LEX
I have been standing on this porch for much too long, freezing my head off and in a space of fifteen minutes have managed to record this eventful moment as the biggest waste of time in my life.
Why am I still here?
I have a favor to perform. Considering Clark rarely asks me for any favor, I feel like I should do this one right.
Not to mention the fact that I know that she's home and purposefully avoiding the person who has been incessantly knocking on her door for the past quarter of an hour, and I refuse to give up until she gets her ass in front of me and lets me finish what it is that I came here to do.
The girl is quite obviously hiding from the world. I know she's home, I can hear the television clearly, and that indicates life in there.
I knock again, three times, my fifth time, and promising vehemently to myself that if she does not open the door then I will leave.
After another two minutes, I knock one last time.
And finally, I hear something. Unmistakable footsteps stomping towards the door in resignation, heavy sounds that indicate that it could come from a grizzly bear, not a tiny little blonde with too much attitude. Obviously thinking that if waiting for the past twenty minutes in the cold would not make me go away, then hearing the quiver in the floorboards at her angry steps would do the trick.
The door is flung open and Chloe stands before me in one of her less prettier moments.
Her face, at first scowling, now registers shock at the sight of me.
The shock manages to satisfy my impatience at having to wait out in the cold for the past twenty minutes, if only a little bit.
"Mr. Luthor," she says, in disdain.
I choose to ignore the disdain. "Good afternoon, Chloe," I greet.
She shakes her head as if to clear it and manages a smile, all the while keeping the disdain in her voice. "So what brings you to this part of Smallville, Mr. Luthor?"
"Lex."
"Lex," she amends.
We stare at each other. I'm quite aware that this is the right moment to speak my purpose, seeing as she's finally standing in front of me, but for some reason I'm unable to get the words out of my mouth. A thought has struck me, because all the while I've been semi-confident that Chloe would agree to be my date, I've never actually really thought that she would turn me down, because quite frankly, there's never been a girl in my history who has.
But now, being here, Chloe showing her irritation at me for disrupting her television time for the whole world to see, I'm beginning to have my doubts.
She continues looking at me expectantly. Obviously she wants me to get to the heart of the matter, but from her viewpoint she doesn't see how difficult that is.
"My father's at the plant," she offers.
"I actually came to see you."
"Oh?" her eyebrows rise.
"I have a proposition for you, Chloe."
Clearly intrigued, and not the least bit polite in inviting me into her house despite the fact that she has left me outside of her house freezing my bald head off for a good long while, she leans against the doorframe and waits for me to continue.
"Nice and cold today, isn't it?" I remark.
She visibly cringes. "Oh, right. Sorry. Come on in, Lex."
Without waiting to hear my answer, she turns on her heels and troops inside, leaving me to follow her. I pass a living room with a long sofa that looks inviting enough to stretch out and sleep in, Julia Roberts paused in mid-action on the television screen, and ice-cream on the coffee table.
"You're going to have to excuse the mess," she says while walking into a room. I follow her. It's a kitchen, large, sunny and homely with wooden cabinets. Very much opposite the dungeon that is the kitchen at my place. "Visitors in the Sullivan household are few and far between." She bends over, looking inside a cabinet. "Want some coffee?"
I'm suddenly arrested by the view her backside gives me. Pleasurable viewing, never mind that it's coming from the body of a 16 year old girl who would plainly stab me if I dared grab the object of my viewing.
Remembering myself, "Sure. Coffee." Rather than standing in the middle of the kitchen aimlessly, I take a seat near the table.
She finally emerges with two mugs and spoons coffee (instant, not something I would usually drink) into each one then pours hot water over it.
I observe her while she goes through the motions, knowing where each and everything is without having to turn around and look. Her blonde hair is messier than usual today, and falls over her face. The sweater she wears is baggy and shows no hint of a shape but it seems to drape around her shoulders very pleasingly, the wide collar slipping to the left a notch and exposing pale skin.
The girl is undeniably cute, the kind of cute that bring forth images of biting soft creamy flesh to my head.
But that is not the reason why I have come here today.
Finished in her good hostess duties, she nudges a jar of sugar my way then sits in the chair opposite mine, crosses her legs, and sips daintily at her coffee.
"So," she says.
"So," I agree. "How's the Torch going along?"
She fights away her impatience, obviously not wanting me in her kitchen and taking her attention away from Pretty Woman any longer than is absolutely necessary, but she did leave me standing outside her house for a long time, so it's quite rightly her turn to suffer.
"Fine."
"That's good," I reply, and take a leisurely sip of my coffee. I add, airily, "I don't usually drink instants, but this is pretty good."
"It's garden variety Nescafe, Lex."
"Still good."
"So what type of coffee do you usually take in the Luthor castle?"
"The non-instant kind."
She taps her fingers on the table and glares at me in resolute silence.
I get the hint. "Obviously you want to hear the proposition," I put my coffee down.
"Obviously."
I take a deep breath and lean forward, looking her in the eye. I'm ready to drop my voice down several tenors to husky, a move I usually save for women I'm interested in when I remember that Chloe is not the normal variety of women, in need of a Prom date or not. I lean back again and return to my normal asshole self.
She grows more impatient by the second.
"Chloe," I start and pause. I feel the annoyance radiating from her side of the table.
I look her in the eye, big blue eyes, not bothering to mask the irritation brewing in them, yet she looks nervous at what I'm going to say.
"I want to take you to the Prom."
CHLOE
Never, in any normal circumstance, do I allow myself to gape.
There are several reasons for this fact, all of them very good ones. But the biggest one of all would be that I am not in my prettiest position when my mouth hangs open. And I'll have you know that I have a very big mouth. A planet could float into my mouth.
I close my mouth with a click.
Oh my God, is Lex Luthor really sitting there, right in front of me, in my kitchen, and asking me to go to the Prom with him?
Of all the unlikely scenarios ever thought up in the world, this one has to take the cake. Not only does this man stand outside of my house knocking for the better part of an hour, but he's damn rich and my father's boss and kind of sexy in a quasi evil manner and has seen me at my worst but has just upped the level of weirdness by asking me out.
I'm not insensible of what a compliment this is to such a humble person as myself, but other pressing matters are exploding in my brain.
An answer to all my problems!
I would have a DATE to the Prom! And not a forced one, as pre-arranged by Clark and Pete and their good but dumb intentions, but a voluntary one!
AND I get to wear my dress!
And all this would really be good and well if I didn't hear Clark and Peter's insistent voices in my head calling after me as I stumble my way out of the Talon. "We'll get you a date, Chloe!"
Realization dawned abruptly. "Did Clark put you up to this?"
He replies smoothly, "Not at all." But he's a businessman. They must have taken some degree course that teaches them the mechanics of dishonesty to effectively lie through their teeth.
"Right," I say, distrustfully. "If he didn't then why are you asking me to go to the Prom with you? Shoot me for saying so, but I cannot believe that Lex Luthor in all his greatness would even bat an eyelid to help salvage a girl's little bits of scattering pride by taking her to the Prom."
He seems to take this remark in stride. Probably gets accused of things all his life.
"Because I like you," he says simply. I snort. "And I'm liking you all the more now."
I knew it. I knew that Clark would actually go this low to get me a date, with goddamn LEX LUTHOR for crap's sake. And it didn't take him long to immediately start the 'Get Chloe Sullivan a Prom Date' campaign. Just went right up to Lex and told him to take my sorrow off of his hands. The bastard.
Since Clark is not around, I glare at the only other offender in this nightmare I call my life, while he meets my stare calmly, eyes strikingly blue.
Hmmm. My less sane mind wanders into a garden of whimsical thoughts where I can actually spend a full minute wondering if the striking color of Lex Luthor's eyes is blue or green.
Then my less sane mind starts dwelling on other thoughts. Lex Luthor, staring at me, sitting there, draped across my chair, legs stretched out in front of him, shoulders broad, air around him irresistibly detached….
And here I find myself struck with equally mortifying thoughts.
He came here with a proposition for crap's sake, not even a date, and he has the gall to sit in my kitchen and look so smoldering and sexy and… oh my God I'm here thinking of how YUMMY he looks and how nice it would be to jump his bones right now.
I mentally slap myself across the face.
"You know," his voice cuts through my thoughts, naked thoughts of him in my kitchen, I have gone stark raving mad. "It really is just a yes or no question."
"Really, I hadn't noticed," I mutter, still busy chasing the images out of my head.
"So would you like to go with me or wouldn't you?"
"The jury's still out."
"I've never had to beg, Chloe, and I don't intend to start now."
"I never asked you to beg, Lex."
"I'll make sure you enjoy yourself." Dammit. Why did he have to say THAT of all things?
"Lex, you're going to have to understand my hesitation here. The way I see it, you're either genuinely doing this out of the goodness of your own heart, which makes me charity, or Clark asked you to, which is still charity." I pause and look at him. "Do I look like a charity case to you?"
"This is not charity," he assures me.
"So what is it?"
"A proposition. I don't have plans this weekend and you're in need of a date. We can help each other."
I really can't imagine Lex Luthor with nothing to do on a weekend. Actually, he'd probably be a real nightmare with time on his hands. Probably stalks the castle looking for victims to feed meteorite pebbles to.
"You know, I bet you couldn't find a more un-romantic alternative to the word 'date' even if you tried."
"It's an honest request, Chloe. Just say yes."
I quarrel with my indecision then to my alarm, he leans forward, takes both of my hands in his, and looks at me imploringly. The shortness of breath that ensues this does not help the naked images one bit. "Please?" he says, his voice husky, with a hint of a smile.
I take a deep breath, and in spite of myself, say, "Yes."
LEX
Victory.
There is nothing that smells sweeter than victory.
At this moment, there is nothing that looks sweeter than the object of my victory. Chloe has blushed several shades of crimson and seems to be tucking herself further into that little wooden chair than I thought humanly possible.
Ah, but the sweet smell of victory. It doesn't matter what the conquest, or the significance of it, because they can all be equally challenging.
And I have found quite a challenger in Chloe Sullivan. Besides insulting me and denting my ego and getting me to resort to begging, she has managed to effectively make me suffer for the past hour that I have been in this house. I would hate to think what she would do to the world if she went into business.
But right now, scoring my victory against all odds (it certainly seemed that way), I lean back and breathe in deeply. That sweet smell (besides the pleasing apple scent that emanates from Chloe) is victory, and Chloe has become one of my favorite conquests.
I knew if I fixed my move on her she'd see the light. I should have done it earlier. Chloe Sullivan is a normal girl after all.
"But," she says.
My triumph pauses.
"But what?"
"I'll go to the Prom with you," she says slowly. "Only if you grant me an interview."
She's out of her fucking mind, but these are small circumstances. The general point is just to take her to the Prom. "Fine."
"And I'll be able to ask you ANY question and you'll allow me to print every single thing out of your mouth onto the paper without any hassles whatsoever."
"ANY question?"
"Any question."
And I can just imagine what sort of questions she would be asking. I see the words 'Level Three', 'Club Zero' and 'Nicodemus Flower' forming in her scheming brain, right now.
The favor did not include a night of torture on my part. Believe me, I'm not that nice a guy.
Forget Clark, forget favors, forget any future favors for Clark, forget that I have ever been out of my mind to come here and actually ask this insane girl to the Prom. "Forget it."
"Okay, fine," she amends quickly. "We'll make it a human interest story! Lowly Reporter Snags Billionaire's Son And Goes To Prom."
"Billionaire's Son Would Be Out Of His Fucking Mind."
"Well then fine, Lex Luthor. Be that way. Then we'll both be dateless this weekend, or at least I'll be, and you'll face the sorrowful look on Clark's face and the guilt when you hear about me paired up with some guy who would rather do anything else other than be at the Prom with me."
"Guilt does not take any skin off my back, Chloe."
"Yes but I will make you suffer eternally for it."
I pause. Personally I doubt that Chloe would be able to make me suffer eternally for anything, but the girl is an adamant creature.
"You couldn't just go to the Prom with me in a limousine, could you?"
"You get the good guy image. I need my fringe benefits."
In ordinary circumstances, I could turn on the Lex Luthor charm and suggest to her exactly what kind of fringe benefits I could be giving her in return, tempting as that sounds at this moment when her collar has gone further down her shoulder, exposing more skin, but seeing how my past move failed to make an impact on her, I doubt this one would work.
"Okay," I relent, and she lets out a tiny little yip of triumph. "But I will not answer any questions that I don't want to answer. Understood?"
"Absolutely," she says, airily. Then sticks her hand out to me. "It's a deal, Mr. Luthor."
"Yes it is," I shake her hand. It's tiny and my hand engulfs it, but it's firm.
And there it is.
I've achieved what I came here for, to get Chloe Sullivan to agree to go to the Prom with me. I've had to go through all sorts of shit for it, but I've done it.
I swear to God, Clark better be fucking thankful.
I have been standing on this porch for much too long, freezing my head off and in a space of fifteen minutes have managed to record this eventful moment as the biggest waste of time in my life.
Why am I still here?
I have a favor to perform. Considering Clark rarely asks me for any favor, I feel like I should do this one right.
Not to mention the fact that I know that she's home and purposefully avoiding the person who has been incessantly knocking on her door for the past quarter of an hour, and I refuse to give up until she gets her ass in front of me and lets me finish what it is that I came here to do.
The girl is quite obviously hiding from the world. I know she's home, I can hear the television clearly, and that indicates life in there.
I knock again, three times, my fifth time, and promising vehemently to myself that if she does not open the door then I will leave.
After another two minutes, I knock one last time.
And finally, I hear something. Unmistakable footsteps stomping towards the door in resignation, heavy sounds that indicate that it could come from a grizzly bear, not a tiny little blonde with too much attitude. Obviously thinking that if waiting for the past twenty minutes in the cold would not make me go away, then hearing the quiver in the floorboards at her angry steps would do the trick.
The door is flung open and Chloe stands before me in one of her less prettier moments.
Her face, at first scowling, now registers shock at the sight of me.
The shock manages to satisfy my impatience at having to wait out in the cold for the past twenty minutes, if only a little bit.
"Mr. Luthor," she says, in disdain.
I choose to ignore the disdain. "Good afternoon, Chloe," I greet.
She shakes her head as if to clear it and manages a smile, all the while keeping the disdain in her voice. "So what brings you to this part of Smallville, Mr. Luthor?"
"Lex."
"Lex," she amends.
We stare at each other. I'm quite aware that this is the right moment to speak my purpose, seeing as she's finally standing in front of me, but for some reason I'm unable to get the words out of my mouth. A thought has struck me, because all the while I've been semi-confident that Chloe would agree to be my date, I've never actually really thought that she would turn me down, because quite frankly, there's never been a girl in my history who has.
But now, being here, Chloe showing her irritation at me for disrupting her television time for the whole world to see, I'm beginning to have my doubts.
She continues looking at me expectantly. Obviously she wants me to get to the heart of the matter, but from her viewpoint she doesn't see how difficult that is.
"My father's at the plant," she offers.
"I actually came to see you."
"Oh?" her eyebrows rise.
"I have a proposition for you, Chloe."
Clearly intrigued, and not the least bit polite in inviting me into her house despite the fact that she has left me outside of her house freezing my bald head off for a good long while, she leans against the doorframe and waits for me to continue.
"Nice and cold today, isn't it?" I remark.
She visibly cringes. "Oh, right. Sorry. Come on in, Lex."
Without waiting to hear my answer, she turns on her heels and troops inside, leaving me to follow her. I pass a living room with a long sofa that looks inviting enough to stretch out and sleep in, Julia Roberts paused in mid-action on the television screen, and ice-cream on the coffee table.
"You're going to have to excuse the mess," she says while walking into a room. I follow her. It's a kitchen, large, sunny and homely with wooden cabinets. Very much opposite the dungeon that is the kitchen at my place. "Visitors in the Sullivan household are few and far between." She bends over, looking inside a cabinet. "Want some coffee?"
I'm suddenly arrested by the view her backside gives me. Pleasurable viewing, never mind that it's coming from the body of a 16 year old girl who would plainly stab me if I dared grab the object of my viewing.
Remembering myself, "Sure. Coffee." Rather than standing in the middle of the kitchen aimlessly, I take a seat near the table.
She finally emerges with two mugs and spoons coffee (instant, not something I would usually drink) into each one then pours hot water over it.
I observe her while she goes through the motions, knowing where each and everything is without having to turn around and look. Her blonde hair is messier than usual today, and falls over her face. The sweater she wears is baggy and shows no hint of a shape but it seems to drape around her shoulders very pleasingly, the wide collar slipping to the left a notch and exposing pale skin.
The girl is undeniably cute, the kind of cute that bring forth images of biting soft creamy flesh to my head.
But that is not the reason why I have come here today.
Finished in her good hostess duties, she nudges a jar of sugar my way then sits in the chair opposite mine, crosses her legs, and sips daintily at her coffee.
"So," she says.
"So," I agree. "How's the Torch going along?"
She fights away her impatience, obviously not wanting me in her kitchen and taking her attention away from Pretty Woman any longer than is absolutely necessary, but she did leave me standing outside her house for a long time, so it's quite rightly her turn to suffer.
"Fine."
"That's good," I reply, and take a leisurely sip of my coffee. I add, airily, "I don't usually drink instants, but this is pretty good."
"It's garden variety Nescafe, Lex."
"Still good."
"So what type of coffee do you usually take in the Luthor castle?"
"The non-instant kind."
She taps her fingers on the table and glares at me in resolute silence.
I get the hint. "Obviously you want to hear the proposition," I put my coffee down.
"Obviously."
I take a deep breath and lean forward, looking her in the eye. I'm ready to drop my voice down several tenors to husky, a move I usually save for women I'm interested in when I remember that Chloe is not the normal variety of women, in need of a Prom date or not. I lean back again and return to my normal asshole self.
She grows more impatient by the second.
"Chloe," I start and pause. I feel the annoyance radiating from her side of the table.
I look her in the eye, big blue eyes, not bothering to mask the irritation brewing in them, yet she looks nervous at what I'm going to say.
"I want to take you to the Prom."
CHLOE
Never, in any normal circumstance, do I allow myself to gape.
There are several reasons for this fact, all of them very good ones. But the biggest one of all would be that I am not in my prettiest position when my mouth hangs open. And I'll have you know that I have a very big mouth. A planet could float into my mouth.
I close my mouth with a click.
Oh my God, is Lex Luthor really sitting there, right in front of me, in my kitchen, and asking me to go to the Prom with him?
Of all the unlikely scenarios ever thought up in the world, this one has to take the cake. Not only does this man stand outside of my house knocking for the better part of an hour, but he's damn rich and my father's boss and kind of sexy in a quasi evil manner and has seen me at my worst but has just upped the level of weirdness by asking me out.
I'm not insensible of what a compliment this is to such a humble person as myself, but other pressing matters are exploding in my brain.
An answer to all my problems!
I would have a DATE to the Prom! And not a forced one, as pre-arranged by Clark and Pete and their good but dumb intentions, but a voluntary one!
AND I get to wear my dress!
And all this would really be good and well if I didn't hear Clark and Peter's insistent voices in my head calling after me as I stumble my way out of the Talon. "We'll get you a date, Chloe!"
Realization dawned abruptly. "Did Clark put you up to this?"
He replies smoothly, "Not at all." But he's a businessman. They must have taken some degree course that teaches them the mechanics of dishonesty to effectively lie through their teeth.
"Right," I say, distrustfully. "If he didn't then why are you asking me to go to the Prom with you? Shoot me for saying so, but I cannot believe that Lex Luthor in all his greatness would even bat an eyelid to help salvage a girl's little bits of scattering pride by taking her to the Prom."
He seems to take this remark in stride. Probably gets accused of things all his life.
"Because I like you," he says simply. I snort. "And I'm liking you all the more now."
I knew it. I knew that Clark would actually go this low to get me a date, with goddamn LEX LUTHOR for crap's sake. And it didn't take him long to immediately start the 'Get Chloe Sullivan a Prom Date' campaign. Just went right up to Lex and told him to take my sorrow off of his hands. The bastard.
Since Clark is not around, I glare at the only other offender in this nightmare I call my life, while he meets my stare calmly, eyes strikingly blue.
Hmmm. My less sane mind wanders into a garden of whimsical thoughts where I can actually spend a full minute wondering if the striking color of Lex Luthor's eyes is blue or green.
Then my less sane mind starts dwelling on other thoughts. Lex Luthor, staring at me, sitting there, draped across my chair, legs stretched out in front of him, shoulders broad, air around him irresistibly detached….
And here I find myself struck with equally mortifying thoughts.
He came here with a proposition for crap's sake, not even a date, and he has the gall to sit in my kitchen and look so smoldering and sexy and… oh my God I'm here thinking of how YUMMY he looks and how nice it would be to jump his bones right now.
I mentally slap myself across the face.
"You know," his voice cuts through my thoughts, naked thoughts of him in my kitchen, I have gone stark raving mad. "It really is just a yes or no question."
"Really, I hadn't noticed," I mutter, still busy chasing the images out of my head.
"So would you like to go with me or wouldn't you?"
"The jury's still out."
"I've never had to beg, Chloe, and I don't intend to start now."
"I never asked you to beg, Lex."
"I'll make sure you enjoy yourself." Dammit. Why did he have to say THAT of all things?
"Lex, you're going to have to understand my hesitation here. The way I see it, you're either genuinely doing this out of the goodness of your own heart, which makes me charity, or Clark asked you to, which is still charity." I pause and look at him. "Do I look like a charity case to you?"
"This is not charity," he assures me.
"So what is it?"
"A proposition. I don't have plans this weekend and you're in need of a date. We can help each other."
I really can't imagine Lex Luthor with nothing to do on a weekend. Actually, he'd probably be a real nightmare with time on his hands. Probably stalks the castle looking for victims to feed meteorite pebbles to.
"You know, I bet you couldn't find a more un-romantic alternative to the word 'date' even if you tried."
"It's an honest request, Chloe. Just say yes."
I quarrel with my indecision then to my alarm, he leans forward, takes both of my hands in his, and looks at me imploringly. The shortness of breath that ensues this does not help the naked images one bit. "Please?" he says, his voice husky, with a hint of a smile.
I take a deep breath, and in spite of myself, say, "Yes."
LEX
Victory.
There is nothing that smells sweeter than victory.
At this moment, there is nothing that looks sweeter than the object of my victory. Chloe has blushed several shades of crimson and seems to be tucking herself further into that little wooden chair than I thought humanly possible.
Ah, but the sweet smell of victory. It doesn't matter what the conquest, or the significance of it, because they can all be equally challenging.
And I have found quite a challenger in Chloe Sullivan. Besides insulting me and denting my ego and getting me to resort to begging, she has managed to effectively make me suffer for the past hour that I have been in this house. I would hate to think what she would do to the world if she went into business.
But right now, scoring my victory against all odds (it certainly seemed that way), I lean back and breathe in deeply. That sweet smell (besides the pleasing apple scent that emanates from Chloe) is victory, and Chloe has become one of my favorite conquests.
I knew if I fixed my move on her she'd see the light. I should have done it earlier. Chloe Sullivan is a normal girl after all.
"But," she says.
My triumph pauses.
"But what?"
"I'll go to the Prom with you," she says slowly. "Only if you grant me an interview."
She's out of her fucking mind, but these are small circumstances. The general point is just to take her to the Prom. "Fine."
"And I'll be able to ask you ANY question and you'll allow me to print every single thing out of your mouth onto the paper without any hassles whatsoever."
"ANY question?"
"Any question."
And I can just imagine what sort of questions she would be asking. I see the words 'Level Three', 'Club Zero' and 'Nicodemus Flower' forming in her scheming brain, right now.
The favor did not include a night of torture on my part. Believe me, I'm not that nice a guy.
Forget Clark, forget favors, forget any future favors for Clark, forget that I have ever been out of my mind to come here and actually ask this insane girl to the Prom. "Forget it."
"Okay, fine," she amends quickly. "We'll make it a human interest story! Lowly Reporter Snags Billionaire's Son And Goes To Prom."
"Billionaire's Son Would Be Out Of His Fucking Mind."
"Well then fine, Lex Luthor. Be that way. Then we'll both be dateless this weekend, or at least I'll be, and you'll face the sorrowful look on Clark's face and the guilt when you hear about me paired up with some guy who would rather do anything else other than be at the Prom with me."
"Guilt does not take any skin off my back, Chloe."
"Yes but I will make you suffer eternally for it."
I pause. Personally I doubt that Chloe would be able to make me suffer eternally for anything, but the girl is an adamant creature.
"You couldn't just go to the Prom with me in a limousine, could you?"
"You get the good guy image. I need my fringe benefits."
In ordinary circumstances, I could turn on the Lex Luthor charm and suggest to her exactly what kind of fringe benefits I could be giving her in return, tempting as that sounds at this moment when her collar has gone further down her shoulder, exposing more skin, but seeing how my past move failed to make an impact on her, I doubt this one would work.
"Okay," I relent, and she lets out a tiny little yip of triumph. "But I will not answer any questions that I don't want to answer. Understood?"
"Absolutely," she says, airily. Then sticks her hand out to me. "It's a deal, Mr. Luthor."
"Yes it is," I shake her hand. It's tiny and my hand engulfs it, but it's firm.
And there it is.
I've achieved what I came here for, to get Chloe Sullivan to agree to go to the Prom with me. I've had to go through all sorts of shit for it, but I've done it.
I swear to God, Clark better be fucking thankful.