Andy POV
We called it quits at ten o'clock, and honestly, I'm surprised we lasted that long.
Because it was horrible.
The date, I mean.
And I'm devastated.
It's been such a long time coming, and I had everything planned out, and I was so excited about it. I think she was even a little excited about it, too, but then we actually went on the date, and it was…well, like I said. Horrible.
For starters, we got into an argument at work this afternoon.
"You want to give this guy a pass?" I asked her incredulously, referencing the latest lowlife to grace our interrogation room. He wasn't our killer, but he was an unrepentant wife beater. And a witness.
"He has information that we need."
"Yeah, but Sharon…"
"Captain," she correctly firmly, even though it was only the two of us in Electronics. Well, us and Buzz, but still…
"Captain," I repeated heatedly. "He's a dirt bag. You saw that black eye his wife's sporting. You know he did it."
"He saw who killed Harold Ramos."
"You think we can't find the killer without hearing what this piece of crap has to say?"
"Andy, you're missing the point. His wife won't press charges. We didn't see him hit her. He's here, ready to talk about the crime he witnessed. What do you want me to arrest him for? Being a jerk?"
"Yes!" I fired back as I took a step closer to her. I stabbed a finger in the direction of the monitor, where the guy was sprawled in a chair, leering at Sykes. "Otherwise the next murder we solve is going to be his wife's!"
And I don't know why I felt so passionate about the situation. God knows we've seen plenty of domestic violence cases, and the woman not wanting to send her husband to jail is a typical scenario. Us, walking away and leaving the two of them to carry on in their wedded hell - that's typical, too.
But this guy was just getting to me.
"He's on parole," I entreated. "Surely we can violate him for something."
But we couldn't.
Although I'll admit that she gave me the leeway to at least try, but the guy was squeaky clean. Other than the bruises on his wife, I mean.
And when I say she gave me leeway, I mean she said through gritted teeth, "Lieutenant, if you can give me a valid reason, I'll write up the paperwork myself."
So yeah, she was mad. And I was mad.
That was at four o'clock.
Our reservations were for seven.
We worked until six-fifty, arresting the actual killer and getting a confession.
"So, um…you still want to go?" I asked her cautiously as I poked my head in her office. I was prepared for her to say no, just like yesterday when I asked her out in the first place, but she surprised me again.
"You think because I get mad at you at work that I don't want to see you on a personal level?" she responded, and her expression was completely inscrutable as she stared at me with a penetrating gaze, and God, even hearing her admit that she's mad at me, my insides are still a jumbled mass of nerves because apparently she's willing to separate here and there with surgeon-like precision.
"No?" I replied questioningly.
"You go ahead so we don't lose our table. I'll be ten minutes behind you, at the most," she answered, finally gracing me with a small smile.
"Oh, ah…okay. Sure," I managed. "I'll see you there."
So we drove separately. On our date. Not exactly what I had planned. It made it too much like just a dinner out between colleagues. Of course I hadn't planned that we'd spend the hours leading up to our date annoyed with each other, either. Although I suppose it was more the situation that created the irritation more so than each other, but it's still not really the best way to go into the date.
I got to Serve at 7:08, and I had to argue with the host to still get a table. Actually, I had to badge him. And yell a little. So maybe it was a good thing Sharon and I drove separately. What I ended up with, in the most romantic restaurant in Los Angeles, was a table right next to the kitchen. In the twenty minutes I sat alone, waiting on Sharon, the door opened no less than fifty times, and each time it was so close to my back that I could feel the breeze as it passed my chair.
But I shoved all that aside when Sharon arrived because she looked absolutely beautiful. And I know, I just saw her at work a little while ago, but watching her walk across the restaurant towards me, a nervous smile on her face…that just did something to me.
I stood up, intent on pulling out her chair for her, but the host beat me to it, leaving me looking like an idiot, just standing there next to the table.
And somehow it went downhill from there.
Probably because I was nervous. I couldn't think of anything to say, so for some unknown reason, I brought up the dirt bag from this afternoon, and how he was probably home beating his wife at that very moment, which erased the smile from Sharon's face, and she started fiddling with her glass, and avoiding eye contact, probably because she wanted to lay into me but wasn't going to do it in public.
For a little over two hours, we went through the motions. Ordering, and eating dinner, and attempting light conversation, but it just didn't work.
Somehow my dream date with the woman who's become my best friend turned into a bad-dream blind date scenario. It was awkward and uncomfortable, almost like we didn't know each other at all.
Which is crap because other than intimate physical knowledge, I know practically everything about her, I thought in frustration. So why was it so hard?
"No," I said suddenly, standing up from my recliner, the place I'd flopped despondently after arriving home half an hour ago. "I'm not throwing in the towel, not yet."
Twenty minutes later, I raised a hand to knock on her door at the exact moment she whipped it open, and the end result was me very nearly popping her in the face.
Very smooth, Andy. Then I'd be just like that guy in the interrogation room today. Well, without the malicious intent, but still…
"Andy," she said in surprise, taking a step back to avoid my hand. "What are you…"
"We can't be bad at this," I interrupted. "I refuse to believe it. It's been too long in the making. I like you too much. And you…I mean, you…"
I hesitated in the lines I'd rehearsed during the drive, because me telling her that she likes me wasn't part of my plan, and yet those words tried to come tumbling out, but the truth is, I don't know how much she likes me, and maybe that's the problem, that she only likes me as a friend, and I'm the one pushing for things to be something more.
The more the frantic thoughts raced through my mind, the more unsure I became, but as I stood there stumbling through verbal nonsense, her smile grew bigger.
"I was thinking the exact same thing. I like you too much for us to be bad it, too," she said, taking mercy on my ridiculous lack of coherent speech and saying the words that allowed me to breathe again.
"You do?"
"Come in," she said, opening the door fully and gesturing for me to come inside, and I finally noticed that she was wearing her coat and her keys were in her hand, so I had to comment.
"But you're headed out."
"To see you," she explained, once again looking a little nervous. "I didn't like the way we left things, and the date…"
She trailed off, sighing as she tossed her keys on the table and then turned to face me.
"It was horrible," I finished for her as a smile worked its way across my face. Somehow knowing that she was just as disturbed by the lack of success of our date made it all a little better.
"It was, wasn't it?" she said on a laugh.
We laughed together for a moment and then I held up the bag in my hand.
"Since we were both ready to escape before dessert, I thought maybe we could try again. Ice cream?"
"I'll get the spoons and meet you on the couch," she agreed quickly, causing my confidence to surge.
She does like me. At least enough to be willing to give me another chance.
I slipped off my jacket and tossed it over a chair and then sat down on the couch, just as she returned with a spoon. Just one.
Without a word, she sat down next to me, and as soon as I got the top off the pint of ice cream, she took out a healthy bite, closing her eyes in appreciation.
"This is my favorite kind," she remarked.
"I know."
She scooped out another bite and this time offered it to me.
And I know, it's just ice cream, but still…
I took the bite, trying hard not to be juvenile, trying not to think about the fact that the spoon was just in her mouth, but I failed miserably. I'm not going to feel bad about being turned on, though. Less than an hour ago, I thought the possibility for us to have a relationship was in the toilet, and now I'm sitting on her couch, letting her feed me ice cream. I feel like the luckiest man alive.
We spent several minutes just taking turns eating, and talking about all sorts of things, and never once did it feel awkward, and so I finally had to say it.
"What was that?" I asked, knowing she'd know exactly what I meant. "It's like we forgot that we're friends."
She hummed her agreement, taking the pint from me and setting it on the coffee table, and then leaning back against the cushions and rolling her head towards mine. We're so close that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes and I can smell the lingering scent of her perfume combined with the sweet smell of ice cream on her breath.
"There's a lot riding on this," she said after a moment. "I think I was nervous. If this doesn't work out between us, if dating isn't a good idea…can we still be friends? Because I've come to really value your friendship, and the time we spend together."
"Me, too," I agreed.
After all, maybe that's one reason why it took me the better part of a year to actually ask her out on a real date. Maybe what we were doing was so important that it made me scared to risk trying for more.
"I think we have our answer, though," I continued, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair back behind her ear. She looked at me quizzically and I whispered playfully, "The date was really bad, remember? And yet here we are, still friends."
I let my finger linger near her ear and then I trailed it down her cheek, and maybe it was a bad idea to touch her, I don't know, because I suddenly didn't want to stop touching her. So I didn't. I continued with a light touch, down her arm until I stroked over the back of her hand for a brief moment, and then she turned her hand over, clasping onto mine.
"That's true," she said. "And you know, it wasn't bad because of you."
"Or you."
"Hmm. I think it was just a slight misstep for us. It's hard to let go and be…romantic," she said purposefully, smiling as she held my hand a little tighter. "With a friend. I was only guessing about your expectations, and your feelings, and guessing led to second-guessing…"
"Third guessing," I supplied. "Fourth and fifth guessing."
She laughed and then reached out with her other hand and touched my tie in a move similar to what she did in the office the other day, and I have to say, I really like the intimacy of the gesture, even more so now that she's doing it when we're alone.
"So we try again," she said easily. "We'll be better at it."
"I think we already are. Doesn't this count as a date?"
"Let's count this as the rest of the first date. Then it won't have been all bad, right?"
"And you know, maybe it wasn't really so bad anyway," I decided. "It got us talking. And it told us that we still want to talk to each other, even when things aren't going well. Even when I'm being an ass."
"Oh," she said, with feigned confusion. "Were you an ass?"
"All afternoon, and on into dinner, and you know it," I asserted. "I'm not sure why I let that guy bug me so much."
"I could've been a little more understanding," she conceded. "If you think he didn't make my skin crawl, then you're crazy."
"Well, you're here with me, so you might be just a little."
"Crazy?" she questioned in amusement.
I nodded emphatically, but then she was suddenly serious as she said softly, "There's nothing crazy about me enjoying spending time with you, Andy."
She capped off her statement by pressing her hand more firmly against my chest, and I'm sure she could feel my heart pounding as nerves rolled through me again, because if I'm reading her right, I think she wants me to kiss her, and God knows I want to, but it's such a big step for us, even more so than everything that's happened up to this point.
So I chickened out.
Although I did say, "Does that mean you'll consider letting me take you on another date? We can try Serve again if you want, or…"
"We don't need to go somewhere that touts romance," she interrupted lightly. "I think we have plenty of it between us without worrying about ambiance. Don't you think?"
Her words were quiet, and her one hand was still against my chest, moving lightly against the fabric of my shirt, and her other hand was still firmly encased in mine, and the urge to kiss her is compounding by the second.
"I think you're right," I agreed.
"Oh, and my answer is yes," she said. "I'd love to go on another date with you. Anywhere."
Her words and the sultry way in which she said them had my confidence soaring, so I moved just a little bit closer to her, and her eyes are still locked on mine, and I had the fleeting thought of where's Rusty because I'm pretty sure I'm about to kiss his mom, and that's not something he needs to see.
"Of course, this date still isn't over yet, right?" she added, and damn, I thought she sounded sexy before, but now…now her bold statement was spoken almost as a challenge, and it overrode all of my fears and had me leaning in to close that last little bit of distance between us, and then I pressed my mouth against hers.
Her lips were still cool from the ice cream, and yet warm at the same time as she responded encouragingly, and it occurred to me that she's been waiting for me to do this, possibly a lot longer than just the time we've been on the couch, and it makes me wonder how quickly we might have progressed if she weren't my boss, because then she wouldn't have waited around for me, but maybe rather made the first move herself.
But that's okay. We're here now, and we're better friends for having waited, and God, why the hell am I thinking about other things instead of cataloguing every perfect second of this kiss? Although I guess I'm doing both, because I have every little breath and hum memorized, and I love how she's clenched her hand, lightly holding onto some of my shirt like she doesn't want to let me go, and how she's so relaxed, like she's completely given herself over to the moment.
It makes me want it to never end.
Of course eventually it did, but the moments after were just as enjoyable because she smiled so sweetly, like she was really, really happy about what just transpired, and then she said, "Maybe that's how we should've started the date."
I grinned back at her, feeling pretty damn happy myself.
"Note to self: all dates start with a kiss," I mused playfully.
"All dates with me," she amended.
"Who else would I possibly want to go on a date with?" I responded, and as she shrugged, I remembered what she said earlier, about not knowing my expectations or feelings, and how that worked against us during our dinner out.
"No one," I said firmly. "And for the record, my only expectation is for you to have a good time. And as for how I feel about you…"
I trailed off then, not sure how to put it into words, or maybe I do know but I just can't say it yet.
"I think it's probably about the same as what I feel for you," she said, saving me from an awkward moment.
It wasn't really a definitive statement, but I'll take it. If she feels only a portion of what I feel for her, then I'm a happy man. Besides, there's no rush to put it into words. The getting there is half the fun.
"So we go on more dates and see where it takes us," she continued. "And in the meantime, we keep talking. We keep being friends."
"Sounds like a smart plan," I agreed, and then I smirked at her and asked, "And we keep kissing, too. Right?"
She ducked her head, I think in an effort to hide her amusement, but I still heard her laughter, and then she looked back up at me and said, "It's late. We should probably wrap up our date."
It's after midnight, so I know she's right, but I was still reluctant to go anywhere, especially since she's still touching me, still holding my hand, but I finally forced myself to nod and start to pull away, and that's when she said, "Where are you going?"
"I thought you said…"
"That it's time to wrap up the date," she finished. "Andy, I really thought you'd be better at this dating thing."
I looked at her in confusion for a moment, and then she tugged on my tie, pulling me back to her as she clarified by saying playfully, "You can't go anywhere without kissing me goodnight."
It was almost one-thirty in the morning before I made it back to my place, and the smile on my face isn't going away any time soon.
Turns out our so-called horrible date was the best one I've ever had, and I'm pretty sure things are only going to keep getting better.
The End