A/N: Thanks to the guest reviewer Amber, I was inspired to edit a little quicker this time around. :) Enjoy?
Indispensable for Gossip
It wasn't snowing anymore by the time we exited Burger King. But sometime between our entry of the fast food place and our exit it did start to stick. Vestiges of white stuck to the edges of the street and sidewalk. The bite of the cold lingered even though its friend snow left. The cold must've discouraged the crowds, because we were pretty alone on the sidewalks. Just a few cars and taxis passed by.
"Did you have fun?" he asked, his hands in his pockets, shoes scuffing against the slushy sidewalk. I wondered why a man so concerned with his appearance would let his shoes get scuffed up. "I realize now that Xander's was not the right place to take you on a date."
"Impressive deduction," I replied, bumping him a little with my shoulder and exhaling a short laugh. "No, I think it was fun. Only after the pretentious place though. I really liked when you pretended to be Watson. You had a really good fake limp."
"I've practiced," he said, looking over at me and fluttering his eyelashes. I laughed, a little louder than I wanted to, and blushed.
Fuck, I was starting to like this guy.
"So, would you happen to be free around my lunch hour?" he asked, returning his gaze to the sidewalk in front of us.
The question I didn't know the answer to myself. Would I go out with him again?
"Er, yeah. I mean, I'll have to push some stuff around at work, since I'm super busy and important there, but I should be able to make myself free one time a week," I joked, wincing mentally. I guess if I don't know what I want, I just say the first joke-y thing that pops into my head.
"Great," he replied, smirking a little. Cocky bastard expected that, did he?
"Actually, lunch-" I was about to say "is a bad time," but he spun me around in front of him. Oh, we were already in front of my flat.
"I'll see you on Wednesday, then," he said, rolling his neck a little. He smiled before he leaned toward me, too quickly for me to try to figure out whether I wanted this, and, with three of his fingers curling to slide by the skin of my neck, his lips pressed against mine.
It was short. It was sweet. Okay, it wasn't sweet, but everyone always says, "it's short and sweet." It was a kiss. But I wasn't thinking any of these things then, I was thinking them when Ella quizzed me later. While his lips were against mine, all I was thinking was, "Holy shit how did it get to this."
I wasn't really into him.
"I'll see you Wednesday, I'll stop by around 12:30," he said, his face still a little too close to mine for my comfort. I swallowed and nodded, my eyes still as wide as the second his lips brushed mine.
He spun around on one foot and walked away. I wished for three seconds that he'd fallen on ice, before I realized he just paid more money for the meal I ate in five minutes than I would make in the next month, even if I did have a job. I hopped up the stairs and jammed my key into the lock, turning, and slipping into the entry hallway.
I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, sighing. That wasn't a complete disaster.
My mobile vibrated against the wood of my coffee table, leading me to wonder why I silenced my ringtone. It's not like I had a job to be professional for, or classes or anything. A shirt from my high school speech team and a pair of purple shorts with tiny drawings of kittens completed my online job-searching ensemble. That morning I skipped coffee and the newspaper due to short funds.
I set my laptop next to my phone and grabbed my phone, settling back into my couch cushions. After unlocking my phone and navigating to messages, I realized it was Wednesday.
Just left, should be at your door in five or ten. -J
Ah, shit.
To my credit, by the time he knocked on the door, I was ninety percent ready. But… that's only because he erred on the side of fifteen minutes.
I turned the handle of the door and let the door swing open on its own inertia while I rushed to the stairs. "I'll be right back," I tossed over my shoulder, running up the stairs already. I heard him chuckle something about always being late, but I ignored it in favor of picking up my new (used) bag and jamming a notebook and my wallet inside. I looked in the mirror, realized my hair hadn't introduced itself to a brush or comb that morning, and took care of the problem.
"Sorry, I-" I started, clambering down the stairs and rustling through my bag to make sure everything I needed was present.
"It's fine," Jay's voice told me from the living room. I realized I left my laptop open after my terrifying text. My phone also lay on the couch, but it locked automatically...
I zoomed around the corner and looked through the doorway. Jay sat at my laptop, scrolling down whatever page I left open...
Sherlock's forums.
"You've got a bit more interest in this bloke than you mentioned," Jay said, not removing his eyes from the laptop screen.
"You're never completely honest on the first date," I said, resigned. "You leave your freakiest traits until the other person likes you well enough to put up with them."
"By that logic, shouldn't you have been on time for our first two dates?" Jay asked, finally flicking his eyes to mine. I saw amusement rampant on his face instead of the jealousy or worry that I was insane/creepy that I expected.
"That's not something I ever really control," I muttered, shuffling over to the couch and leaning my orange and grey purse against the coffee table. It wasn't really surprising that I'd left the thread I started weeks ago open, since that was where I spent most of my time online.
"You seem pretty into these crime things," he said, using the cursor to highlight a post where I pointed out an unsolved crime in Lithuania that had an element in common- the same strange symptoms followed by an unexplainable death- with a similarly unsolved crime in New York.
"I'm interested," I replied, curling one leg underneath me and hoping I could get out of spending twenty dollars on lunch by keeping him occupied with my strangeness. "I'm not going to understand these crimes, I'm not Sherlock Holmes, but there's got to be some kind of serial crime commiter or something," I wondered, turning the sides of my lips down in thought, eyes straying from both my laptop and the man next to me.
"That sounds a little farfetched," he said in a light tone, leaning forward to lay my laptop on the coffee table. "You ready for lunch?"
Ah, no luck. "You bet," I said, shoving my lips into a smile and hoping I wouldn't have to deal with another sticky kiss situation.
The cafe was on the opposite side of my apartment as my usual cafe with Lizzie and Neal, which is probably why I never stumbled upon it. It was equally quaint, though, with a few tables sprinkled about and soft music with friendly cashiers.
"We'll both have BLTs," he told the cashier, looking to me.
"Um, I'll have a burger, actually," I decided quickly, mentally counting every dollar in my bank account. "And a water." I slid my hand into my purse.
"I'll have my usual," he said, sliding a card across the bar. I considered stopping it, but then I remembered my mental calculations. I'd pay for something later.
Wait, later?
"You can sit down, we'll bring it out to you guys," she told us, smiling distantly even as she turned around to talk to the two guys in the kitchen.
Jay chose a table with both seats facing the entrance a little. I smiled into my hand, but quickly shooed the smile away. "So, how was work?" I asked, leaning on the table with my elbows.
"As it usually is," he said, sliding his eyes away from me and toward the couple in the corner. "Just a lot of paperwork, human resources stuff."
"You take care of human resources stuff?" I asked, shifting in my chair and watching the cashier flirt with one of the cooks. I hoped she didn't lean too far over the barrier and get her hair in my food. "For some reason I figured you were further up than that."
"Oh, sometimes even the higher ups have to dabble in human resources," he said, smiling. "I like it."
"You would," I grumbled, returning to watching the cashier's blonde hair. He tapped his finger, bringing my gaze back to his now questioning face. I rolled my eyes and continued watching hair. "You probably enjoy lying right to people's faces, or worse, telling them the truth in a way that they take for the way they want to hear it."
"Oh, I'm afraid we don't do that in my company. We lay it all on the table," he said.
"That's what you all say," I replied quietly, snatching a napkin from the dispenser and wiping at an imaginary stain on the table.
A few more minutes of struggling through small talk passed before the friendly blonde brought us our food. It was all hair-free, so I returned her smile.
"Why do you automatically order for me?" I asked after swallowing a few bites of my delectable burger.
"I'm used to it," he said before taking a far more sophisticated bite of his own sandwich.
"You order for other people?" I asked, wondering if some alarms should be going off in my head.
"Yep," he replied with a smile a little too wide.
"That's strange," I said, but that was as far as the topic was broached.
The streets outside were bustling with the lunch crowd. I remembered when I was part of that dressed business professionally, busy with work even during my break, coffee-grabbing crowd. I didn't feel as different as I'd like. "Do you like your job?" I asked, wondering why I was so curious all the time about this guy I barely liked.
"Yes," he answered immediately. "More than anything else I could be doing with my life, definitely."
"How'd you know?" I asked.
"How couldn't I know, it was deep inside every blood cell and every nucleus of every cell in my body. I just knew I was meant for this... job. It was perfect for me. I kind of made my position, but it fit. It worked. Just like I knew it would." While he stared forward to find points in the crowd for us to push through, I realized that I did like him. The passion he had for his job... I liked him. For better or worse.
He flashed me a smile that for a second worried me. But he was just talking about his job. I pushed it off.
"So, are you free this Friday night?" he asked, bumping my shoulder with his own. "I hear there's a really good art-"
"Yes," I said, smiling at him. "I'm always free for an art gallery opening."
"Great. I'll pick you up at seven," he said, taking my hand in his and lacing his fingers through mine.
"I'll try to be ready by 7:05," I replied, not even trying to hide my cheeky grin.
He snorted and rolled his eyes before he nudged me toward my stairs. I smirked a little and took the first step, turning away from him and dragging his hand with me.
"No goodbye?" he asked, tugging on our hands.
"I was going to wave-" I started, turning around.
The stair and my sneakers made me just a little taller than him. Not that that would discourage him from pulling me down by my neck and kissing me again.
This time I knew I wanted it. Not because I was in love with him, per se, but because he made me laugh and he was kind of cute. Those are the two reasons I used, anyway, to shield myself from the knowledge that, for some reason, I was starting to like him.
His hand rested fully on the back of my neck, his lips pressed against mine, and my eyes closed this time. My own right hand ventured out, smacking into his chest instead of his shoulder, where I stabilized myself and ran my hand up to his neck.
We pulled back after a few seconds. I cleared my throat and retracted my hand, which he was not quite as courteous in doing. "I guess I should-"
"Yeah," he said, his eyes focused on my lips. "Just," he muttered, before pulling me back to kiss him again.
I wondered if he was a little more invested in this relationship than I was, but kissed him back nonetheless.
The art gallery surprised me. Not the content, not the crowd, not going to an art gallery with someone to talk to, even if they really weren't interested in the content, but that I found myself enjoying more and more of Jay's more jackass-y traits.
It wasn't that much, but after two to three dates a week for seven weeks... The kisses were getting hotter and longer, they were turning into things that were much more than just kisses, and the feelings were getting less reluctant...
Jay was wearing me down.
"Lane, what're you doing?" Jay asked, eyes honed in on his phone's touch screen. He smirked and flicked his finger around.
The restaurant was loud, some kind of sports joint. Every weekend when Jay and I went out, he took me somewhere completely different. He said he was trying to figure out what worked best, but I think he just got bored. The ice skating rink was a strange place to eat shrimp, but when Jay seemed so bent on throwing money away, I couldn't do much. (I didn't even like shrimp.)
"I'm drawing," I replied, scoffing. The tables were covered in white paper and crayons were supplied in plastic kids' cups with brightly colored animals. Did they expect me to just sit there and stare at the men kicking a ball up and down grass on the monitors?
"You're scribbling," Jay corrected, twisting one side of his mouth down at the cell phone before flicking a few more screens away and shutting it off. He shoved the phone into his pocket.
"So?" I asked, adding a face to the egg on the plate I just drew.
"You only scribble cute little things when you're upset," he elaborated, leaning his elbows on the table and widening his eyes at me. "And breakfast? You don't even like breakfast."
"Scrambled eggs are cute," I grumbled, adding shocked eyebrows to the face.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, stilling my hand with his own. I dropped the blue crayon to the table and twisted my hand to be holding his.
"I've just-"
"Here's your dinner!" our waitress, Fiona, shouted over the cheer of some men in the booth behind us. "I hope you enjoy!"
Our hands detached to make room for our plates in front of us. Jay nodded at her and I smiled a little.
Over our meal, I managed to distract him by prodding him about his job. He never really said what kind of business he worked for and I knew making him dance around that subject would take him quite a while.
"What were you going to say earlier?" he asked, pushing the remnants of his pasta around his plate. From the scrunched up position of his face, the pasta was not up to his demanding standards. Since it was a sports joint… I didn't really know what he expected.
I took a deep breath and pushed away my plate. The fries weren't that good anyway. "I think we should break up," I said, tracing the edges of the plate I drew for my scrambled eggs.
I tried not to look at Jay, but after a whole minute of no reply, I had to make sure he was still there. He was.
He didn't look heartbroken, which really would have surprised me after the time we'd spent together, but more like a plan had just fallen through. His eyes were relaxed, not widened or squinted, but they darted from my shoulder to my fingers to my hair to the collar of my shirt.
"You're doing this on an impulse," he said, leaning back in his booth. "But you've got reasons."
"Yes, what girl doesn't have reasons to break up with her boyfriend-thing?" I asked, a little upset.
"Name them," he told me, setting his fork down in the plate.
"I'll just take these. Would you guys like your check together, or separate?" Fiona asked, picking up our plates.
"Together," Jay said.
"Separate," I said at the same time. Jay glared me down.
"Together," he finally resolved, smiling more charmingly at Fiona than he ever did at me.
"I'll be right back with that," she said, smiling back, but casting me a questioning look.
What kind of girl wouldn't want a nice man like Jay to pay for her dinner? I could see the question running through her head. A crazy one.
"So what are your reasons?" he asked, setting his hands on the table.
"I'm not going to tell you," I argued, still surprised his glare got me to back down from paying for my own meal. "That's not something you-"
"Lane, you brushed upon it earlier. We're not just girlfriend and boyfriend. We never agreed to date, it just sort of happened. Since we're not actually dating, these social norms you picked up somewhere don't exactly apply to us, do they? Just let me know why you're breaking up with me so I can tell you why you shouldn't," he said, sitting up straighter.
"Jay, I'm sorry. But I've got to go before you can talk me out of this," I said, standing up and slipping my arms through the sleeves of my windbreaker. I leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, but his hand wrapped around the back of my head and brought my lips to his.
His lips against mine reminded me of all of the reasons I shouldn't break up with this strange man. I also realized that those arguments by far outnumbered the arguments for breaking up with him. His other hand slid down my arm and gripped my hand, squeezing blood and pain into the fingers.
"Jay," I muttered, breaking away. "Jay, I'm sorry."
And I walked away.