· 1st Time They Definitely Do
There was a ticket underneath the windshield wiper and the upset that came up in the back of Stiles' mind felt unreasonable. He heard a chorus of 'sorry dude' followed by sniggers from his friends but there was something way, way off about it. So he didn't let himself get mad at first, he gave himself to the count of ten to investigate then to get mad about it.
Upon further investigation, Stiles pulled the pieces of paper out from underneath the wind resistant blades of metal and plastic, which revealed a flimsy envelope carrying two Mets tickets. Shot through with delight and energy he bounced around in his spot, struggled not to woot and focused all his energy on finding that goddamn girl. Of course, she had to be nearby. Of course, she had to be right here. Of course, she had to be watching from the back of the Jeep. He couldn't scramble through the door, over the driver's seat and into their inner sanctum fast enough.
"Well, do you approve?" Lydia asked, her face a smirk the utter depiction of cockiness. "I don't care if you don't like me spending money on you but-"
"I don't care! They're Mets tickets!" Stiles exclaimed then came to a full stop, practically kneeling over her on all fours. "What are you wearing? I mean, what you're wearing, jeez-" he dropped back grinning, a hand splayed over his eyes, too much in admiration of her to hide his face entirely.
"You weren't using it," she shrugged easily, tugging at the ends of his 'Dwight Gooden' Jersey. In the large size blue Jersey, Lydia should have swam but she wrapped an orange belt around her waist and made it into a stunning mini dress. Topped off, her trailing tresses were artfully captured up under a Mets ball cap. It was everything Stiles loved, crossed borders and blurred together like an expressionist painting. "It looks better on me anyway," her grin lengthened the longer Stiles remained speechless.
Blinkingly, Stiles nodded.
"Stiles," Lydia nagged, and she kicked him lightly with the tips of her Converse. "If we don't leave soon we'll be caught in too much traffic to actually see any of the game."
Right, the game. That spurred him into motion. Because she did get him tickets, not only that she planned on going with him which was mind-blowingly awesome. Even in the early traffic, she let him prattle on about the Mets and he let her prattle on about their stats. The seats were in a right field reserved section and before Stiles could think about asking money questions, Lydia cut him off and said they belonged to one of her dad's clients. They kissed up to her dad all the time and threw perks his way but her dad rarely cashed in. Stiles had a feeling something in there was a lie but didn't want to push it because he was near enough he could smell the turf and see the crevice of Jay Bruce's ass.
"I can't see anything," she chuckled, "and that's actually something I might appreciate."
After a pause, Stiles dropped down onto his knees and offered his shoulders for Lydia to climb onto. For a longer period than she expected, he carried her throughout the game.
Then, a crack like thunder shot through stadium, people jostled like a herd of hyenas for the fly ball that headed directly toward them. Lydia actually touched it for a moment before someone in the row behind them smacked her arm hard. At a sharp twist she went spiraling and Stiles could only soften her fall by aiming them to land on other people. Swearing and shouting, Lydia was on her feet within seconds, her hair flying loose and the swollen bruise on her arm went unnoticed because all she wanted to do was clobber the man in the row behind her who caught the ball by hitting a girl half his size.
"Alright, alright," Stiles soothed her, while laughing and brought her back beside him. "That's enough there, slugger. Let me see how bad the damage is."
By large Lydia seemed fine, unfazed until she noticed a little blood on the cuff of his Jersey, and then she began to choke up. Stiles took that as a sign they needed to start heading home.
"This is not how I wanted things to turn out," she complained, her legs folded under her in the back of the Jeep while he sat stretched out beside her, hunched over trying to better examine the wound by cellphone light.
"Really? This is exactly how I wanted it to turn out." His eyes focused intensely until he switched off the phone and licked his lips before speaking again. "Every day I wake up and think; what could make 'Dwight Gooden' look hotter? Should I go to a Mets' game with my girlfriend? And what is cooler than a head-on collision? And look at that, three for three. I'm living my best life."
A challenge had been issued by introducing the title 'girlfriend' into their running dialogue.
As a warning Lydia declared war with only a raised brow, and bit her lip to keep from grinning. Stiles waggled his brow to antagonize her and responded with a smirk. Lydia maneuvered herself up very carefully in the small space, she reached her arm over him to grip the head rest of the driver's seat, kept her head low from the ceiling and slid over onto his lap. Her other hand held the side of his face firmly, trapping him in a kiss that seemed unending.
Rushed and scrambling, Stiles' restless fingers grasped and pulled apart the belt that wrapped Lydia up and while his Mets Jersey hung open at her elbows, it left her displayed in little else than lingerie. With a soft thud, Stiles' back had hit the floor as she flattened him out and whipped off his belt with a fierceness he had only seen in cartoons and by villains in movies. When he chuckled against her, Lydia sat up abruptly to kneel on top of him, she looked wild-eyed, in a state of near undress and her hair trailed over one shoulder. She crooked a finger for him to sit up and as Stiles followed her command she swiftly yanked his clothes up over his head.
Button up, T-shirt and all leaving him with far more skin exposed than she had, which made her break into a Cheshire cat grin in appreciation. Stiles squeezed her, wrapped his arms around her waist and laughed, pressing their foreheads together.
After a moment Stiles hands ran hot again, along Lydia's spine and she shrugged his Jersey off all the way. He kicked off his sneakers and tugged down his jeans while she'd wriggled out of the last of the fabric that kept her skin from moving naked against his.
Of all the times they'd discussed eventually being together, and after all the times they pawed each other in the back of his Jeep it never seemed likely to get this far. It always felt right, the right person, the right reasons, the right everything except for time. Each day they woke up thinking of the other, and every night they went to bed thinking of each other but finally here was the opportunity to live life to its best. And since they were missing the rest of the game anyway. And since lord knows how much traffic they would hit on the way home. They might as well just take their time waiting these hours out.