Twists of Fate
A/N: Ahoy mateys! This would be my first real Katie/George fic, so here's to hoping all goes well and I get lots of reviews! nudge nudge Make sure to tell me how you like it!
"Who could this beautiful woman sitting in front of me be? Goddess, reveal yourself!" George took my hand and with a flourish lifted me up and stifled a mock-gasp before pretending to faint (I suppose he was fainting at my immortal beauty, or some rubbish like that).
"George-"
"My name," he said theatrically, lifting his chin slightly from the ground, "Is Sir Frederick George. The 16th."
"That's a very long family line, Sir George."
"Frederick George!"
I stifled a smile. "So sorry. Frederick George! Now may you please awaken? It's cold out here and I can't feel my arse anymore."
"I shall not awaken until I receive a kiss from the fair maiden who sent me into this slumber."
My blood rushed at the mention of a kiss. I could hear the Angelina on my shoulder telling me to take advantage of this prone Weasley and 'Give him a bloody snog,' while she gave me a sharp jab to my temple. 'And while you're down there. . . I've always wanted to do it on the sidewalk-' I shoved the Angelina on my shoulder roughly away. It was fine for her to say that, the Weasley's have a sex-drive previously unparalleled. I'm the one who has to struggle just to get a date on Saturday nights. Much less being able to even think about Doing It anyplace other than in a bed!
"You got that from that Muggle movie," I accused the swarthy young man in front of me.
"Your point being," he asked with a cheeky grin.
I stuck my tongue out at him and quickly leaned down and kissed him quickly on the cheek. He still lay down on the ground."You can get up now, I kissed you."
"It must be on the lips, you silly girl! You don't see any princesses waking up for anything less than a kiss on the lips, do you?"
I glared at the infuriating man. Resolving to get this over with as quickly as possible I leaned down- "And make sure it's a good one, too! Not just a peck, mind you. I haven't had a date in two weeks, I need some snogging action." I blushed hotly, thankful that he had his eyes closed.
I saw a waiter pass by with a tray of food. My eye spotted a very interesting object on it and an idea came to my mind. I stopped the waiter quietly with a hand to his arm. Throwing a couple of galleons into his pocket, I took the object in my hand and pressed it to George's lips. Head first.
George lay still for a second. Then his eyes pop opened and he jumped off of the ground furiously wiping his lips on the back of his hand.
"Bloody hell Kate, a FROG! Ergh – Frog germs, ON MY LIPS! Must – Get – It – OFF!" I collapsed onto my chair clutching my stomach and trying to gain a semblance of composure. "Perform a cleaning charm. QUICK! AH! GET IT OFF! Kaaaaatie! Get. It. Off!" I managed to stop laughing just long enough to perform the cleaning charm.
George collapsed into the chair in front of me, still rubbing furiously at his lips. He turned his head in my direction and fixed a glare at me. "That was cold."
"You asked for it!" I protested. "What with your 'I haven't had a date in two weeks, snog me!' thing. What do you think I am? Some. . . snog machine?"
"Precisely." His eyes were twinkling in that infuriating manner again. I can never stay mad at him when he does that. I think he actually practices twinkling his eyes. No normal person can do that. And his eyes- If you look at them, they're actually not blue, like most people think. They're blue on the inside, but they hack these little flecks of hazel all around the pupils, and the outside rim is really more of a Seafoam color.
". . . dating service," George was saying. I blinked. "What," I asked dumbly.
"I said you should try out your dating service yourself!" He stifled my squawk of protest with a wave of his hand. "Kate. How long has it been since you've been on a date? Four weeks?"
"So. What's your point? Are you saying I can't get a date as I am right now? So I should try to get a date anonymously?"
"No. I'm just saying, it might be easier for you to get a date if people didn't know who you were." I opened my mouth. "No! I didn't mean because people don't like the way you look. It's just that you, well, intimidate people a bit."
"I intimidate people?" I said blankly. Did I miss that memo?
"Well obviously not me. But to people who only know you as the founder of 'It's Magical' you might, well, scare them off a bit."
And I couldn't just not say anything to that, could I? Even if it IS true that I scare people off. Which I don't. But I still couldn't just let him say that!
"That's complete and utter rubbish. I'll prove it to you right now."
"A bet to seal the deal?" The roguish redhead suggested.
"Deal. And the terms?"
"You go ask a man in this restaurant out on a date. If he says no, then you are obviously intimidating and you have to give me a . . . kiss."
"What is it with you and all this kissing?"
"I told you. Haven't had a decent snog in two weeks."
"A decent snog?"
"Well there was the waitress at that restaurant I went to the other night. . . but that was more like a pity snog."
I'm not even going to ask . . . I managed to quell the urge to make a snarky comment. (They're my specialty. Angelina says it's all due to her influence. She just wants all the credit. She just wishes she could be as brilliantly witty as I am.)
"Right. Well if he says yes, then I am obviously not intimidating and you have to . . . go out on a date with the girl of my choice."
"Deal." He said, and we shook hands. Was it just me, or did he hold my hand a tad bit longer than absolutely necessary? It probably doesn't mean anything. I mean, we are best friends after all. I'm sure the hand-holding time-requirement is different for best friends than for casual acquaintances or business colleagues, or casual friends. I mean, it must be a bit longer. So the fact that he held my hand a bit longer doesn't mean anything . . .
But what do you suppose the hand-holding-time-requirement is for best friends, anyways? A hand-shake, and then maybe a 1 second hand-hold? That sounds reasonable. Because if you dropped your hands immediately it might give the impression that you didn't want to touch the person. But if it was two seconds, you'd seem like you were interested. And I'm sure that the hand-holding lasted at least 2 and a half seconds. Maybe even three. So I am totally justified in believing that he held my hand a tad bit longer than necessary. Right?
But what does that mean? Oh bloody hell. This whole analyzing everything the bloke does is harder than it looks. I need Angelina.
George broke me out of my reverie by pulling a strand of my blonde hair that had fallen loose from my ponytail. (I'm rather proud of the color of my hair, by the way. I've never used dye on it or anything, just natural sun, and it's still naturally blonde. Not bottle blonde.) "Are you planning on doing this anytime today?"
"Oh. Right." I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders back, and sexily strutted (At least in my opinion. Well, and this one guy I'd gone on a date with this one time) over to an attractive (Well, he was if you squinted slightly) man sitting to my left alone at the bar. I slid onto the seat beside him and lightly put my hand on his arm. "Hey," I said in what I hoped was a sexy voice.
His eyes lit up at the sight of me. This picking-up-a-guy thing was easier than I expected. Or maybe it was just my good looks. That's it. He's been watching me the entire time I've been here, trying to gather his courage to come over and greet me. But George was there, and he thought we were together. So instead he's been gazing forlornly across the restaurant at me.
"Hey! You're the founder of 'It's Magical'! I want to thank you. I had almost given up hope of ever finding The One, and I was about to marry a girl I didn't really love," He said passionately, sounding eerily like a commercial. "When I saw an ad for your dating service. I tried it, and on my first date I met the love of my life! Your dating service is a wonderful thing. I'm just so thankful!" With that he took my hand and pumped it up and down vigorously.
Ok . . . . so he wasn't pining after me. Or watching me with lust-filled eyes. But if I could at least get him to go on a date with me, George would never have to know the details.
"So, I don't suppose you'd be, interested in dinner sometime, would you?" I batted my eyelashes and lightly ran my hand up his arm.
"Ow! Bloody hell! Take your hand off my arm! Bruise!" I snatched my hand off of his arm. "How was I supposed to know? It's not like I'm psychic!" I argued. He glared at me. Well, now he's just being unreasonable.
"So, dinner?" I tried again.
"NO!" And then he stalked off. Well, no need to get snippy. Just an innocent question.
I walked back quickly to the table with my head down avoiding the eyes of everybody in the restaurant. I sat down and looked up at George to see him laughing with his eyes screwed shut, rocking back and forth on his chair.
"He had a girlfriend!"
George pretended to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes. "You still owe me."
"That's not fair! How do you know he wouldn't have said yes if he hadn't had a girlfriend?" Touché. Take that. I wasn't captain of the debate team back in my muggle hometown for nothing.
He shot me a significant look over the rim of his butterbeer.
"No! I refuse to do that! Neither of us won the bet!"
"Fine. Then we both win."
"Fine." Somehow I think I got the better end of the bargain. If only poor George knew the girl I had in mind . . . the Angelina on my shoulder let out an evil cackle and I grinned conspiritally down at her.
George grinned and leaned back into his chair. "Then I'm waiting."
"Ooooh no. I'll give you your snog after you go on the date."
"How do I know you won't refuse to then, after you've gotten what you wanted? No, we'll do it during the date."
"How is that even possible, I won't be on the date with you."
"Yes you will. How else am I supposed to snog you in the bathroom while my date waits at the table all alone?"
"I don't have a date!"
He waved his hand. Again with the hand-wave! Who does he think he is, the bloody Minister? "A mere technicality. I'll get you a date. You should be thanking me. A bargain. You get a date and a brilliant snog."
"I don't think I trust you to get me a date." I said, carefully avoiding the 'brilliant snog' part.
"I'm wounded." He pantomimed stabbing a dagger through his art. Why am I in love with this guy, again? What do I see in him? Besides his dashing good looks and his hilarious jokes and his generosity and the comfort I feel when I'm with him, I mean.
"Pity." See that? Snarky comment! Wasn't it brilliant? I mentally took a bow to the huge audience in front of me that was clapping wildly and cheering my name.
"Some best friend you are. But I'm still getting you the date. I promise he'll be under 40 years old, he'll have at least five hairs," I shot him my patented dirty look, "Ok! Ten! And he won't be insane. That's all I'm guaranteeing, though."
"Fine. Deal. But you're paying." And then I petulantly refused to shake his hand. And the bloody sod only laughed. Wait, he's getting up – What the hell is he doing? "George! Put me down, this is a public place!"
"Miss Kate needs a dose of happy medicine!" The redhead of my dreams said while swinging me around wildly, attempting to imitate (and on this point I can only speculate) the tango.