"I'm not using Kelly's deodorant," she'd objected when he suggested it. "Isn't it bad enough that I'm fucking her husband on the kitchen floor...? Thanks..." She took his own can of deodorant from him with a glance over her shoulder, black ringlets bouncing.
Philip Anderson was leaning in the bathroom doorway, watching Sally Donovan put her bra back on. "Bad enough?" he repeated, folding his arms. "It was good for me."
Ugh. He was good for a bit of fun, as long as you didn't let him talk too much afterwards.
"Hope it was good for you," he conceded politely.
And that was the problem, she reflected. It bloody was.
"And anyway, Kelly will never know - " He was cut off when Sally's phone started ringing from where she'd left it on the bedside table.
They looked at each other. He smirked.
"Don't you dare," she said. "You go for that phone and I'll break your arm."
It hadn't been funny when he'd pulled that stunt last month, either. She'd had a hell of a time trying to explain her way out of why a forensic technician she'd barely spoken to on the job was answering her phone at ten o'clock at night. Still in her bra and skirt, she padded barefoot back into the bedroom and retrieved the phone. He followed her in as she answered it.
Boss. Murder. Another one. Some kids found a dead woman in a house in Brixton.
She asked Lestrade where. She knew exactly where, but it never hurt to have a good innocent tone in working order. Lestrade had called Anderson's phone less than five minutes ago with the same news.
Even after a year of on-again-off-again, she still called him 'Anderson' to his face. Nobody, so far as she knew, ever called him by his first name. In fact, she'd had him three times and stayed over once before she worked out what his first name even was.
And now he was being an insufferable creep and breathing in her free ear while she tried to write down directions. Why did he have to go and spoil things? Next he'd probably be bothering her for a kiss.
She told Lestrade she'd be on her way, hung up, and shoved Anderson hard. "I told you to leave me alone when I'm on the phone," she growled at him. "You're not funny. Leave fifteen minutes after I do, okay?"
He frowned. "Why?"
"'Cause I live ten minutes closer to Brixton than you do." She sighed. Anderson was a dim-bulb when it came to most things. "And if you smirk at me when we're there, never again and I'll break your arm. Now where the fuck is my coat...?"