Hi everyone! Another chapter for this story is done! I think I should warn you all that I went back made a little change to Sansa's back-story. When I first started writing this fic, I had no idea it would become something more and didn't think ahead. So very logically, I had written Joffrey as Sansa's ex. Yet I've changed it and her ex boyfriend is now Harry. The reason for this change is that I don't want Sansa and Sandor to know the same crowd and so Sansa cannot have dated a Lannister, otherwise everything would become far too complicated.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please comment if you do! :D


Sandor was slumped into his couch with his legs propped over the coffee table, drinking a beer and eating a slice of all-dressed pizza all the while disinterestedly watching rugby on television. He had come home from the building site he was currently working at a couple of hours before, had taken a shower and changed to an old pair of green combat pants and a black t-shirt. Jaime had arrived some time later with a large pizza and a family size portion of fries and they had both started devouring everything almost from that very moment.

"Why didn't you get two?" Sandor complained once the pizza box was empty just a few minutes later, its greasy bottom exposed. "I told you to buy two, didn't I?"

"You have, but honesty, I think one was enough. You really want us to get fat, Sandor?" Jaime replied, furrowing his brow at him. He was installed on the armchair next to Sandor's couch and wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. "We're not getting any younger, you know. We need to be more careful with what we eat."

Sandor rolled his eyes. At the size he was and at the rate he worked out, he could eat a horse for breakfast every morning and still not gain a damned pound. "Talk for yourself, you old bugger," he scoffed, before taking a long swallow from his beer bottle.

Sandor was not nearly sated and he would probably need to fix himself something else before the game was over, thanks to Jaime's ludicrous' concerns. The bugger! If he's so preoccupied about his bloody weight, then why eat half of the pizza and fries? He could've left a bit more to Sandor at least. He was always so starving at the end of his shifts.

While Sandor's job was not the most physical out there, as an electrician he still spent most of his days standing and always remained active. That was one of the reasons he had ended up choosing the certificate program when he'd decided he had had enough of being a bouncer a few years ago. Sandor couldn't envision himself working in an office and sitting behind a desk all day and besides, he had not wished to spend too many years at school either. The electrician program he had completed lasted only a year and a half with another year spent as an apprentice, which had been long enough already as far as he was concerned anyway. He had not been very eager to go back to school, for he hadn't liked it much the first time around.

As a child and teenager, Sandor had never been a very assiduous student. He excelled in sports and could have good grades if a subject interested him, yet if it didn't, he would have horrible results. Furthermore, he never studied or did any homework. By the time he was a teenager, he had already started getting into trouble, skipping class, drinking and taking drugs. It was a true miracle he didn't end up dropping out of high school before he'd gotten his diploma. For ten years following his graduation, Sandor had earned his living mainly thanks to his muscles and fearsome looks. There had always been work for him as a bouncer. Nevertheless by the time he was twenty eight, he decided he had had enough of the lifestyle he led and figured it was time he found himself a real career. The decision to go back to school had not been an easy one to take. He had needed to give himself a major kick in the ass in order to act on his idea and enroll in his program.

Still looking back, Sandor had absolutely no regret. It was probably the best move he'd ever made, for his sacrifice had definitely paid off. Once his apprenticeship had been over, he had not lost an instant starting his own one-man company and he now wouldn't trade his situation for any other. Being self-employed gave him a sense of freedom he had never known before. It was nice not to have a boss and go from contract to contract - to be his own dog as he liked to say. Moreover, he had had enough of working late into the night and preferred by far waking up at dawn as he did almost every day now to going to bed around the same time.

Jaime was sitting at the edge of his seat now, his stare glued to the flat screen on the living room's wall. "Oh! That's a good one!" he exclaimed suddenly, his whole body jerking in enthusiasm. In the background, the roar of the crowd could be heard coming from the television set's speakers.

Sandor let out a dispassionate grunt, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching. Yarning, he stretched, before taking another pull from his beer.

Jaime and he had known each other for many years now - ever since Sandor's beginnings as a bouncer, not long after he had finished high school. He was the son of a very well known, wealthy bar and club owner – Sandor's ex boss in fact - though he had cut ties with his family not long after Sandor had gone back to school. For some reason, they had kept hanging out and watching rugby games together from time to time, although Sandor often wondered why. Jaime could really get on his nerves sometimes and he kept cursing and insulting him whenever they saw each other.

The commentators were getting increasingly frantic, the roar of the crowd growing stronger and stronger behind them, yet Sandor was barely listening to what they were saying. He couldn't have cared less about the outcome of the game today. At least the beer was good. Keeping his gaze on the television screen, he brought the neck of his beer bottle to his lips, but sighed in annoyance at realising it was empty apart from one lukewarm and flat little sip.

"Want another beer?" he muttered as he stood from his couch.

"Yeah, why not, man," Jaime replied, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

Once he was back in the living room, Sandor handed his friend a beer bottle and Jaime jumped from his seat and rose to his feet almost at the same instant. "Oh, yeah! We're winning! We're fucking going to win tonight!" he cried out, his features alive with envisioned triumph.

The advertising break started then, and he finally took his gaze away from the television. Giving Sandor a perplexed look, he sat back into his armchair. "What's up with you, Sandor? You seem distracted tonight and in an even worse mood than usual."

Sandor slumped back into his couch and opened his beer, throwing the bottle's cap over the empty pizza box on the coffee table. "Nothing special. Just a bit tired. I started working at 6:30AM this morning. I had a long shift," he rasped, before taking a swallow of beer.

Jaime eyed him suspiciously but didn't insist further. He knew Sandor well enough by now to realise being too inquisitive would only lead him to shut up even more. If he wished for him to confide in him, he was best to wait until Sandor felt like talking. There was no use in probing him.

Still, there was no denying that Jaime had guessed right and that Sandor was preoccupied. Ever since that Strangerween party he had went to on last Friday, he had not been able to stop thinking about that girl he had brought home, Sansa she was called.

Somewhere throughout the previous week, the two Tyrell siblings from downstairs' apartment had knocked on his door and told him they would throw a party for Strangerween and that he should thus expect some noise on Friday night. He was welcome to join them if he wished, they had told him, but Sandor had not been interested. What the fuck was a thirty three years old man supposed to do with a bunch of college kids? Besides, the Tyrells could be so bloody obnoxious and snotty, their friends couldn't be much better.

But then when Friday night came, Sandor had had nothing planned and when he returned home from the gym, the party had been in full swing. After a half-hour of listening to the bass from downstairs over the sound of the movie he was trying to watch, he figured he might as well have a beer at the Tyrells' apartment. He had not expected much, just the usual overly excited, drunk college kids who didn't know how to hold their liquor. He had seen plenty of that during his time working as a bouncer.

Yet when Sandor arrived, amidst all the partygoers, there had been one girl who stood out in his eyes. A pretty little princess who seemed to have come straight out of a bloody fairy tale with her long, corseted gown, fair skin and fiery curls. He had spotted her from the moment he stepped in, dancing in the living room with a group of friends. Sandor had been captivated by her from the moment he set eyes on her. She was exceedingly beautiful, more than any woman he had even seen, with her delicate features, wide blue eyes, long auburn hair and smashing body. Though she danced like a bloody goddess, there had been nothing provocative or suggestive in the way she moved and Sandor had found it even more enticing for that reason. Even before they had exchanged a single word, he could already sense just how much of a genuine person she was; it was obvious in the way she smiled and looked at the world around her. While there were many pretty girls on the dance floor, she shone among them so brightly that Sandor had wondered how it was possible that everyone's attention was not fixed upon her.

As for himself, he had had to constantly remind himself not to stare straight out at her and risk coming off as this creepy older guy, though that was probably what he was to be honest. In the end the girl had apparently sensed his gaze on her anyway, for she had been the one introducing herself to him. I'm Sansa, she had told him with that soft voice of hers. A very pretty name for a very pretty girl - one that suited her perfectly, Sandor had thought.

The poor thing had put her foot in her mouth by remarking on how realistic his burns looked, thinking they were part of a Strangerween disguise of some sort, although he had clearly not been dressed up. Truth be told, Sandor hadn't minded it. It wasn't the first time someone believed his scars not to be real and neither would it be the last in all likeness. Besides, her embarrassment at learning of her blunder had been quite fetching. He had liked the look of her with her cheeks all red and blue eyes even wider than before.

Sandor had no delusions. He knew he was far from the best-looking guy out there, yet he also knew persistence could get a man astonishingly far sometimes. If you longed for something, that it be money, a job or a woman, you could never hope to win it by staying idle in your corner. One needed to give it all he had, that his goal be realistic or not, for no one ever got anything if they didn't attempt to obtain it first. Therefore after Sansa had first talked to him, Sandor had not left her side for the remaining of the evening and made his interest in her crystal clear.

And it had paid off in the end, because after about an hour of dancing with her, Sandor had somehow managed to convince Sansa she should follow him to his apartment. The fact that she had been drunk had undeniably played in his favour. Chances were high the girl wouldn't have agreed to have sex with him had she been sober - Sandor had not fooled himself about it even then. He knew he should probably be ashamed of himself for having made the most of such a situation. On the other hand, he had not forced her either and she had even been pretty eager to begin with. Hells, she had even jumped on his cock and began sucking him from the moment he had taken off his jeans...

Still, Sansa was much younger than him, just eighteen, and visibly not used to drinking. A true gentleman would have paid her a cab home, not dragged her to his place and screwed her. Sandor let out a faint snort at the thought. He was no buggering gentleman and neither had he any intention of becoming one anytime soon, especially seeing what it would've made him miss.

While they were still at the party, Sandor had believed Sansa to be around Margaery's age - twenty one or two perhaps. The illusion had been easy to maintain in the dimness of the Tyrell's apartment and then later on, the darkness of his bedroom. Things had changed on the following morning. Even before she told him she was eighteen, at beholding her delicate, sleeping features under the sunlight, Sandor had had an inkling that she had to be younger than he had first surmised.

That he had fucked a barely legal college girl was no true problem to Sandor though. Not at all even, he had done far worse things in his life and never lost a minute of sleep over it. In fact he was so little repentant that he had not hesitated to ask her for her phone number before she left his place. Resuming where they had left it when the girl had passed out had been in the back of his mind, there was no denying it, nevertheless his desire to see her again was not just about that. The truth was, Sandor had been genuinely curious about her. She seemed so different from the sort of women he had had flings with in the past.

It was just too bad the girl didn't share his curiosity. The look on her face when he had asked her for her number had made that plain enough. She had been all but petrified in place for a few seconds and though she had not refused to take his own number when he gave it to her instead, Sandor was pretty sure the paper he had written it on had found its way to her garbage can from the moment she arrived home. Doesn't matter, he reasoned, scowling at the television screen. She's just a bloody eighteen years old girl from a posh college, and what the fuck could a man of my sort have in common with her really? Not sure we'd have had anything to talk about at all. Still, having sex with her again would have been nice, there was no lying about that. Sandor would've liked to give it another try...

The commercial break had ended now and Jaime was once more sitting at the edge of his seat, his hands closed in fists as he cursed at the television set. Things were not going so well for King's Landing's team anymore, but Sandor couldn't have cared less. Sighing, he took a swig from his beer bottle. Was the game over soon? He'd have rather be alone this evening, yet Jaime always came at his place for important games and he had not cancelled, thinking that having a bit of company might improve his mood.

Sandor was taking another sip of beer when the bell suddenly rang. He raised his good eyebrow and growled. Who the fuck could that be? He wasn't expecting anyone. Most likely some of those buggering R'hllor fanatics again, going from door to door, trying to convert people, Sandor gathered irritably. For a moment, he considered not answering at all, but then for some reason, he stood up and walked to the intercom.

"Who's this?" he demanded in his most rough and intimidating tone, his finger pressed on the 'talk' button.

There was silence at the other end of the line, plus a bit of interference, and for a moment, Sandor thought he had managed to scare the bastard away as easily as that, but then a soft voice was heard. "Hi, Sandor? It's me, Sansa... the girl from last's week party."

Sandor's breath caught in his throat and he was too stunned to react at first. The girl from last's week party, he repeated inwardly, almost letting out a disbelieving snort. As if he needed her to refresh his memory.

"Hi," he finally replied a bit too curtly to his taste. "Come on up," he bade her, pressing at the 'door' button.

When he turned around, Jaime was watching him with a queer spark in his eyes, his curiosity very obviously piqued. He wasn't even staring at the screen anymore and it took a lot to take his attention from a rugby game. "Sansa?" he inquired. "Who's Sansa? You haven't told me about her."

Sandor winced and looked away. "Yeah, I haven't," he agreed, opening the door.

Though it wasn't like him, Sandor felt a little nervous. He had no bloody clue why Sansa had decided to drop by, had not expected this to happen at all! She had not forgotten any of her belongings at his place, he'd have noticed to be sure if she had, so she must want to see him. He had stopped hoping she would call him very early on, had not really believed she would from the moment she left his apartment on Saturday morning. Why by the Seven bloody Hells does Jaime have to be there? Sandor wondered, glaring in the man's direction. Jaime was watching him through rounded eyes, a little smirk playing on his lips.

When Sansa appeared in the staircase, Sandor felt his pulse hasten. She was just as striking as he remembered, though it was strange to see her not dressed in her princess gown. Her long hair was not loose as last time but fixed in a high bun over her head and she was wearing tight blue jeans with fashionably ripped knees and turquoise converses. Her legs looked really nice in those jeans - long, lean and shapely. Her coat was unzipped and underneath, she wore a navy blue hoodie with the inscription 'Baelor College' written in all capital letters over it.

Sansa smiled shyly at him as she arrived on the landing, her cheeks pink as she met his gaze. "Hello, Sandor," she said in a small voice, glancing down just as soon. "I'm sorry to come here without calling you first."

"That's alright, you're not bothering me," Sandor answered at once. Of its own accord, his mouth curved in a small smile. She looked so bloody timid and yet here she was, turning up at his place as if by magic. Once more, Sandor cursed inwardly the fact that Jaime had to be here. Looking back, he should've kicked him out the back door from the moment he heard Sansa's voice through the intercom, but it was too late now. "Come on in," he told her, moving from the doorway.

Sansa entered, her eyes widening as her gaze fell on Jaime. He was smiling pleasantly at her, though the look of surprise on his face was unmistakable. He had not expected a girl of Sansa's type to appear through Sandor's entrance and was probably wondering what the hells was going on. "Nice meeting you, Sansa," he saluted her, rising to his feet. Then, he walked to her and shook her hand. "I'm Jaime, a good friend of Sandor," he added, clasping a hand to his shoulder.

"Oh, nice meeting you," she responded, obviously ill-at-ease. "I'm sorry, I... I really don't want to interrupt what you were doing..."

"Not at all!" Jaime assured her, looking down at her with his most sincere grin on his lips.

Sandor glowered at him over Sansa's head for a very short instant, just long enough to let Jaime understand that he wanted him to give them a bit of intimacy. The man shrugged apologetically and headed back to his seat. "Hmm, I'll leave you two to talk for a moment," he stated, sitting down.

Though Jaime pretended turning his attention back to the game, Sandor could tell he had his ears pricked up and was watching them out the corner of his eyes. From his place on his armchair, he had a direct view of the entrance way and thus Sandor shifted in his position to put his back to him in such a manner that Jaime couldn't see Sansa anymore.

"Want a beer?" Sandor offered her.

"Oh, no. Thank you. I was just passing by, I'll not be staying." From the way she kept fidgeting with the strap of her handbag and apparently couldn't maintain eye contact with him for more than a couple of seconds at a time, Sandor could tell he was making her nervous. He really wished he could put her at ease but wasn't sure how to do it.

"You sure? We're watching the rugby game. You could stay if you wanted." If she agreed, Sandor would get Jaime in a corner and tell him to find a likely excuse to get the fuck out of here. He would agree. For all Sandor had to say against him, Jaime was not truly that bad.

Sadly though, Sansa shook her head. "I need to study, I have an exam tomorrow. I was just wondering if you could... if you could give me your number again. I've lost it."

"You have?" Sandor rasped, his smile broadening slightly in spite of himself. "Yeah, I'll give it to you again. No problem of course." So that was why she was here after all. She had lost his number. That means she has wanted to call me, he mused, the turn of event quite frankly baffling him.

After having fumbled through her handbag for a short instant, Sansa fished out her cell phone and unlocked its screen. "I won't lose it if I enter it directly in my phone this time around," she commented, her voice very soft.

Sandor nodded in agreement. "Yeah, good idea. Give it to me and I'll call myself with it so that I have your number as well."

The girl stiffened noticeably, though her gaze remained lowered on her phone, and she bit at her lip. "Okay," she agreed a bit reluctantly. "Here," she added, handing it to him.

Sandor took it. Its case was pink with many false diamonds inlayed into it. He dialled his number and then let his phone ring for a few seconds, the sound of barking dogs he had chosen for ringtone resounding through the place, before hanging up and giving Sansa's phone back to her.

"Gotta go now," she murmured just as soon, tossing it into her handbag.

Turning around, she was about to stride out the door when Sandor put his arm across the entrance, blocking her way. She jerked her head up to gaze at him, apparently startled by his move.

"Wait. What do you do tomorrow evening?" Sandor asked her.

"Nothing," she breathed, her eyes even wider than before.

"Wanna have dinner with me? Nothing fancy. Unless that's what you'd like, of course."

"No. I mean, yes. I'd like to have dinner with you. But nothing fancy is fine with me," she whispered, shifting from foot to foot. Her cheeks had become bright red in a split second and she still had a hard time meeting his eyes.

"Alright. I'll call you tomorrow afternoon," Sandor told her, feeling suddenly very light-hearted. With that, he removed his arm from the doorway and let her go.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," she squeaked as she hurried down the stairs.

As she did, Sandor followed her with his stare, his gaze trailing down her body and lingering over her nicely rounded ass. He stayed in the threshold until she had disappeared from his view and then shut the door, exhaling deeply. Fuck… he cursed inwardly, a stupid grin pulling at his lips.

Sandor could tell Sansa wasn't completely comfortable with him, one didn't need to be very observant to come to that conclusion. He knew his appearance didn't inspire everyone's trust, that the sight of him could worry some people. Sansa was no different, however, the fact that she had come to his place to ask him for his number was proof enough that unlike he had believed before her visit, she had to be intrigued by him to some extent. Or perhaps she just wanted him to shag her again. Who knew? She wouldn't be the first woman to have misgivings about him and yet still want to be fucked by him. Either way, he was not about to lose his chance of getting to see her again.

"You're keeping things from me, it seems, Sandor," Jaime's voice came from the living room. He was gazing at him from his place in his armchair, his teeth bared in a wide grin. "Very cute girl indeed, but how old is she?"

Forcing a stony expression on his face, Sandor walked to his couch. He sat back heavily into it before placing his legs over the coffee table. "She's young," he rasped. After a few seconds of silence, he sighed and smirked. There was no use in lying to Jaime. "Eighteen."

Jaime burst out laughing. "Oh, Sandor. You really are a man full of surprise." Leaning toward him, he rose his beer bottle in the air. "Cheers to that, my friend. And good luck with your date."