Two months had gone by with Buffy's quick wit and sexy innuendo. As much as Spike wanted to fight it, he adored her. She was funny. She was smart. She was gorgeous. Just as Glory Adonis had told him, she was the total package. Yet he fought her every step of the way. He cracked jokes with her on the air, yet when she called or sent him and instant message on the computer, his responses were curt and professional.
"Flaccid power lines could delay your trip on 57 Orange Freeway as you approach Chapman Road. Breitburn Energy promises to give them the Viagra treatment and they'll be up in no time," Buffy reported.
Dawn practically fell out of her chair as Spike let out a wicked laugh. He'd ignored her reports for two months, but the report of those flaccid lines finally broke his resolve. Dawn continued to stare as he shot Buffy an instant message.
"Flaccid power lines... Viagra treatment... Up in no time... you're killing me, Pet!" he typed to her.
"Like that, huh? You should see how I handle a broken down semi," she replied.
"Probably you just like saying the word semi," he shot back.
"Saying? You should see what I can do for a broken down semi," was her immediate response.
He felt his face stretching into a long overdue smile.
"As long as you're offering..." he told her.
"Bring it, Bleach Boy. But be prepared... you know the Sausage Lady on the Stern Show?"
"Yeah..."
"Yeah. Well, I can't do that... but what I lack in throat capacity, I make up for in technique and tongue action."
"Holy shit, Buffy," he typed back. "You're married!"
"Married, Bleach Boy. Not dead," she explained.
Married. She shook her head as she stared at the word on her computer screen. She didn't know why she left that on her bio. She was almost not married. Angel had opted to stay in San Diego with no plans to follow her down to Sunnydale. He didn't even fight her on it. And he didn't beg her to stay. He, in fact, seemed relieved when she announced her plans.
"I think it's a great idea, Buffy," he told her. "You've been wanting a change."
"What about us, Angel?" she asked, trying not to let his reaction bother her. "We promised to try and work things out."
"We can still do that," was his quick reply. "Maybe... Buffy, maybe a little distance is what we need until we can figure out if there's still an us."
"Yeah," she'd nodded, crushed. "Maybe that's what we need."
She glanced back down at her screen. Spike had responded with several question marks and then he send another message asking why she was calling him Bleach Boy.
"I read your bio on the station site. And I saw your picture, too. Hair that color can not be found in nature."
She had given him a nickname. Spike was beyond surprised. He'd known Dru for three years and she'd never called him anything but Spike. He didn't even think that she knew his real name. Dawn didn't even know his real name.
"Cute. And what should I call you? Goldie Locks?"
"Goldie's nice. It carries well when shouted in anger... or ecstacy."
This woman was making his head spin. For years, he'd been the master of artistic innuendo. Now, here she was... Buffy Summers... making his knees go the Jello route with her sexy comebacks.
"Oh, then... Goldie Locks, it is."
"What's so funny over there?" Dawn asked, interrupting his thoughts.
"Nothing, just an e-mail from a friend," he found himself lying.
"So... does this mean you don't hate my guts any more?" Buffy typed to him.
He looked at the screen for a moment, not sure how to answer the question.
"Why would you think I hate your guts?"
"The walls have ears, darlin'," she told him. "And really big mouths. Plus, you always sound like you want to snap my neck when I call you."
He hadn't realized just how hateful he's sounded. And walls? Ears? Really big mouths? He tried to piece together who might have told her that she wasn't quite his favorite person.
"I sound that way?"
"Yeah... all... you know, grr!"
He couldn't help but chuckle out loud again.
"You just made little grr hands, didn't you?" he asked her.
She sent him back a smiley with red cheeks indicating she'd been caught.