Not My Lover

He couldn't explain the irrational anger that came over him. It was so simple, a few words from the waitress, but he couldn't stop thinking about her reaction, or lack thereof. The more he thought about it the angrier he got. When they first became partners they would have to correct people all day long who assumed they were lovers. No one believed two attractive adults of opposite sexes could just work together and be friends. But somewhere along the line she had stopped. He, taking his cues from her as always, did as well.

He rationalized that it didn't matter what they denied because people would believe whatever they wanted. Why waste his breath? Recently, however, it had begun to bother him increasingly. Not the lack of response, exactly, but the way his heart raced to grasp at that tenuous thread of hope that it evoked. They paid the bill and headed back to his car. She was leading, as always, but he had the keys this time. He was just angry enough to slow his steps and make her wait impatiently, pulling at the door handle, while he made his way to the car. Confrontation was rarely the best idea (though usually unavoidable) when it came to Mary, but his judgment where she was concerned was getting less and less sound with each passing day. So instead of starting the car when they got in, he just stared at the keys in his hand.

"Marshall? We gonna spend the night in the parking lot? Because I'm not -"

"We're not lovers."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not my lover, Mary." He finally looked at her, her expression unreadable except for the hint of anger that always seemed to cloud it lately.

"Thanks for clearing that up, Slim, because I wasn't aware." The anger was more prominent now. She shifted away from him in her seat and crossed her arms in front of her chest. He drove in silence to her house and parked on the curb. As she uncrossed her arms to reach for the door he laid his hand on hers.

"Look, Mar, I didn't mean -"

"Don't worry about it." She cut him off, waving off his hand. "You're right. It's just easier sometimes not to argue." He gave her an incredulous look and she chuckled. "I know, I know." She looked at her house and then, slyly, back at him. "Besides, Marshall, if we were lovers you'd at least have the decency to walk me to the door."

He rolled his eyes but felt his anger melting away. Walking around to her side of the door he opened it with a grand, sweeping gesture. He led her to her door, silently cursing himself for not having the courage to stick with his convictions. For not being able to sustain his anger.

When they reached her door she turned and leaned against it, looking up at him through her lashes. It looked like they were still playing this game. If they were then he was damn well going to get something out of it. He leaned his face closer to her and lowered his voice.

"If we were lovers then I would kiss you goodnight right now." She raised an eyebrow and lifted her chin, probably in defiance, but he took it as an invitation. His aim was a little off and the sound she made was more surprise than desire, but the result was the same. When she opened her mouth to him she still tasted like the red wine she had at dinner and he pressed her harder against the door, hands on her hips. They pulled apart, too soon for his taste, breathless. Mary still had hold of his lapels.

"You know, Marshall, if we really were lovers then it wouldn't be goodnight." He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. Forgetting that she technically had a boyfriend, and that her mother and her sister were probably waiting inside for her to get home, his hand reached for the door handle. The temptation was so great he could barely breathe. She had his heart in a vice grip and didn't even know it. He was an intelligent man and knew right from wrong but when it came to her the line had blurred long ago. Their breathing had evened out and he dropped his hands to his sides.

"But we're not lovers, Mary." She nodded, his forehead still against hers.

"Goodnight, Marshall."

"Goodnight." The walk back to his car took forever and he told himself too many times not to look back. In the end though it was inevitable. He looked toward the door, but she was already inside.