"Okay, maybe we should shelve the topic of the Prom for another day-"
"Oh, and I didn't know Lana Lang won Prom Queen. I left before then, if you recall."
I could readily strangle him. "Something to do with me, no doubt."
"No doubt." I'm about ready to scream at him, interview or no interview, when he adds, "Kindly extend my warmest congratulations to the lovely Ms. Lang."
"Sure," I reply through gritted teeth.
"So who won Prom King?"
Does he forget easily? Is it not MY job to interview him? I haven't even asked him a single question and I've already wasted two minutes of my tape.
I decide to humor him. That is, if having no other choice can be construed as a decision.
"Whitney Fordham."
"They must have made quite a stunning couple on the dance floor."
"Doubtlessly," I say, glaring at him. Now I'm absolutely positive that he's just dawdling to piss me off, because there is no way in hell under ordinary circumstances that Lex Luthor would compliment Whitney. "It's too bad Whitney wasn't there."
"No, he wasn't, was he? Something about an argument."
"Perhaps."
"So who did Lana dance with?"
"Clark."
He pauses for some time. I grab the opportunity with both hands. "SO, Lex. Back to the interview at hand. We've been hearing for some time now that Mr. Lionel Luthor is planning to visit the plant to hold a meeting with its entire staff. Any hints as to what the topic-"
He cuts me off. AGAIN. "So, Clark danced with Lana?"
I sigh. "YES."
"YOUR date, danced with LANA?"
"Yes."
"Because Whitney wasn't there."
The boy catches on really quick. Someone hand him a knife so he can end my humiliation. "Yes."
Another pause.
"Anyway! Back to the original question! Any idea as to what the meeting will-"
"Are you okay with it?"
I sigh loudly and press Stop. "Lex, seriously. If it's that big a deal to you, we can FORGET the interview okay? I mean, this is just plain dirty pool, alright? If it's that much of a bother, GOD, just TELL me so I can just piss off and leave you alone! I REALLY don't need to waste my time here. God knows I have wasted enough."
He waits for me to finish before he says, "It's a legitimate question and I'm only asking because I actually do care. As inhuman as you might think of me at this moment."
He was unfortunately right about the inhuman part. I narrow my eyes at him. "You're asking because you care," I echo.
"Yes."
"About me?"
He doesn't reply. Huh. Wrong question, Chloe. Talk about overkill.
"To answer your question: no I wasn't hurt about it. Well, okay, my pride was bruised to a color beyond recognition but my heart was making a stand for herself, thank you very much."
"Am I hearing right? Chloe Sullivan's big heart beats no more for the dark- haired Wonder Boy? What does this signify?" he remarks, a little too callously for my liking.
"Maybe I just woke up and started smelling the coffee."
"We live forever in hope," he says dryly.
"Or maybe Wonder Boy has been replaced."
I said that last line for three, very good, reasons. They were: 1) Because it was the truth, 2) Because the sincerity would silence him long enough for me to continue my interview, 3) Because the sincerity would silence him and hence give me a small victory over the heartless cow in front of me.
I'm not sure what kind of alternate universe we have strayed upon tonight, here at the Talon. It bewilders me that two people could have desired each other enough at one point to make an attempt at a kiss in front of the public, and it's no secret that the public is Lex's No. 1 enemy. And now, some time later the same said two people can't stop spitting venom at each other.
As much as I would rather not be engaged in combat mode, I can't help it. I may be attracted to him, but I'm not spineless, and I won't let him walk all over me.
Yes, I made a mistake. But it was an honest one! I shouldn't have acted the way I did when Clark suddenly appeared, but it was something that I couldn't help and it's not something that I'm inclined to apologize for. I was planning to apologize to him for making him feel unwanted, but he seems all adamant on war instead.
Is this how he usually deals with all his unfinished issues?
He's silent, and now I'm just too plain tired to be victorious. Wearily, I press the Record button again.
Almost immediately, he presses the Stop button.
The man wants me to drown, right now, and choke on my very own sea of emotions. Rather than doing that, I take a sip of my cappuccino and concentrate on the many levels of crappiness found in this one cup of coffee.
I wait for him to say something. After a few false starts, he finally does.
"How did this come about? The replacement, I mean. If that's the reason."
I stare at him. At Lex. Fumbling with words. I'm sorely regretting the fact that I'm not recording this monumental moment.
"Wow, talk about inefficacy. Talk much?"
A blush diffuses his face and simultaneously he shoots me a murderous look. "Just answer the damn question."
Pleased that I managed to get him to blush and a little awestruck at the fact that he can blush like a cute little kid and glare like a scary mafioso at the same time, I reply, "That is one of the reasons, yes. Although I'm not sure how it came about. It was a moment. Several moments, actually. And it all resulted in that: maybe it's time I focus my attention on someone else. Someone not necessarily better than him, but someone I find necessarily better anyway."
He listens with a blank expression on his face.
"You get that?"
"Yes, I understand perfectly."
"Great," I say, more brightly than I'm actually feeling (confess just a little bit and get rewarded with a blank face), and press the Record button again. "Okay, back to the interview-," I stop when I realize that I've forgotten what the question was. "Ahhhhh- yes! Lionel Luthor coming down to the Smallville plant for a big meeting with all of the staff. Know what that's about?" Too tired for pretty vocabulary right now.
"No, I don't have a clue. I shouldn't worry too much about it. My father makes a yearly trip down to the Smallville plant to host a meeting with all the staff for no other reason than a pat on the back for a good year's work done."
"Nice of him."
"I suppose."
"Speaking of the Smallville Plant, there have been rumors-"
"Can I say something?"
I stop immediately, more than a little surprised at his sudden request. Say something? Lex Luthor is notoriously famous for not saying a damn thing to reporters even when he does agree to have an interview. Now he wants to say something? Voluntarily?
"Er, yeah. By all means. Um. Shoot."
"Okay." He pauses, and the length of time of his silence seems to stretch to a point where I have to wonder if he's fallen asleep with his eyes open. "Not a lot of people know me."
"Well, hating to differ, but a lot of people DO know you."
He shoots me an annoyed look. "No, I mean, not a lot of people KNOW me. Me. Lex. Not Lex Luthor. Not manager of a plant. Not their father's bosses. Me."
What on earth is he going on about? Is he soul searching? Is Lex Luthor soul searching right now, on tape, in front of my very eyes?
"And due to this reason, there are several instances of misunderstanding. Just because I'm a renowned asshole doesn't mean that I am one. But at the same time, just because I'm nice to you now, doesn't mean I'm not an asshole."
Mind-boggling. I wonder if I could ask him to repeat that 'asshole' comment. Never mind; I have it on tape.
"To be less hazy on the matter," he continues. "Chloe, what you see of me or what you have heard of me or what we have done together does not dispute one factor: you don't know me at all. Perhaps you do, and perhaps you have reached an understanding of me that is, in your eyes, justifiably good enough. But you can't forget that you have only ever seen me in your world, you have never seen me in mine."
I feel my stomach churning and the sudden desire to bolt for the bathroom hits me once again. I've only just begun to realize that this comment he's making is directed at me, and the burning question at whether or not something good or bad will come out of this has turned my general abdomen area in a queasy mess.
"Lex-," I start.
"I'm not finished."
"Sorry," I say meekly.
"Whatever feelings you have for me, if indeed there are any, might as quickly change the more you learn about me, and being yourself, I'm certain that you will try to learn more about me." Huh. Was that an insult? "To put it into laymen's terms, Chloe: you might just end up hating me."
Oh. Well. If he puts it THAT way. As horribly inexperienced as I am with playboy billionaires, I was pretty sure nonetheless that if any feelings of the heart were to be expressed even in the tiniest of manners, that there would at least be SOME sweet talk involved.
But that's just me being bitchy. Me being desperate is another thing altogether.
Then he says, "And I don't want you to hate me. Not now. Not ever. Not if I can help it."
And suddenly I'm a pile of mush lurking around the edges of his expensive shoes.
He doesn't say anything else after that, just blanks out and stares down at his cup of cappuccino in front of him. If anyone were to walk in on us right now, from the expression on my face they would guess that I've just made another discovery with the meteors. From Lex's face, they'd probably think he was bored. No one could actually guess that he had, in his own oddly formal way, professed some form of feeling for me. But then again, I don't think anyone would have believed it anyway.
I clear my throat and the noise echoes in my ears.
"You know, you might end up hating me." He looks up at me. "No, seriously. I mean, I get under your skin now, imagine if you knew me better. Do you know Clark and Pete hide from me sometimes? And those are my best friends! Imagine how a boyf- I mean, a person just a tad more significant to me, would feel. I would probably drive you up the wall. Hell, you'll be hiding from me too."
When I look back at him, the corners of his mouth are upturned in one of his infamous half-smiles. "Is that so?" he says, amused.
"Absolutely. Plus, I'll be forever bugging you about exclusive interviews and such."
"That IS a pain."
"That it is," I agree (just this once, though). "So really, you might just end up hating me first, and then you'd wish for me to hate you back."
"Interesting."
I grin at him (I can't help it- some part of me realizes that I should be acting the demure female but my big fat mouth just won't quit smiling) and he semi-smiles back, and we stare at each other like that for some time.
When my tape recorder suddenly stops and the noise shocks the living daylights out of me, then I decide to speak again.
"What are we talking about exactly?"
He looks at me with a bemused expression on his face. "Us."
"Oh," I say, blushing to the tips of my hair. "Well, um, okay. Did we reach a conclusion about us?"
"Not yet," he replies. "But it looks promising."
LEX
Chloe can't stop smiling, no matter how much of an effort it takes for her to keep her face straight. When my eyes stray upon her face, she seems to be fighting a losing battle with her cheekbones. Her face contorted, expressions grotesque and her lips pursed, until the irrepressible smile cracks and diffuses radiance across her face. It is heart-achingly adorable.
We sit here in the Talon and for the first time in my life, I appear to be without an itinerary or a program to indicate what's supposed to happen next. I've spoken words; words to make my interest detectable to her and she has returned the favor. Where are we supposed to go from here? I can't exactly draw up a contract and shake hands over it, although that would be what I'm best at. There are no contracts in the affairs of the heart. Is there a cue I should be taking or an expression I should be showing? We sit here and we wait wordlessly for the next response, and I can't manage it.
It's a situation wherein my fancy has taken control over my brain and I feel hapless against it.
But does that matter at all when I'm as happy as this?
I am, undeniably, irrevocably, simply happy.
In a manner of which its meaning I never knew exists.
I've always been a shade away from heartless. And whatever heart there is in me, I take extreme care in keeping it hidden from others. One might wonder why I choose to be this way, whereas to me it's as natural as breathing. I was brought up this way. And no matter how well you can take the man away from the bastard, you can't take the bastard away from the man.
So I choose to remain this way. And maybe that explains why I have such a particular taste in women. If they're not beautiful and worthless, then they're beautiful and likely to rip me off. I choose them for my own personal benefit, as a way to pass the time, but never as someone I intend to remain with.
What cruel twist of fate did God have planned for me that would make me rip my heart out and present it to a teenager on a silver plate?
Chloe is happy. This is not something she believes she should hide from the world. If she is happy, then she is complete. She doesn't need anything else from me, just me. It's enthralling and I'm left breathless at the exhilaration of the thought of her.
How did this girl manage to procure these feelings for me, despite me?
A foot nudges my foot and she's grinning at me. "What are you thinking so hard about?"
I smile back and shake my head. "Nothing in particular."
"You know, as much as I love this silence between us right now, I really should be going," she says, ruefully.
I feel a pang of disappointment, but I'm complying if nothing else. As she gathers her things together, I pay for our (crap) coffee, and we take leave.
The night is cool as we step outside of the Talon with bad cappuccinos in our system and just a little fuzz of excitement. I glance down at her and see her grinning up at the sight of the stars above us.
"Do you know the constellations?" she suddenly asks, her face still tilted skywards.
"No," I admit.
"Yeah? I always figured you the kind to know everything."
"That would make me a form of God, I think."
"And it's so fitting because you already have a God complex," she teases.
"Funny."
"Hey, I'm here all week," she gives me an impish smile that sort of kills me, before she walks towards her car, which is parked in front of mine.
She opens her door and almost uncertainly, turns around and glances at me. I'm not sure what expression it is that she's seeing on my face, or if it's pure nerve on her part, because she turns around and walks away from the car and towards me, before she wraps her arms around my neck.
"For what it's worth, this is the best evening I've ever had."
I'm not sure whether it's disturbing me or relieving me when I hear those words. Is she saying that this is the last time? That she realizes it could never happen? The vagueness of her sentence makes me withdraw from her enough to look into her face.
"Oh yeah," she says, seeing my face. "I know. It's a bit mad, isn't it? Would it even work? I mean, HOW could it work? There's so much difference there, and it's debatable if we could ever make ends meet."
And I just don't know what to say to that.
Just looking at her now, her earnest face, recognizing what I was thinking and my mixed-up feelings about this. How can I be with her? How on God's green earth will this ever work?
Yet, at the same time, how can I not try?
Instead of replying, I lean down and lightly press my lips against hers. After the initial shock has worn off, her arms tighten around my neck and she responds to my kiss. Her lips are clumsy but passionate, the mark of an inexperienced kisser, but her lips are also sweet despite the tinge of cappuccino on them, and the combination of this with the apple scent from her skin makes me heady in rhapsody.
We stand there, unable to stop kissing each other, for what feels like hours. This is the cue I would usually take to whisk her off to my bedroom to kiss her good and proper, but I wouldn't do that with Chloe. Not yet.
When we finally part, she breathes heavily against me, the mark of a great kiss.
"You know," I say to her, "We can always try."
She smiles and hugs me hard. "Yeah, I was hoping you'd say that."
I hug her back and feel remarkably., optimistic. And light. Light-headed, light-footed, light-hearted. I'm happy, in the simplest sense of the word.
And as I said, why would anything matter when I'm as happy as this?
* * * * * *
Author's Note: I'm not sure if the ending's hokey or what but oh well.
I have to thank everyone for the lovely, lovely reviews. What a buzz :)
"Oh, and I didn't know Lana Lang won Prom Queen. I left before then, if you recall."
I could readily strangle him. "Something to do with me, no doubt."
"No doubt." I'm about ready to scream at him, interview or no interview, when he adds, "Kindly extend my warmest congratulations to the lovely Ms. Lang."
"Sure," I reply through gritted teeth.
"So who won Prom King?"
Does he forget easily? Is it not MY job to interview him? I haven't even asked him a single question and I've already wasted two minutes of my tape.
I decide to humor him. That is, if having no other choice can be construed as a decision.
"Whitney Fordham."
"They must have made quite a stunning couple on the dance floor."
"Doubtlessly," I say, glaring at him. Now I'm absolutely positive that he's just dawdling to piss me off, because there is no way in hell under ordinary circumstances that Lex Luthor would compliment Whitney. "It's too bad Whitney wasn't there."
"No, he wasn't, was he? Something about an argument."
"Perhaps."
"So who did Lana dance with?"
"Clark."
He pauses for some time. I grab the opportunity with both hands. "SO, Lex. Back to the interview at hand. We've been hearing for some time now that Mr. Lionel Luthor is planning to visit the plant to hold a meeting with its entire staff. Any hints as to what the topic-"
He cuts me off. AGAIN. "So, Clark danced with Lana?"
I sigh. "YES."
"YOUR date, danced with LANA?"
"Yes."
"Because Whitney wasn't there."
The boy catches on really quick. Someone hand him a knife so he can end my humiliation. "Yes."
Another pause.
"Anyway! Back to the original question! Any idea as to what the meeting will-"
"Are you okay with it?"
I sigh loudly and press Stop. "Lex, seriously. If it's that big a deal to you, we can FORGET the interview okay? I mean, this is just plain dirty pool, alright? If it's that much of a bother, GOD, just TELL me so I can just piss off and leave you alone! I REALLY don't need to waste my time here. God knows I have wasted enough."
He waits for me to finish before he says, "It's a legitimate question and I'm only asking because I actually do care. As inhuman as you might think of me at this moment."
He was unfortunately right about the inhuman part. I narrow my eyes at him. "You're asking because you care," I echo.
"Yes."
"About me?"
He doesn't reply. Huh. Wrong question, Chloe. Talk about overkill.
"To answer your question: no I wasn't hurt about it. Well, okay, my pride was bruised to a color beyond recognition but my heart was making a stand for herself, thank you very much."
"Am I hearing right? Chloe Sullivan's big heart beats no more for the dark- haired Wonder Boy? What does this signify?" he remarks, a little too callously for my liking.
"Maybe I just woke up and started smelling the coffee."
"We live forever in hope," he says dryly.
"Or maybe Wonder Boy has been replaced."
I said that last line for three, very good, reasons. They were: 1) Because it was the truth, 2) Because the sincerity would silence him long enough for me to continue my interview, 3) Because the sincerity would silence him and hence give me a small victory over the heartless cow in front of me.
I'm not sure what kind of alternate universe we have strayed upon tonight, here at the Talon. It bewilders me that two people could have desired each other enough at one point to make an attempt at a kiss in front of the public, and it's no secret that the public is Lex's No. 1 enemy. And now, some time later the same said two people can't stop spitting venom at each other.
As much as I would rather not be engaged in combat mode, I can't help it. I may be attracted to him, but I'm not spineless, and I won't let him walk all over me.
Yes, I made a mistake. But it was an honest one! I shouldn't have acted the way I did when Clark suddenly appeared, but it was something that I couldn't help and it's not something that I'm inclined to apologize for. I was planning to apologize to him for making him feel unwanted, but he seems all adamant on war instead.
Is this how he usually deals with all his unfinished issues?
He's silent, and now I'm just too plain tired to be victorious. Wearily, I press the Record button again.
Almost immediately, he presses the Stop button.
The man wants me to drown, right now, and choke on my very own sea of emotions. Rather than doing that, I take a sip of my cappuccino and concentrate on the many levels of crappiness found in this one cup of coffee.
I wait for him to say something. After a few false starts, he finally does.
"How did this come about? The replacement, I mean. If that's the reason."
I stare at him. At Lex. Fumbling with words. I'm sorely regretting the fact that I'm not recording this monumental moment.
"Wow, talk about inefficacy. Talk much?"
A blush diffuses his face and simultaneously he shoots me a murderous look. "Just answer the damn question."
Pleased that I managed to get him to blush and a little awestruck at the fact that he can blush like a cute little kid and glare like a scary mafioso at the same time, I reply, "That is one of the reasons, yes. Although I'm not sure how it came about. It was a moment. Several moments, actually. And it all resulted in that: maybe it's time I focus my attention on someone else. Someone not necessarily better than him, but someone I find necessarily better anyway."
He listens with a blank expression on his face.
"You get that?"
"Yes, I understand perfectly."
"Great," I say, more brightly than I'm actually feeling (confess just a little bit and get rewarded with a blank face), and press the Record button again. "Okay, back to the interview-," I stop when I realize that I've forgotten what the question was. "Ahhhhh- yes! Lionel Luthor coming down to the Smallville plant for a big meeting with all of the staff. Know what that's about?" Too tired for pretty vocabulary right now.
"No, I don't have a clue. I shouldn't worry too much about it. My father makes a yearly trip down to the Smallville plant to host a meeting with all the staff for no other reason than a pat on the back for a good year's work done."
"Nice of him."
"I suppose."
"Speaking of the Smallville Plant, there have been rumors-"
"Can I say something?"
I stop immediately, more than a little surprised at his sudden request. Say something? Lex Luthor is notoriously famous for not saying a damn thing to reporters even when he does agree to have an interview. Now he wants to say something? Voluntarily?
"Er, yeah. By all means. Um. Shoot."
"Okay." He pauses, and the length of time of his silence seems to stretch to a point where I have to wonder if he's fallen asleep with his eyes open. "Not a lot of people know me."
"Well, hating to differ, but a lot of people DO know you."
He shoots me an annoyed look. "No, I mean, not a lot of people KNOW me. Me. Lex. Not Lex Luthor. Not manager of a plant. Not their father's bosses. Me."
What on earth is he going on about? Is he soul searching? Is Lex Luthor soul searching right now, on tape, in front of my very eyes?
"And due to this reason, there are several instances of misunderstanding. Just because I'm a renowned asshole doesn't mean that I am one. But at the same time, just because I'm nice to you now, doesn't mean I'm not an asshole."
Mind-boggling. I wonder if I could ask him to repeat that 'asshole' comment. Never mind; I have it on tape.
"To be less hazy on the matter," he continues. "Chloe, what you see of me or what you have heard of me or what we have done together does not dispute one factor: you don't know me at all. Perhaps you do, and perhaps you have reached an understanding of me that is, in your eyes, justifiably good enough. But you can't forget that you have only ever seen me in your world, you have never seen me in mine."
I feel my stomach churning and the sudden desire to bolt for the bathroom hits me once again. I've only just begun to realize that this comment he's making is directed at me, and the burning question at whether or not something good or bad will come out of this has turned my general abdomen area in a queasy mess.
"Lex-," I start.
"I'm not finished."
"Sorry," I say meekly.
"Whatever feelings you have for me, if indeed there are any, might as quickly change the more you learn about me, and being yourself, I'm certain that you will try to learn more about me." Huh. Was that an insult? "To put it into laymen's terms, Chloe: you might just end up hating me."
Oh. Well. If he puts it THAT way. As horribly inexperienced as I am with playboy billionaires, I was pretty sure nonetheless that if any feelings of the heart were to be expressed even in the tiniest of manners, that there would at least be SOME sweet talk involved.
But that's just me being bitchy. Me being desperate is another thing altogether.
Then he says, "And I don't want you to hate me. Not now. Not ever. Not if I can help it."
And suddenly I'm a pile of mush lurking around the edges of his expensive shoes.
He doesn't say anything else after that, just blanks out and stares down at his cup of cappuccino in front of him. If anyone were to walk in on us right now, from the expression on my face they would guess that I've just made another discovery with the meteors. From Lex's face, they'd probably think he was bored. No one could actually guess that he had, in his own oddly formal way, professed some form of feeling for me. But then again, I don't think anyone would have believed it anyway.
I clear my throat and the noise echoes in my ears.
"You know, you might end up hating me." He looks up at me. "No, seriously. I mean, I get under your skin now, imagine if you knew me better. Do you know Clark and Pete hide from me sometimes? And those are my best friends! Imagine how a boyf- I mean, a person just a tad more significant to me, would feel. I would probably drive you up the wall. Hell, you'll be hiding from me too."
When I look back at him, the corners of his mouth are upturned in one of his infamous half-smiles. "Is that so?" he says, amused.
"Absolutely. Plus, I'll be forever bugging you about exclusive interviews and such."
"That IS a pain."
"That it is," I agree (just this once, though). "So really, you might just end up hating me first, and then you'd wish for me to hate you back."
"Interesting."
I grin at him (I can't help it- some part of me realizes that I should be acting the demure female but my big fat mouth just won't quit smiling) and he semi-smiles back, and we stare at each other like that for some time.
When my tape recorder suddenly stops and the noise shocks the living daylights out of me, then I decide to speak again.
"What are we talking about exactly?"
He looks at me with a bemused expression on his face. "Us."
"Oh," I say, blushing to the tips of my hair. "Well, um, okay. Did we reach a conclusion about us?"
"Not yet," he replies. "But it looks promising."
LEX
Chloe can't stop smiling, no matter how much of an effort it takes for her to keep her face straight. When my eyes stray upon her face, she seems to be fighting a losing battle with her cheekbones. Her face contorted, expressions grotesque and her lips pursed, until the irrepressible smile cracks and diffuses radiance across her face. It is heart-achingly adorable.
We sit here in the Talon and for the first time in my life, I appear to be without an itinerary or a program to indicate what's supposed to happen next. I've spoken words; words to make my interest detectable to her and she has returned the favor. Where are we supposed to go from here? I can't exactly draw up a contract and shake hands over it, although that would be what I'm best at. There are no contracts in the affairs of the heart. Is there a cue I should be taking or an expression I should be showing? We sit here and we wait wordlessly for the next response, and I can't manage it.
It's a situation wherein my fancy has taken control over my brain and I feel hapless against it.
But does that matter at all when I'm as happy as this?
I am, undeniably, irrevocably, simply happy.
In a manner of which its meaning I never knew exists.
I've always been a shade away from heartless. And whatever heart there is in me, I take extreme care in keeping it hidden from others. One might wonder why I choose to be this way, whereas to me it's as natural as breathing. I was brought up this way. And no matter how well you can take the man away from the bastard, you can't take the bastard away from the man.
So I choose to remain this way. And maybe that explains why I have such a particular taste in women. If they're not beautiful and worthless, then they're beautiful and likely to rip me off. I choose them for my own personal benefit, as a way to pass the time, but never as someone I intend to remain with.
What cruel twist of fate did God have planned for me that would make me rip my heart out and present it to a teenager on a silver plate?
Chloe is happy. This is not something she believes she should hide from the world. If she is happy, then she is complete. She doesn't need anything else from me, just me. It's enthralling and I'm left breathless at the exhilaration of the thought of her.
How did this girl manage to procure these feelings for me, despite me?
A foot nudges my foot and she's grinning at me. "What are you thinking so hard about?"
I smile back and shake my head. "Nothing in particular."
"You know, as much as I love this silence between us right now, I really should be going," she says, ruefully.
I feel a pang of disappointment, but I'm complying if nothing else. As she gathers her things together, I pay for our (crap) coffee, and we take leave.
The night is cool as we step outside of the Talon with bad cappuccinos in our system and just a little fuzz of excitement. I glance down at her and see her grinning up at the sight of the stars above us.
"Do you know the constellations?" she suddenly asks, her face still tilted skywards.
"No," I admit.
"Yeah? I always figured you the kind to know everything."
"That would make me a form of God, I think."
"And it's so fitting because you already have a God complex," she teases.
"Funny."
"Hey, I'm here all week," she gives me an impish smile that sort of kills me, before she walks towards her car, which is parked in front of mine.
She opens her door and almost uncertainly, turns around and glances at me. I'm not sure what expression it is that she's seeing on my face, or if it's pure nerve on her part, because she turns around and walks away from the car and towards me, before she wraps her arms around my neck.
"For what it's worth, this is the best evening I've ever had."
I'm not sure whether it's disturbing me or relieving me when I hear those words. Is she saying that this is the last time? That she realizes it could never happen? The vagueness of her sentence makes me withdraw from her enough to look into her face.
"Oh yeah," she says, seeing my face. "I know. It's a bit mad, isn't it? Would it even work? I mean, HOW could it work? There's so much difference there, and it's debatable if we could ever make ends meet."
And I just don't know what to say to that.
Just looking at her now, her earnest face, recognizing what I was thinking and my mixed-up feelings about this. How can I be with her? How on God's green earth will this ever work?
Yet, at the same time, how can I not try?
Instead of replying, I lean down and lightly press my lips against hers. After the initial shock has worn off, her arms tighten around my neck and she responds to my kiss. Her lips are clumsy but passionate, the mark of an inexperienced kisser, but her lips are also sweet despite the tinge of cappuccino on them, and the combination of this with the apple scent from her skin makes me heady in rhapsody.
We stand there, unable to stop kissing each other, for what feels like hours. This is the cue I would usually take to whisk her off to my bedroom to kiss her good and proper, but I wouldn't do that with Chloe. Not yet.
When we finally part, she breathes heavily against me, the mark of a great kiss.
"You know," I say to her, "We can always try."
She smiles and hugs me hard. "Yeah, I was hoping you'd say that."
I hug her back and feel remarkably., optimistic. And light. Light-headed, light-footed, light-hearted. I'm happy, in the simplest sense of the word.
And as I said, why would anything matter when I'm as happy as this?
* * * * * *
Author's Note: I'm not sure if the ending's hokey or what but oh well.
I have to thank everyone for the lovely, lovely reviews. What a buzz :)