Okay… So this is my second attempt at getting back into Covert Affairs via Word of the Day. I'm seriously hoping the start of the new season next week (I know I complained that it seemed so far away, but can anyone seriously tell me where the hell this year went?) will start my drive back into writing. I mentioned earlier that I lost all desire to write (which is true), but almost all of it I attribute to a lot of not so great stuff that's been going on in my life. I'm not going to get into the nitty-gritty details, but it amounts to I'm fairly certain I had a minor case of depression going on and it affected what I love most in this world: writing.

I'm not trying to be melodramatic or get anyone's sympathy points—I'm fine, and (in my opinion) I'm extremely lucky that what was going only affected my ability to write, and not anything significantly more important, like my grades or day-to-day living.

Anyway, I do have a job for the summer (specifically an internship at this PR firm near me—cannot even begin to gush about how awesome it is) so writing may still be spotty. But I'm really, really going to try and get back to my old self. :)

$4$

Décolleté: (adj.) wearing a low-necked garment.


She really needed to knock this shit off.

She didn't even know why she was doing it in the first place—it's not like it could actually make a difference.

And she had plenty else to wear—careful shopping guidelines instilled by her mother ensured that she always found the best deal, without losing the glory of owning a pair of Louboutins. There were plenty of other shirts, blouses, and dresses in her wardrobe that she could be wearing.

But every time she got up in the morning, she couldn't help it. She naturally gravitated towards her other tops and dresses, and always with his face in the back of her brain as she threw on another scoop neck dress or low-cut top. Nothing she ever wore was outright inappropriate—she still had to go to work and do whatever was required of her that day for the CIA.

She never dressed like a hussy… she just dressed with a certain person in mind.

Which, when you considered the facts, only made her wardrobe selections that much sadder. She could show up one day in her birthday suit and he wouldn't be the wiser. Seducing a guy with clothes that highlighted her assets was significantly more redundant when he could actually see said shirts.

And there was that infinitesimal hitch wherein they were best friends and she was certain she would forever be locked in the friend zone. He relied on her for booze and laughs and the occasional free ride to pick up extra groceries, not an actual relationship. And as depressing as that thought was, she wasn't quite ready to give up on what her brain marked as a futile battle. Which was where the shirts came in.

"So, I heard around the water cooler that you look quite fetching today, Annie my dear."

Hearing any grown man use the term fetching—and correctly, no less—was amusing, but hearing it from Auggie was enough to make her snort into her mug of beer as they sat at their table in Allen's. Probably not the wisest reaction when she was only wearing the fetching outfit to catch his attention, but she was his best friend first and old habits die hard.

"I'm dressed like I always am," she replied carefully, after she had managed to quell her laughter and avoid snorting her beer all over the table—extremely sexy.

"Not according to two guys from the seventh floor that needed data—real charmers, I might add," he said. "They seemed fairly smitten with you."

Again, that unladylike snort, this time coupled with a definitive shake of her head. "What do you expect? They're seventh floor guys. You know how they are."

He seemed to mull that over as he took another swig of beer, but only for a second. "Hmm, well that works and it doesn't," he told her vaguely.

"How does it not work?"

"Because I happen to believe that you got all dressed up for someone."

Annie froze, and took very close care to swallow the beer in her mouth without choking and freaking out even more than she already had. "I think you're full of it," she said, sounding every bit as serious as a heart attack, an effect that was ruined when she realized her face was on fire.

"And really, Annie, I'm very flattered to think that you would get all pretty for little old me," he continued, grinning broadly as if he never heard her rebuttal.

It felt like her heart had stopped moving in her chest. He had no clue how true his words were. And this could be the moment to finally tell him that she did, in fact, harbor less than platonic thoughts from him…

But that's not what happened. Instead, she smiled, rolled her eyes, and replied, "Keep dreaming, Romeo."

$4$

Short, but I wrote it in about the span of my break from work. Not horrible.