The ringing shattered the silence in her bedroom and she slowly opened her eyes. Pitch black. With a soft groan, she pressed her hand to her face, fingers sliding from her cheek through her tussled hair. She really needed that hair appointment. Maybe if she went back to sleep and ignored the call, it'd go away. She turned her head and squinted at the bright neon numbers. 2:47. Another groan slipped from her lips as she pulled the covers over her head and burrowed back into the comfort of her down pillows. Suddenly, the ringing cut off. Silence drowned her room once again and her eyes shot open. This was new. Usually he'd keep calling until she picked up or until she left the phone off the hook. Cuddy smiled and stretched, arching her back and snuggling deeper into her warm, soft, welcoming bed. She wasn't going to question her good luck. Maybe the vicodin and whiskey finally kicked in. Before she drifted off into dreams of perusing Neiman Marcus with a handsome man who complimented and encouraged her wardrobe choices, she heard the distinct sound of knocking. A cane. Knocking on her front door.
House stood outside Cuddy's door. One hand gripped his cane, rapping the handle against her door. The other held his cell phone, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his smirk. Five minutes had passed. His drum solo on her door continued. It would be so long before she caved. Suddenly, the phone vibrated in his hand and the display read, "Booty Call." He brought the cane down, leaning on it as he pressed "talk" and brought the phone to his ear.
"House of Love."
"House. What are you doing at my door at 3 in the morning?"
"Who says I'm at your door? I'm at home enjoying a late night movie classic."
"Skinemax does not show movie classics."
"Cuddles, I'm hurt you think I'd resort to cheap cable substitutes. I'm thoroughly enjoying Jimmy's
Christmas gift. I didn't think Jews believed in Santa."
"Right. I guessed you missed that Sunday school lesson. We invented him to console the children after we killed Jesus. House, what do you want?"
"What are you wearing?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Why won't you tell me?"
"Why do you need to know?"
"Why the secrecy?" House took a step away from the door, trying to see if she had turned her bedroom light on yet. A crooked grin crossed his face as he tapped his cane against the potted plant sitting to the right of her door. He knew she kept a spare key under the pot. She knew he knew, and yet she had never moved its hiding place. He could easily have unlocked the door and strolled in, but where would the fun in that be?
Cuddy rolled her eyes. How could she expect anything else from a conversation with House in the middle of the night? She slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, scooting back until she could rest against the headboard of her bed.
"Fine. You want to know what I'm wearing? Nothing. I went to bed naked after a late night with the twin cheerleaders from next door. They're home from college for winter break." Cuddy pulled a pillow to her mouth to muffle her laughter when House, for once, was speechless.
His breathing deepened and he licked his lips, trying to mentally lock that image away for later. His fingers tightened on the handle of the cane and he pictured Cuddy, naked. Her brown curls were loose, falling softly around her shoulders. The bangs hid her eyes until she shook her head, blue-gray irises staring at him. Her tongue traced the outline of her upper lip as she tilted her head back, exposing the smooth expanse of her long neck. She wiggled her fingers at him, the index finger disappearing between those cherry lips. Her lips parted and he watched her tongue swirl around the tip before she pulled her finger free and slowly... ever so slowly... ran it down her body. Before he got too carried away, House inhaled sharply and cleared his throat.
"Ooh, someone's been very naughty this year. Have you been reading my diary?" His voice was hoarse, raspy, low... and incredibly hot. She couldn't help the shiver along her spine. The game had taken a dangerous turn, and to be honest, she wasn't all that sure she wanted to stop. In turn, she put on the best phone-sex whisper she could, husky and soft.
"Baby, you wouldn't know naughty if it spanked you. And Penthouse doesn't count as a diary, even though I'm sure you've made a number of 'entries' on those pages."
House tucked his chin against his chest, a corner of his smile creeping higher into his trademark lopsided grin. This was the Cuddy he wanted to play with. "Are you offering? Usually I pay tens of dollars for unattractive women to talk like this to me on the phone. But tens of dollars is what? Ten times your going rate? Mommy, I've been a very bad boy."
"That's sweet how you associate your mother and phone sex."
"What? You'd rather I associate my father and phone sex?"
Cuddy rolled her eyes and laughed, despite her best efforts to stay in control. Taking another glance at the clock, she leaned over and turned on the lamp perched on her nightstand. No doubt he was outside staring at her window, which was significantly better than in the tree staring in her window. She pushed the covers back and slid her bare legs out of bed, softly gasping when the cold air brushed her skin. Her feet padded quietly over the hardwood floors, careful to avoid the area near the window.
"House, what do you want?"
"To borrow some sugar."
"Seriously? You drove past 3 grocery stores to get to my house, and you couldn't stop at any one of them?"
"Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor," he sang, shuffling to the side on her front step to try and get a better view into her bedroom. She had finally turned on the light. He imagined her laying in bed, probably in some slinky silk nightie with lace and leather.
"If that's the best you've got, there's no way I'm going to shake it like a Polaroid picture." And then silence. House pulled the phone away and saw that she had hung up. He pressed the redial button, but before the number connected, the front door swung open. There, in her sleep-deprived glory, stood Dr. Lisa Cuddy. In full-length, flannel pajamas.
"Wow, Cuddy, no need to get all dressed up," he stated, as his eyes raked over her body. The pajamas were too big, the neck low enough to give a tantalizing glimpse of her chest. Low enough to suggest she probably wasn't wear much underneath.
As his eyes blatantly swept over her body, Cuddy felt like she was in medical school again. The professor had just called on her in lecture, eyes on her, dissecting her and judging her response. However, Lisa Cuddy didn't graduate second in her class because she shied away from attention. She let his eyes roam, arching a perfect eyebrow and clearing her throat after a moment passed. "Happy? Now go home. Some of us like to go to work on time."
"Aww, but mom, I'm not tired," whined House, emphasizing the "mom." He let Cuddy give him a gentle push as he turned and slowly walked from her door. He felt her hands slide down his back and pat his bottom.
"Good night, House." And then the door closed and she was gone.
"Good night, Cuddy." House headed toward the curb, where his motorcycle was haphazardly parked. As he walked, he heard paper crinkling. Reaching back, fingers sliding into his back pocket where Cuddy's hands had been a moment before, he retrieved a handwritten note. The penmanship was unmistakeable, feminine and bold.
"This is not a game."
He turned in time to watch her bedroom light flick off. Actions speak louder than words, and despite all her huffing and puffing and denials, Cuddy was in it to win it. She just didn't know it yet.