"No! Not the pouch! I'm not a joey!"
He tries not to laugh. Really, he does.
Clearly the blonde across the aisle of the bus is having some kind of a nightmare, judging by the thrashing of her arms and frantic muttering in her sleep. But, really, he can't help himself. Because even without being able to see her face or exchanging a single word with her, this woman has somehow vaulted past awkward straight into endearing and he's not really sure how that happened.
But, really, who the hell has nightmares about kangaroos?
"Hey," he says, reaching across the aisle to shake the woman's shoulder gently.
She jumps about a foot at his touch, jolting into wakefulness, and he retracts his hand with a non-threatening gesture. She's confused, obviously, blinking toward him with pale blue eyes, her glasses skewed oddly on her face and her ponytail a little disheveled. She's beautiful, he realizes instantly, in that girl-next-door kind of way. That hasn't really been his type before, but something stirs his interest this time.
"You were having a nightmare," he tells her gently, leaning his arm against the top of his seat-back as he watches her.
"A nightmare?" She asks, blinking into awareness.
"Yeah. About kangaroos. Who has nightmares about kangaroos?" He asks with a laugh.
"Me," she tells him definitively. "You should, too. They're creepy. With their pouches and their teeth. And their feet! Do you have any idea how strong they are? How far they can jump? They travel in mobs. Mobs! I feel like that's a statement all on its own."
He laughs at that as she shudders at the thought.
"Well, you're awake now," he says comfortingly.
"I am. No kangaroos here. You're not a dream. Not that you aren't dreamy. Oh my God I didn't mean that. I'm still actually asleep right? Please tell me I'm still asleep."
"You're still asleep," he obliges with a broad grin.
"You're a really bad liar, you know," she says gravely.
"Darn. You got me. You're actually awake," he says, amusement ringing in his voice, his eyes crinkling with delight at her faux seriousness.
"Oh… oh damn it," she says looking around.
"What's wrong?" He asks.
"I missed my stop," she groans. "I knew I should have had another cup of coffee, but I really needed to be able to sleep tonight or tomorrow is just going to be… yeah. Ugh."
"I'll give you a ride," he offers before thinking about it.
Her eyebrows shoot up at that, wariness settling over her face.
"I don't even know your name," she points out.
"Oliver," he replies, stretching his hand out to shake hers.
She takes his hand with just a little bit of hesitance, delicate little fingers feeling soft against his. He likes it. Probably more than he should.
"Felicity," she replies after a beat.
Her fingers linger against his for a moment longer than is probably really appropriate for a casual 'nice to meet you' handshake and the idea that she maybe wants to hold on to his hand sends something unfamiliar fluttering in his gut.
"So why are you taking the bus if you have a car, Oliver?" She asks, flexing her fingers a little as she talks.
My sister bet me I couldn't manage public transit for a day, seems like a really terrible answer, even if it is honest. So he goes with the next best thing, which is mostly true anyhow.
"It's Earth Day," he replies, to her obvious surprise. "And my sister and I made a pact this year. Or, well… maybe it was more of a challenge to one-up each other. We're sort of competitive."
"That's… not what I expected," she hedges. "I try not to judge books by their covers, but honestly you don't exactly scream tree-hugger."
"Well, I like the idea of saving the Earth. Or, at least saving the city," he shrugs. "It's home, right?"
"It… is," she agrees, nodding slowly in his direction. "So you'd lose your sibling-Earth-Day-pact just to drive me home?"
"Winning isn't everything," he shrugs. "Besides. I still took the bus."
"It's the thought that counts, I guess," she acknowledges, stretching her neck to work the kinks out from sleeping against a window.
"In part," he agrees, more than a little mesmerized by the long line of her neck. "You take the bus every day?"
"I had a car. Leased it. A little red mini Cooper. I really liked it, but it was that or tuition money and my doctorate's not going to pay for itself. So… hello public transit," she says. "What kind of car do you have?"
"The kind that's a motorcycle," he replies.
"Of course it is," she laughs, shaking her head.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, brow tightening a little.
"Nothing, just… that whole book and its cover thing?" She asks, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Your book jacket is way more motorcycle than it is the city bus."
"Is it now?" He asks, mirroring her and leaning partway across the aisle.
"Totally," she says with a wince, like she's letting him in on some unfortunate truth.
"What else is on my book jacket?" He asks, biting his lip a little to keep from grinning.
He doesn't miss the way her gaze drops to his mouth for an instant. And… yeah, there's something here. Something he's not going to let slip through his fingers without taking a shot to see what happens.
"Hmmm…" she says, tapping her lips in thought. "Well you come off as a bit of a bad boy, what with the motorcycle and all. And probably you are a bit rebellious. Just enough to be interesting without letting it define your life. You've got a job in business, but you'd rather work with your hands. You're well liked by people who know you but you're only really close with a small handful of friends. Oh, and you hate brussel sprouts."
"I hate brussel sprouts?" He asks with a laugh.
"It seemed like a safe guess. After all, who likes brussel sprouts?" She asks with a knowing gaze.
"Interesting theory," he says with a slow nod, not giving her any hints on how close to the mark she is.
"How'd I do?" She asks challengingly.
"Maybe you should read the book instead of just the summary on the cover. Find out if you're right for yourself," he tells her, his eyes drifting down to watch as she licks her lips.
"Wait… are you flirting with me?" She questions, blinking at him in astonishment.
"Not very well if you have to ask," he replies, utterly charmed by her surprise.
"Seriously?" She asks.
"My stop's next," he tells her. "We can go grab a cup of coffee or I can drive you home if you'd rather. Or, if you aren't comfortable with that, I'll get you a cab. It's up to you."
He's actually holding his breath while he waits for her to reply. She takes her time, watching him for something, he doesn't know what. It makes him want to know, though. Makes him want to find out more about her, figure out what she's thinking in this moment. Because, while she might be able to read him like a book, she's keeping him guessing. And he loves that.
"Well... " she says finally. "I do like coffee."
He smiles hugely as he exhales.
"Me too," he says as the bus rolls to a stop and he stands, reaching out a hand to her to help her up. "I like brussel sprouts, too, though."
"Really?" She asks, putting her hand in his and not letting go even after she's standing.
"Really," he replies, more than a little delighted at the way her fingers tangle with his. "Guess you don't already have me all figured out."
"Maybe not yet," she acknowledges as they make their way off the bus. "But I'm looking forward to it."
He smiles. He is, too.