Its Lovely Velvet Counterpart
"You do realize that he's using you."
Phillip jumps at the soft, low voice, and winces as a muscle pulls in his neck from the sudden movement. "What?" he grimaces, moving up an arm to rub at his neck. Janet steps into his view and smiles almost sadly.
"Come now, chum. We both know who I'm talking about." And they do.
Denial is always an available option, however. He glares sullenly, and this makes him look even younger than he actually is. "What do you know?" he snaps. She laughs ironically.
"Your memory's not that poor, sweetie. I had him before you, remember?" She pauses, thoughtfully. "Actually, perhaps I had better rephrase that; he had me before you."
Why, it's not fair, it's just not fair, he thinks desperately, and wants to make some witty, cutting remark to shut her up. Instead, a small groan helplessly escapes his lips as he clenches a fist and rubs it roughly against the sore spot on his neck.
"Oh, Phillip," she says, her tone suddenly full of remorse. She steps closer so that she is directly behind where he is sitting on the park bench. "Your neck - here, let me." And he does.
Her smooth, manicured fingers are heavenly as they work to relieve the tension in his neck, and he immediately arches into her touch. Not long after, he is nearly putty in her hands, literally as well as figuratively. If she wasn't so unattainable half the time, he'd regret that they hadn't spent time alone together more frequently. Besides being quite a lovely girl, she's also kind, intelligent, and at times, funny. A conscious decision to rectify their barely-existent friendship floats to mind.
"J.. Janet?"
"Mmm?"
"I was wondering if... if you aren't busy tonight, maybe you'd like to join me for dinner at Albertoni's?"
Her hands stop their previous administrations and they slowly slide past his shoulders and off of his slight frame entirely. Neither one speaks for a moment. Oh, no, idiot, what have you done?
"I'm sorry-" his tan cheeks are flushed with a hint of red "-that was too forward of me. I should-"
"No. It's all right." A hand snakes up and gives one of his shoulders a soft, sisterly pat. "I'd like that."
"I mean..." he falters, and tries again, mentally cursing himself. Why can he never be half as smooth as Brandon?
"Don't worry," she says, breaking into an uncharacteristically bright laugh. "I'm not getting any mad ideas. Why, me and you, together? The thought is just preposterous!"
He feels a swell of anger rise up inside of him as she lets out another small chuckle. Exactly why is that thought so preposterous? He'll never be quite as good as Brandon to her, is that it?... But then it dawns on him that he cannot truly be mad at her assessment; not really. After all, she's not dim, and after the implications she has made between him and Brandon...
She knows that he's not interested in girls the way that the legions of adoring eighteen-year-olds who follow him around campus think that he is. She does know, however, he is in very deep need of - no, not even a friend - just someone to listen. And she's willing to play the part.
"Listen, let's go to that Italian restaurant of yours. David's out of town this weekend, I'm certainly game..." She leans down to look him in the eye and winks mischievously. "And what dear Brandon doesn't know won't hurt him."
If she was his type, he would have proposed to her on the spot.