Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Spoilers: Slight reference to Night Five. Blink and you'll miss it.
A/N: For AgtDanaM, who asked so nicely if she could have S/A fic for Christmas. Sorry this is late.
This is not a date. If I keep telling myself that, maybe I'll start to believe it. This is not a date. It's simply dinner between two friends. I am not attracted to Ainsley Hayes at all.
Okay, so that last sentence is a lie. I admit that that there is something special about Ainsley. There would be something wrong with me if I couldn't see that. But since there's nothing wrong with me, I can say that Ainsley is beautiful and leave it at that.
Besides, this is not a date.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I don't want to date Ainsley. She's smart and funny and sexy as sin. I don't even care that she's a Republican. (Don't tell Josh, okay?)
The problem is that she's great to be with and fun to talk to, and I don't want to risk losing her friendship. Odds are that when we break up, we'll stop talking to each other – just look at my previous relationships. Anyway, I don't even know if she'd even want to date me. I have a feeling she thinks I'm a bit of a dork.
So. This is not a date. Not at all.
Except she's just arrived and she's wearing a black dress that hugs her curves in a way that makes me want to—
Oh, hell. It's The Dress. Even now, I'm embarrassed at my comment to her.
"Hey, Sam."
"Umm, hi." My heartbeat quickens at her smile. I stand and help her into her seat, my fingers brushing the exposed skin of her back.
This is not a date. This is not a date. This is not a date.
"You look nice," she says.
"You look . . ." Like a goddess. "Umm, so do you."
She raises an eyebrow and her expression is more amused than offended when she says, "Just nice? I spent an hour getting ready. I was hoping for a little more than 'nice'."
I honestly have no idea what to say to that. Contrary to popular opinion (What? Ginger takes great pleasure in reading the society pages to me – I know what people think.) I am not at all suave or charming. I am a dork, which is proven when I reach for the glass of water and knock it over.
Ainsley's eyes sparkle delightedly as she dabs at the mess with her napkin. "That's more like it."
Miraculously, I find my voice. "You enjoy seeing me make a fool of myself, don't you?"
"You do it so well." She grins.
"You're evil."
"So you keep saying. You know, Sam, a girl could develop a complex from hanging around you. One of these days I might start believing what you say about me."
Neither of us pays attention as the waiter comes to clean up. I'm too busy staring at Ainsley. I'd never really noticed just how blue her eyes are. They're like the ocean, deep and clear—
What is wrong with me? I'm turning into such a sap. Next thing you know, I'll be writing sonnets. My lover's eyes are perfect as the sea . . . I groan.
"Sam?"
"Do you want to come sailing with me sometime? In the summer, I mean." When did I cover her hand with mine?
She smiles. "Really?"
"Really."
"I've never been sailing before."
"You'll love it."
"Wait a minute, this isn't some elaborate plot to get rid of the Republican, is it? You're not going to push me overboard, are you?"
"Only if you misbehave."
Okay, I'm flirting with her. It's not outside the realm of possibility that this is turning from 'not a date' into, you know, a date.
The waiter places menus on the table then leaves. Ainsley smiles and turns her hand palm-up to link her fingers with mine.
"I already know what I want," she says.
So do I. I return Ainsley's smile.
Denial is really overrated. (You can tell Josh I said that. Maybe he'll get the hint.)
This is definitely a date.
fin