It had all been Jon's fault; really, if he had kept his mouth shut and not told her that he didn't like the way Sandor looked at her then she would have carried on being blissfully ignorant instead of paying close attention to any detail that might show that the Hound was interested in her.
Jon's words had sparked something in her, sure, she had been curious about Sandor Clegane in the past but, in all honesty, who wouldn't? Tall, dark man with a history of violence, a former military hero who had more medals that she knew existed but didn't give a rat's ass about them, a self-made man who was awfully bad with words but quite the math and computer wiz, of course she was curious about him. She was sure that what she felt towards Sandor Clegane was some sort of admiration, that what went on between the two of them was a regular friendship between a man and a woman and then her brother had gone and messed it all up.
The week after he made the stupid comment, Sansa realized that Sandor Clegane indeed did not look at her twice, but it was the way in which he was so obviously trying not to pay attention to her that made her curious. She was used to having men leer at her like Joffrey had done, like Petyr did, as if assessing her value merely by the way she looked, as if she were some kind of trophy they could show off to their friends. She had also been subject to the stares of men like that bastard Ramsay Bolton, who looked at her with a sick desire. Then there were the regular looks that her few male friends gave her, looks of appreciation or harmless flirting, looks that made her feel good about herself and safe because she knew that they would never do anything to her. But having a man purposely trying to ignore her, that was something new, something that made her think that said man either found her disgusting or was trying too hard not to show interest in her. Somehow she just had a feeling that the Hound did not find her disgusting.
Curiosity had led the way to analysis and if there was something that Sansa Stark was good at, other than law, was overanalyzing things. She went into full detective mode one Friday night after getting out of work early, went to the store and splurged by buying a bottle of her favorite wine, a cheese platter, pita chips, hummus, and crudities. She pulled out her phone, opened her computer and started going over every single text or email he had ever sent and every picture they had together. She came to some conclusions. First, almost 90% of their conversations were started by her. Second, the only emails he sent that weren't a reply were just plain and informative such as ways to stay safe in a tornado, what to do if a bear came up to you, how to prevent identity theft. Third, she noticed that in most of their pictures, he was as far away from her as possible, except for the few ones that she couldn't remember clearly. In those, they were either standing or sitting together, in one of then she even had her arm around his shoulders, was that maybe her subconsciously trying to get closer to him? A little defeated, she decided to call it a night and go to bed, but sleep avoided her. No matter how hard she tried, her brain kept circling back to him, and the times they had been together. It might have been the wine or the way she was secretly hoping for some sign that he was at least slightly interested in her, but then things started to make sense.
She noticed how every time they had gone out for drinks or lunch or even their morning runs he had made sure to walk her to her car to see her off. How every time he had driven her home, he had walked her all the way to her door and waited for her to lock it before leaving. She realized how he had been the first one to notice whenever a guy was bothering her and would give the man a look that would frighten any of his underlings. She thought of how he insisted on paying the bill and lied about letting her get the next one. Of how he would never complain when she asked him to fix something over at her place. How he had been the first person she had called that Thursday night when she had decided to check on her spare key and freaked out because she couldn't find it. He had shown up at her place forty minutes later with his tools and a new lock, smelling amazing, freshly shaved and slightly dressed up. Later, as they shared a pizza, he had told her that he had been on his way to pick up his date when she called.
So no, Sandor Clegane didn't look at her in any particular way but there was something in the way he acted, the little things he did for her, that spoke for themselves. Maybe, if he had been any other man she would have brushed them off, thought that they were nothing more than courtesies. But this was a man nicknamed the Hound who wasn't known for his manners, and she found something heartwarming about it all, something that made her feel good, valued, maybe even special. Yes, it might have been the wine or how wild her imagination was running, but that night, before falling asleep, Sansa decided that maybe with a little encouragement she would be able to get Sandor to ask her on a date.
So she started working on it, discreetly at first and then a little more aggressively. She started off by smiling more at him, sitting next to him whenever they went out, sending her pictures of her with her food, but he didn't seem to notice her efforts. She had the terrible idea of mentioning to one of her coworkers, Myranda, that she was having trouble getting a man's attention, and she suggested that Sansa did something a little bolder. Out of all the things she said, the only thing she was somehow comfortable with was maybe showing a bit more skin, so she bought a top that screamed to please look at her chest and thigh leggings for when the weather grew colder.
She thought everything had gone to hell the first day she wore the leggings. She was feeling happy and confident, she thought she actually looked good in those, but Sandor had been grumpier than ever, even when she mustered the nerve to tell him to shut up. Sansa was more than ready to call it quits on their training and on whatever it was they had when he called her a distraction. She should have felt uncomfortable, she should have taken offense in the way he had said things, but far from it, it made her happy, it showed her that there was indeed something between them and that she wasn't the only one who felt it. She had to admit that she didn't entirely play fair when they had breakfast the following week, but he had brought it upon him when he took off his soaked shirt out in front of her in broad daylight like it was nothing. She had always assumed that he had a great body. Whenever she had touched his arm or side, she met a wall of muscle, a clear result of all the working out and eating the right things. But to see his ripped body, his hard abs, he peaking elastic band of his boxers showing, a girl couldn't help but admire the sight. She had played it cool, or at least she had thought so, but then at the diner, she had decided to have a little fun at his expense and get unnecessarily close. So close that he dropped his silverware and then she got burned with her own fire because when he went to pick it up, she couldn't help but stare at his broad back and firm butt. He had shamelessly caught her and she had only managed to smile at him and pretend nothing had happened.