Six Floors More Until Divorce
I do not own anything you recognize…
Chapter Four
"Really," Dean asked, pissed that she was taking more time out of his possible work hours. "What are you then?"
"You tell me," she dared, leaning against the opposite side of the elevator, arms crossed, within arms distance of the buttons. They were not leaving until he told her exactly what he thought of her.
Dean debated running for the buttons. He might make it. But then he wouldn't have the awesome view of her legs.
Fine, he decided. He'd tell her.
"I think," he started, "I think you're a gold-digger."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
"You dropped me after you got everything you wanted."
She scoffed. "You used me."
"How's that, sweetheart," he asked, mimicking her position on his end of the elevator.
"You got sex, a cooked meal, and a clean house – practically every night."
"I never said you had to do any of that."
"It goes without saying."
Dean rolled his eyes. "This is childish. Get over yourself. You had it better than I did any day."
He stood up and stepped toward the buttons. Just as he was about to hit the resume button, she grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
Their eyes locked for a second.
Yup. He was stuck a floor and a half from his destination with his estranged, spoiled, and pissed off wife.
And the only thought he could think of was pushing her skirt up so high, putting his tongue down her throat so far – it was going to drive him crazy if he didn't get out of here.
Soon.