KISS NUMBER THREE:

Spike's nose ached.

He rubbed at it, distractedly, as if that would somehow ease the throb that had accompanied him since yesterday. He leant against the corridor wall, and surveyed his environs over the top of his sunglasses.

Of all the many things of which he believed that Lynda was capable, attempting brain surgery using a blend of graphite and wood would not have been top of the list. Half way down, perhaps, but certainly not at the top.

Still, he mused, as he shoved his hands further into his jeans pockets, and heard his leather jacket creak, the pencil incident had effectively knocked him out of the considerable daze he'd found himself in since Lynda had initiated their kiss on Saturday night. He might have behaved like a lovesick puppy for thirty six hours, but now he was back, and sharp, and fighting fit. With knobs on.

It was amazing what a swift bit of penetration could do.

Granted, he was now living in dreamland, having finally achieved the goal he'd been striving for for the past… well, nearly eight months, he supposed. But he didn't have to act like he was on cloud nine. Cloud ten would have been better – providing Lynda would let him close enough.

Speaking of which, while he knew that she was busy, and that editing the Junior Gazette was a stressful job, surely she should be able to make some time for him? They'd spent hours of last night at the newsroom, within twenty feet of each other mostly, and she'd been all business as usual attitude, and barely given him a second glance. Except for a brief moment in the corridor when he'd been able to catch her hand and try to draw her in for thirty seconds, before Sarah had come looking for her with a query, and she'd pulled away in a panic.

Then she'd sent him off on a reporting job to the leisure centre with Kevin, about a new junior gym night that they'd set up, and by the time he'd returned to the newsroom it was all dark and shut up for the night.

Too distracting, he supposed.

Which was why he, Spike Thomson, legendary ladies man, and breaker of many female hearts around Norbridge, was reduced to stalking Lynda Day on his lunch hour, and hoping to get just a minute of her precious time to himself.

"Spike!" a voice, not belonging to the lovely Lynda, spoke at his elbow.

"Colin." Spike's tone was wary. Colin inspired some difficult emotions at the moment – seething anger at what he'd said about Lynda on Saturday night at the cocktail party, a desperate desire to prove Colin's theories wrong by making a good go of things with Lynda, immense humour at his Arabian native culture speech, and just a general uneasiness that accompanied any entreaty of Colin's, out of concern for his wallet and personal safety.

"What's your head measurement?" enquired Colin.

"What?" Spike was confused.

"For your wig."

"My what?" Spike pushed himself away from the wall, and looked down at Colin, deciding to go with the uneasiness feeling for now. It was easier to deal with.

"Well, we don't want to give you a wig that doesn't fit – you'd ruin the deal," said Colin, and he slung a friendly arm around Spike's shoulders. Spike shrugged it off.

"What. Deal.?" He spoke carefully and explosively. After the fall out of his oil fields scheme in front of several of the town's most prominent businessmen, he couldn't quite believe that Colin was still pursuing this idea with him. He had to have skin as thick as elephant hide.

"This one of my uncle's that I told you about. We've got you a lovely little dress to wear, Spike, in cornflower blue. It'll go great with your eyes. Could you remember to shave your legs tonight?"

Spike took off his sunglasses and just looked at Colin. Nothing more, just looked.

Colin squirmed. He ran his hand through his hair, and pulled it back from his forehead.

"Oh, well, perhaps you need a little more time to think about it," Colin's voice had risen in pitch, and he started to back away. Spike made to move after him, making his body language appear slightly threatening. Colin's pace increased as he disappeared in the direction of the dining hall.

Spike dropped the act, and settled back against the wall. He looked, for what had to be the twentieth time in ten minutes, at Mr Sullivan's office door, which had swallowed Lynda up before he could get to her. A group of fourth year girls strolled past, a couple of them giving him appraising looks. Then a small blond girl, carrying a Peanuts lunchbox, scuttled past in the opposite direction, obviously extremely late for lunch.

The door handle of Sullivan's room twisted, and the office ejected Lynda into his line of sight.

Spike smirked to himself, adjusted his sunglasses, and pushed away from the wall. He could feel himself start to swagger slightly as he approached her.

He looked her up and down in the way that had usually made other girlfriends putty in his hands in the past, and let his gaze linger slightly on her legs. They were magnificent ­ if you could discount the fact that the pattern on her tights clashed horribly with the print of her skirt.

He took in her face again, and anticipated the fast approaching moment when he¹d claim those trembling lips with his own.

Then he almost hesitated.

Why were her lips trembling? She looked a little scared, when she should be melting and looking doe-eyed at him. And her gaze kept darting to the corridor behind him, and then back at the door of Mr Sullivan¹s office.

And then, rather than touching her lips to his, she bit the bottom one and darted past him.

Spike stopped mid-swagger, finding himself unsettled again. Just how did she manage to do that to him? And, more to the point, just how did she manage to resist him, when any other girl would have been pushed up against the wall and being devoured by now.
But then, he mused, as he trailed after her, Lynda Day wasn't just any other girl.

Lynda had stopped at the end of the little spur of corridor that led to the deputy headmaster¹s office, and was checking both directions of the main corridor for traffic. Spike halted a few inches behind her and leant over her shoulder to try to spot what she was looking for. His mouth was extremely close to her cheek, and he debated trying to nuzzle a soft kiss into her, but decided not for the time being.

"Aah, Lynda…" he hedged, instead. "What are we looking for?"

"Kenny," said Lynda, distractedly, looking from side to side again.

"Kenny?!" Spike said, unable to believe what he was hearing. He knew they'd been best friends for years, but couldn't imagine Kenny wanting to be involved in anything he had planned for this moment. Unless Lynda really was as wild as he'd hoped. "Have you been selling tickets to this?"

"Huh?" said Lynda, as she ascertained that there were no other pupils in the corridor for the time being, and turned back to him. "I said I'd meet him here to go over the front page plan before next period."

Suddenly, Spike couldn't resist teasing her. He took off his sunglasses, rubbed his chin, and looked amusedly at her.

"So," he drawled, "I'm about to kiss you, and you're going to turn it into a… social occasion."

"Hic!" said Lynda, and he caught the full force of her glare. Her voice rose with annoyance. "Shut up, Spike. You're wasting time."

And before Spike could breathe, she'd grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him into her, sliding her lips against his. He could hear his heartbeat pound in his ears as he pushed a little closer, and brought a hand up to smooth her hair away from her cheek. Lynda's hands crept down from his neck area, then up under his jacket, and she rested them on his hips, linking a finger through his belt loop as if to lock him in place.

Spike tried to inch the pair of them backwards, keeping his lips moving, and attempting to brush his tongue against hers as he did so. But a door nearby creaked, and Lynda started as if she'd been shot, pulling away and releasing his waist.

Spike wasn't going to let her go that easily. Not when he had her exactly where he wanted her for the first time since Saturday night.

"It's nothing," he murmured against her lips, and drove another kiss into her wanting mouth. Lynda made a soft murmuring sound, as her nose brushed against his, and her shoulders sagged slightly, allowing herself to be drawn in again.

But, just as quickly as she'd relaxed, she stiffened again, and pulled back completely, putting as much space between them as was possible in the small narrow corridor. Her lips were red and wet, her eyes dark and limpid, and her mouth hung open slightly as she breathed heavily in great big gasps.

"Wha…" said Spike, unable to fathom the change of plan and feeling distinctly unsatisfied. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, and then another when the first one didn't work.

Then he heard the footsteps out in the main corridor, and things made sense. Lynda must have been listening, which meant that she hadn't had her mind on the matter at hand in the slightest. Annoyance mixed with the lust he was trying to control, and by the time Kenny's friendly face came into view, he was practically ready to sneer. Either she wanted him or she didn't – but he wasn't hanging around to listen to her fob off her best friend.

Spike pushed past them both, ignoring Kenny's cheery and amused "Hi!", and Lynda's plaintive "Spike…" called in his wake, and strode up the corridor as the bell went for the end of lunch time, knocking the doors of some open lockers as he went. Let Lynda explain that one.