Mr. Philo's self-righteous crowing had sunk into sullen silence. Undone by a single quote from the great bard himself. Who said Shakespeare was dead?
"I know I know." Cockiness and pride edge Jane's tone as he wanders from the elevator doors to stand beside me. "You don't know whether to hug me or to hit me."
The man is beyond infuriating, acting like a team of intelligent agents couldn't solve this case until he fiddled and fudged his way to a confession from someone.
Always needing to dazzle with his showboating antics.
He irritates the hell out of me and this is no different. But I'm realizing there is another, less comfortable emotion mixed in with the irritation. One I'm only now beginning to look into.
With those damned observational skills, I rarely have the opportunity to throw him off kilter. He's always probing, digging, prodding and laying others bare.
Time to floor him. I'm going to take option 3.
I give him my customary eye roll and huff, throwing in slap to his buttoned front. "Oooh."
My skills must be improving as there's no indication from him my performance is...well a performance. If possible, his grin grows even more self-satisfied, puffing him up further as I make to walk back to my office.
Reveling in his win, I surprise him with the sudden shift on the balls of my feet to backtrack. The smirk loses a little of its brilliance. His eyebrows are just beginning to curve into a question when, in one smooth motion, I pull up to his side and tiptoe up a little, planting a kiss on his cheek.
After a moment, my lips leave his freshly shaved skin.
I can feel the betraying burn of a blush move upward from my neck. I've always blushed easily. It's been an endless source of amusement to my team...and to Jane.
Wait, is he flushed too?
He clears his throat in the awkward silence that follows my brazen kiss, but I can't find an ounce of regret. He's struggling to recoup his calm and it's kinda cute. Just a little more fun.
Opting for a tone of levity instead of stammering an apology, I shrug. Better to be blase about the whole thing for both our sakes. I don't know if he's ready.
"I'm not much of a hugger," I volunteer and he nods distractedly.
His fingers are too busy tracing that cheek.