A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far! They are much appreciated. I'm not sure where I'm really going with this story, but I'm really liking it so far. Anyway, I'm sorry I'm not too good at writing humor, but just bare with me! I'm hoping the dialogue will make up for that. Ugh, also I suck with sexual tension. Please R&R though! Thanks xx
Charlie exited the apartment building with Bass on her heels, the cold air hitting her like a train as she stepped outside.
"Colder than I thought it'd be," commented Charlie, pulling her sweater tighter.
Bass joined her side, "I'd give you my jacket, but—" he shrugged, "—no jacket to give." It was true. Bass was clad in just a thick sweater that had the word 'Marines' printed across it and grey pants.
"You're gonna be freezing," said Charlie.
"At least I got a little something to keep me warm," winked Bass as he turned a corner to the parking garage, obviously referring to Charlie as that thing to keep him warm.
Charlie scoffed. "In your dreams," she said.
"Actually," said Bass, as he led her to his vehicle, "in reality."
Bass walked up to a black motorcycle with a helmet hanging from the handle. The bike was sleek, but not modern or new. It was something you would see out of vintage films, something teenage girls would typically fawn over if they saw Bass on something like that. Or any guy on a bike like that, for that matter.
Charlie's cheeks burned as she walked up to it. "Where are we going?" she asked as she accepted the helmet that Bass offered her.
"Where do you want to go?" Bass asked, leaning against the parking garage wall. When Charlie failed to come up with an answer, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and pulled one out. He put it in between his lips and began to pat his pockets, searching for a lighter. "You got a lighter?" he asked, his lips unmoving as they held the cigarette filter in place.
"No," snapped Charlie.
Bass pulled one from his back pocket and winked at her as he lit it. Charlie watched him, arms crossed, and couldn't help but stare as he breathed in the smoke and exhaled, the smoke hanging around his body before dissipating. He noticed her gaze and pulled out the pack again. "You want one?"
Charlie hesitated. In all of her 21 years of life, she had never so much as tried a cigarette. Bass sensed her hesitation. "Come on," he said. "You've never had a cigarette before?"
Charlie didn't answer. She locked her jaw and lowered her gaze though, in a sense of warning. He didn't want to push her.
Bass seemed to get the message that he couldn't peer pressure her into it, but waved the pack before her, eyebrows raised. "You sure?"
Charlie licked her lips. "Might as well," she said. "I'll probably hate it though, and never want to do it again." She walked forward and took the offered cigarette from Bass, holding it between her index and middle finger, hand shaking. Bass noticed, and grabbed her wrist, steadying her hand. The skin to skin contact sent a jolt through Charlie's arm, and she raised her gaze to his own, blue eyes meeting blue.
Without breaking eye contact, Bass lifted her hand for her to her lips. Charlie parted them, inserting the filter in between her recently moistened lips. Bass didn't say a word as he pulled the lighter from his back pocket again, lighting the end of the cigarette.
"Inhale," he said when the flame failed to light.
Charlie did so, and the smoke burned her throat as she did. She pulled the cigarette away from her lips and doubled over, coughing. When she righted herself, she found Bass grinning at her, leaning against the wall again. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, flicking the ash from the end of his.
"Hardly," said Charlie. She didn't toss the cigarette though, but let it hang limply in between her fingers.
"I remember my first cigarette," said Bass. "Reacted the same way you did. Miles and I were ten years old and found them in my parent's top drawer. We stole two and waited a week until we were on a Boy Scout's camping trip to try them out. When everybody had gone to sleep that night in their tents, we snuck out and walked forever until we tried it. We had to use a match. I only coughed a little like you, but Miles—oh man. He threw himself onto all fours and puked up his dinner."
Charlie found herself laughing along with him and lifting the cigarette to her lips again. It didn't burn like last time, but it was still enough to make her cough once.
"He hasn't smoke since," continued Bass. "I stopped until I was… until I was your age, actually. Twenty-one. Just bought a pack at the gas station one day and went at it again."
The next time Charlie sucked the smoke back, she didn't cough and gave herself a mental pat on the back. Since she wasn't concentrating on the burning smoke of last time, however, she tasted the flavor of the nicotine and cringed. She flicked the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with her foot.
"Don't like it?" asked Bass as he stomped out his own.
"Hate it," answered Charlie. She was partially stopping because she didn't want it to seem like she was trying to impress him—which she wasn't. Charlie just simply wanted to break out of the box her mother and father had dutifully built around her since she became old enough to wear a bra. After a moment of silence, Charlie asked, "Are you addicted?"
Bass laughed. "No, not at all," he said. "For some reason, that never hit me. I just smoke every once in a while."
"When you're trying to seem cool in front of a girl?" smirked Charlie. She knew his game. Jason played it when he was first trying to date her.
"I don't have to try there," Bass said, handing her the helmet to the bike. "It comes naturally."
"Oh, that sentence hurt," said Charlie. "The fact that you're saying you don't try makes it seem like you're trying even harder."
All of the sudden, Bass walked forward to Charlie, his gaze darkening. Charlie stepped backwards, finding herself trapped against the wall. Bass put his forearms on either side of her head, his nose but inches from her own.
"Trust me," he said. "You'd know if I were trying."