him – fully clothed! – and that got his defenses raised.
"C'mon, I don't snore. And I am not a bed-hog either. According to past bedmates, I am the perfect bed partner." He said this with just enough arrogance that Sofia couldn't help herself from rolling her eyes at him.
"Oh please, I don't think I need to know your prowess in the bedroom," she presented him with her back and pretended to be fascinated by the small kitchen with a sink and a regular sized fridge.
She heard him chuckle from behind her. He was no doubt having that killer grin of his while he shook his nearly bald head. She doesn't know the story behind him acquiring that military crew cut hairstyle, but she'd be damned if she said it didn't intensify his hotness factor.
"I need a shower," she announced out of the blue.
"Be my guest. Just don't use up all the towels and don't finish up the hot water. I'll hop in there too," he told her flippantly while untying his other shoe.
"What?" Sofia turned around to face him, scandalized at the meaning of his words.
Nick slowly raised his gaze, that devilish grin of his clearly intact and Sofia felt foolish for reacting the way she did. He was toying with her. Was he doing this on purpose or what?
"Don't worry I'll let you enjoy your bath alone. I'll hop in after you're finished, unless…" He let his words trail off, letting her finish the unspoken meaning herself.
Sofia wasn't the type to blush. Heck, she rarely blush. Usually it was her who caused others to blush. And yet right now she felt her cheeks flaming and she was ready to smack the man seated quite comfortably on the foot of the cheap motel bed across from her.
Mustering up her usual nonchalant composure, Sofia fired back a grin as mischievous as his. "If you behave maybe I'll share," and she left it at that.
She quickly turned her back to her companion and hid inside the all-white tiled bathroom. She didn't see the drop-jaw expression the suave Texan CSI gave her after she left.
Something tells them this will be one helluva looooong night.
IF I WAS TOLD I'D BE STRANDED MORE THAN an hour's drive from my place, I would've thought of bringing in spare clothing. Since this afternoon's mishap was clearly unexpected – and at the back of my head I was under the impression I'd be spending tonight in the comfort of my own place – I didn't bother packing in an overnight shirt and some toiletries. What I couldn't quite fathom is the reason behind men finding it sexy to see women wearing their oversized shirt and practically nothing else (except for their underwear)?
SOFIA TRIED HER BEST NOT TO FIDGET AS MUCH while walking about in the cramped suite. Nick did a food run just after they both had their shower and now she was seated at one of the two four-legged plastic chairs in the kitchen area of their suite. She'd bring her legs up and press her thighs close to her chest while she munched on burgers and fries, but Nick's spare white t-shirt provided little to none cover if she did that.
She still felt silly after she realized she didn't have a spare shirt to change in to after her shower. She debated on whether to call out to Nick and borrow one from him (provided he brought enough for two people) or she'd ask him to go out and buy whatever t-shirt he could find within a walking mile or two from the motel they checked in to for the night.
The former won. She didn't want to send him on a wild goose chase for a t-shirt. She just hoped Nick brought an extra shirt with him, otherwise she'd be sleeping in the buff, which wouldn't be a problem if she was alone.
"How's dinner?" Nick asked after wolfing down the last of his burger. He sat across from her at the table trying his damnedest not to look at her exposed legs. His old t-shirt only came down to her thighs, not even mid-thigh hence the too much skin exposure.
"Dinner's fine, thank you." She dabbed at the bit of ketchup on the side of her lip. "You should've let me pay for half of this," she insisted.
Nick waved her off and reached across the table for some of her fries, which earned his hand a sound swatting from her.
"Just because you paid for this doesn't mean you can steal fries from me," she scolded.
"That's exactly why I paid for our dinner," Nick grinned and bit the two fries he grabbed in half.
Sofia couldn't help it. She rolled her eyes at him. Again. Somehow this rolling her eyes thing was fast becoming a habit whenever she was around this man.
"What did the people at the garage say about getting us back on the road in the morning?" She asked wanting to talk about something – anything – to avoid the awkward silence that seem to ensue shortly after she donned on his shirt and exposed her legs to the world.
"By noon was the given time for pick up. Until then I guess we're stuck here," he shrugged.
"Or we can take a rental back to Vegas and charge it to the PD," she suggested.
Nick shot her a look that told her he'd rather wait until pigs learned to fly than rent a vehicle. Did he happen to have some bad experience renting a vehicle before?
"It's just a suggestion," she added and reached for a fry. "OK, let's not talk about your vehicle. Let's talk about the case."
"What is there to talk about? Dawg is definitely the killer and staged the whole thing," Nick leaned back, stretched his legs before him and rested his arms – one on the back of the plastic chair and the other on the table while his back was against the wall.
"Are you sure?" she challenged. She wasn't at all convinced that the man they pursued in Barstow was the killer; an accomplice, yes, but a cold-blooded killer? Not in this lifetime. One of his cronies might've been the killer, Sofia could attest to that, but not this poor soul that was thrust deep into this mess.
They argued about the case and Dawg's apparent involvement. It lasted for a good hour and a half, with each of them taking the pro and con side.
WORD SURE TRAVEL FAST AROUND HERE."
Sofia jumped at the sound of a familiar male voice whispering close to her ear. She was at the reception desk finishing up writing their report, her back turned to the doors hence why she didn't see him. She signed the form on the clipboard and handed it to the man standing on the other side of the counter before she turned to face the man she hadn't seen since their return trip from Barstow a week ago.
"What are you talking about?" she frowned.
Nick cocked an eyebrow and gave her a look that pretty much told her she has gone daft. He grabbed her elbow and steered her away from the receptionist desk and towards the exit.
"I just heard a rumour about a smooth, long-legged detective sharing a motel room with a strapping southern CSI."
Sofia stopped dead on her tracks. Her jaw dropped in shock.
"Yep. That was pretty much my reaction too when I caught wind of the rumour. Thanks to Greg keeping me updated on office gossip." He didn't sound too happy at all, but whether he wasn't too happy about Greg or the gossip she wasn't sure.
"But nothing happened," she insisted.
"I know," he agreed and urged her to move again because they were blocking the way. "I was there too, remember?"
"When we filed that particular report, I was under the impression that it was confidential info? How did word leak out about us shacking up together for a night?"
"Shacking up?" Nick echoed.
Sofia made a face. "You know what I mean."
Nick chuckled, his hand still clamped on her elbow as he led her to where she parked her car. "Anyway, I know us sharing a room together would eventually leak out, I just don't know where the 'smooth' and 'long-legged' part come from," he shrugged.
Sofia stopped by her driver's door and turned just a bit to come face to face with him. "You were the only one who saw me wearing just a t-shirt that night. You told people," she accused.
"What? C'mon Sofia, don't be crazy. Now why would I go around telling people that?"
"You tell me," she snapped. She was pissed. She hated being the subject of office grapevine.
"Look, I might've mentioned to Warrick that I had to lend you a shirt 'coz our overnight stay was unexpected and you didn't bring a change of clothing, but that's all I said to him. I also mentioned that we ended the night arguing about the case."
"Only our arguing about the case wasn't the topic of this particular gossip."
Nick cocked an eyebrow and gave her a look. "C'mon, between our arguing about the case and us spending the night together in a motel room, which is more gossip-worthy?"
He had her there. But still she'd rather not be part of the current office grapevine.
"You and your big mouth. That is all I can say," she hissed and opened her car door. She slipped behind the wheel and yanked the door shut, nearly taking Nick's hand off if he hadn't been quick enough to remove it from the doorframe.
I DIDN'T MEAN TO SNAP AT HIM. I WAS pissed off and he happened to be the only person around for me to lash out on. I knew it wasn't his fault that our spending the night together became the topic of our gossipmongers. I guess I was more upset and irritated about the possible implication these out of control gossip would reflect on us. We work together, for crying out loud! I'm sure office romance is strictly taboo, especially if both parties involved work closely together.