KISS NUMBER FOUR
Spike's canvas dap connected with the dull edge of a stone chipping, and he watched its arc through the air until it hit the still surface of the grey-green canal water.
As the ripples spread out from the centre of its impact, he hunched his shoulders and buried his hands in his pockets, and sighed heavily.
A moorhen hurried past. Spike scowled at it, and ground his toe into the dust, preparing to kick another stone.
The gravel crunched behind him, and his leg stopped mid-swing, sending up a cloud of orange-and-cream particles, and causing a few small stones to hop into the reeds. A crowd of ducks, paddling a few metres away, scattered and quacked.
"Spike…" said Lynda's voice, from a few feet away. He looked up, and tried to maintain his scowl. The wind blew her hair, and she reached to tuck a stray lock of it behind her ear.
His expression wavered, as he imagined what he'd like to do to that ear. He'd start by gently sucking at the lobe, and then he'd…
He turned back to the ducks to hide any tell-tale softening in his face, hunched his shoulders further, and kicked at the stones again. A few more scattered the surface of the canal water.
"Yeah…" he drawled, taking care to put everything and nothing into the word.
"What's the matter?" Lynda's tone was almost plaintive, and certainly confused. Feeling slightly incredulous that she still hadn't worked it out, Spike swung round to face her again.
"Kenny!" he spat, before he could help himself. Lynda jumped back, startled and wide-eyed. Whatever she'd been thinking had annoyed him, it clearly couldn't have been that.
"We're just good friends! Nothing more…" said Lynda, gabbling slightly as she recovered.
"Precisely!" said Spike, his tone slightly softer now.
"Huh?!" said Lynda.
"And you haven't told him about us yet," Spike spelt out, as if to a young child.
Lynda's mouth made an "O" shape as her expression cleared.
"He's your best friend, Lynda," Spike warmed into the release of his frustration. "Why the hell not?"
If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed that Lynda Day was capable of squirming. She actually ground her toe into the gravel, and looked down and away from him.
"Because he'd have proof he was right," she said in a very small and quiet voice, quite unlike the Lynda he'd known and lusted after up until now. A glimmer of the person he'd experienced on Saturday night shone through her usual barricaded veneer.
Spike considered for a split second. That made sense.
He smiled. He couldn't help it.
"And that would be bad…?"
"Yes!" yelped Lynda, recoiling as if threatened. Her chin tilted up into a defensive angle. "You know how smug he gets. I'd never hear the end of it."
Spike could feel himself softening. She could be so damn cute when the moment took her. Of course, he preferred his head to remain on his shoulders, rather than be chewed off and spat into her in-tray, so he'd didn't think he'd actually get around to telling her that. But it didn't hurt to think it. It kind of reminded him what he was doing here, and with her.
"Besides," Lynda continued, in a softer tone. "I like him not knowing. It's like it's our secret." She gave him that soft smile of hers, which he already was starting to know as his downfall. "It's private. It's you and me, and no-one else."
He could feel the last vestiges of his annoyance melt away at that gentle raising of her lips, and inwardly cursed himself for being such a pushover where she was concerned.
Later, Spike would wonder why he was willing to accept what she said so readily and wholeheartedly. This was Lynda. She was his prize. He'd chased her, far harder than he ever had for anyone else, for months and months. And finally she'd consented to go out with him. It was truly incredible, when he thought about it. He didn't want to keep it secret – he wanted to shout it from the top of the school building to anyone who would listen, or take out a full page colour advert in the Gazette that told the world that she had finally weakened and was his. His! And he had kissing rights too.
Speaking of which…
He took a step closer to her, dug his hands out of his pockets, and shifted his gaze to her lips. They were alone, so she couldn't complain. Their only company was the odd brightly painted narrowboat in the distance, and a crowd of ducks, who were hardly likely to go tattling to the rest of the newsteam if they saw anything.
"If that's the way you want it," he said, and inched still closer to her. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she looked up at him through them.
"For now, please," Lynda nearly whispered. He was close enough now to feel that delicious pull between them. Their torsos squared up to each other, and their chests rose and fell. He was caught, the tension practically snapping as his body leaned in towards hers, and they breathed in unison.
"Any other girl would be proud to going out with me," said Spike, not really engaging his brain, and closed the diminishing gap between them to kiss her.
The distance was further than he had anticipated. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Lynda had pulled away. And he encountered a barrier at chest level.
Keeping his lips on hers, but not taking the kiss any further, he brought his hands up between them. And found a pair of folded arms pressed tightly against her chest, and now his shirt too.
Lynda huffed slightly, quite a feat considering her mouth was completely blocked by his, and heightened the tension in her limbs.
Spike, feeling his frustration return, and musing that he'd expected to have encountered something a little softer than arms in her chest area, groped along her shirtsleeves until he found her clenched hands. He gradually loosened her fingers, and stroked the tips of his own into her palms, drawing the arms away from her chest and outwards to encircle his waist.
He emitted a noise of his own, which was anything but a huff, and opened his mouth against hers, relaxing into her and trying to drink her in. Lynda's mouth opened under his, and his heart swelled in his chest as his body realised that he'd finally be able to take things in the direction that he wanted. His arms moved to her back to pull her closer into him, and his hips seemed to want to inch forward.
But suddenly that open mouth wasn't on his anymore, and it was moving and saying things to him. Spike's hips and brain stopped simultaneously, and struggled to focus.
"…because you're such a great catch…" huffed Lynda, sarcastically. "I'm supposed to be grateful, am I?" Her eyebrow arched, dangerously.
Spike chose to deliberately ignore her tone and sarcasm. "Yeah," he said, shrugging, and leaned in to try and kiss her again.
Lynda pulled back sharply, and Spike's mouth snapped shut. His arms dropped away from her. He looked at her, attempting to appear reproachful and not at all desperate.
"Well, I'm not any other girl," she said, sharply. And she took his hand, starting to pull him back along the towpath in the direction of the Junior Gazette office.
"That's obvious," Spike muttered, and allowed himself to be towed slightly.
"They'll notice soon," said Lynda, with purpose. "I'd better get back."
Spike checked his watch. Four o'clock. Not bad for a Tuesday, given his time-keeping, but obviously a terrible tardiness for Lynda, who believed that she should be at the newsroom the moment the bell rang for the end of the school day, and – he believed – frequently ran there.
"What about Sarah?" he asked, as he swung their clasped hands.
"What about Sarah?" said Lynda, sounding puzzled.
"Does she know about us?"
"Of course not. She's got Raymond now – I doubt she'll notice anything for a couple of weeks."
"Colin?" Spike couldn't resist it. He suppressed a grin and tried to look as if the question was serious, but his eyes gave him away, he knew. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his sunglasses.
"As if I'd tell that little worm anything!" exclaimed Lynda, hotly. "He'd only use it to blackmail me, or attempt to sell tickets to us kissing, or…"
She stopped. Spike was trying to stop his shoulders shaking with laughter. Had he not been on a towpath he'd have been rolling around on the floor, he knew.
He leaned into her face.
"You can't take a joke, boss!"
"Can so!" returned Lynda, her eyes flashing in the dangerous way that made his spine trickle. "And besides, that wasn't a joke. That was a horror story!"
Spike silently agreed, but decided not to push things. Not for now.
He laced his fingers through hers. This would do, for the moment. She'd come round eventually. He'd make sure of that, even if it meant kissing her over the desks during the pizza meeting, with a rapt audience. And it was almost sort of nice to have something that was just between them.
Lynda's thumb stroked his as they reached the edge of a warehouse that backed onto a path that led back to the office.
"I'll go first," she said, quickly. "You wait five minutes until it's all clear." Then she pecked him on the cheek and departed before he could say anything else, her curls bouncing around the back of her neck as she walked.
Spike leant back against the brick wall of the warehouse, wondered what all this was doing to his reputation, and waited.