a/n: i didn't get that many reviews last chapter :( are you guys not into it anymore, or did that chapter just suck everything? I hope you like this one better. PLEASE leave a review ahahah it motivates me and i like them and yes, please.

But thank you to those who did review! :) You guys are super sweet. Bless your hearts.

Anyways, I hope you like this chapter!

Chapter 12

It was sort of weird. He asked her to go to art museum with him.

When he asked her, she was, sort of, shell shocked. It is just that they haven't willingly hung out. All of the times they have hung out were out of coincidence or convenience. Not because they were desperate to spend time with each other or anything remotely close to that. She had wondered if this time was different, but Toby made it clear that it wasn't. It was yet again out of convenience. Or default, is a better way to put it.

Spencer was the only person he knows who apparently appreciates art (but doesn't Aria, too?) He wanted someone whom he would be able to have intellectual conversation with. And apparently he thought Spencer was intellectual enough for the job.

Toby had gotten the museum tickets from a bar owner. Apparently he was so impressed that he could not just let Toby get by with cash, but museum tickets, too. (His wife works at the museum, so it wasn't that much of a sacrifice/tribute.)

So, here they were, once again, alone and together, on the way to some museum, in downtown Philadelphia.

A question has been begging for a heart beat the entire time they have been in the car. She doesn't understand why she cares. Well, she does…but she likes to pretends her feelings for Toby don't exist. Because that is easier. Her feelings are completely illogical—utter nonsense, her feelings are. How can she feel something for a man whose tendencies and mannerisms cause such havoc for her?

Sure, sometimes he is sweet. Like, the shirt thing. And the sticking up for her thing. And letting her sleep over when she was too tired to drive home. But, those moments are rare for him. He isn't always like that.

Maybe he would be like that more if you were nicer more…

The thought hits her harder than Hanna's fist, when she fades from conversation.

She shakes away the thought.

She is kind to him…

He starts the arguments…

"You seem awfully quiet…" he observes.

She is being quiet. Mostly because of that question that haunts her. She is afraid it will make an accidental appearance.

"I'm just listening to the music," she provides, a innocent shrug accompanying the dense words.

"Yes, because the radio's music is so lovely."

"It's not that bad," her rebuttal's weak. She has never been a fan of radio music. She is basically just arguing with him to argue. This is what they do. They fight. They insult each other. They don't go to museums and concerts, and actually enjoy each other's company.

"It's better than talking to me?" he guesses, flickering his oceanic eyes over at her. Those eyes of his. Always intently locking on hers. She blinks her eyes to another direction, but smiles.

"You're not that awful to talk to," she offers, her voice on the lowest volume.

He still hears her though, "really?" he chimes, jubilance in his question.

"Not awful," she says, this time a little more clearly.

"Hmmmm, well, I guess you're not that horrible to talk to either," he muses, a smile spread across his face, his eyes steady on the road.

…

"The artist was actually born in Belgium, not France. A lot of textbooks say that he was born in France, but they only say that because of how small Belgium is. They estimate it, basically. It is actually kind of undignified, in my opinion. I mean, If I ever made an amazing piece of art, like this, and it got incredibly famous, I would want people knowing exactly where I came from. Not just around that area."

"You seem to know a lot about all this stuff…" he muses, looking at the brunette instead of the painting. He has been doing that a lot.

She catches his gaze, "I took an art history class…" she explains.

"Oh? I didn't know that was a requirement for a law degree?" his statement mocks her. His words cause a grimace on her face.

"It's not. I took it because…I was curious," her eyes travel to the painting once more. "It was interesting."

"And what about law? Is that interesting?" he actually sounds genuine.

"Some of it," she admits, her copper irises staring at the floor. "Some of it's not."

"So, why not pursue something that fully captivates you?"

"For one thing, I'm kind of too far in to quit now," she begins to walk to another painting. Toby syncs his steps with hers. "I don't really have a chose anymore…" her words fade out into silence.

"I think we always have a chose."

Her brown eyes flick to his azure ones. She feels that urge again. The urge she got the night of the concert. Something inside her desires his lips—the feeling, the taste, everything. Her eyes involuntary peek at his lips for a second.

She snaps out of it, and looks away.

"Why do you care so much?" she asks, in a not-so-civil way.

He shrugs, his hands burying in his pockets. "I just remember things."

"What things?"

"You said once that you didn't want to become a lawyer—to follow in the family business," he recounts, sheepishly.

A questionable glimmer twinkles in her eyes, almost an awe look. "You remember that?" she gapes.

He looks away, "mmm, I remember a lot of things."

She continues to gape at him. He stands with his hands in his pockets, and head bowed down, recounting things she said over five years ago. It doesn't feel like the same Toby Cavanaugh who picks on her, and whom she used to despise. Still despises? (No.) Has feelings for? (Yes.)

"Well, that was a long time ago…" she finally breathes out, gathering her confidence from its shattering. "Things change," she explains. "People change…" she goes on, not really knowing what context she is talking in anymore. "Feelings change…" she releases, aligning her gaze with his, "ya know?" the words nervously ride from her tongue.

He nods, a tender smile rising on his face.

"Sometimes…you hate something, and then you…like it." She is no longer talking about being a lawyer.

They stare at each other for a long time before he speaks, "I agree…but…if being a layer isn't what you want to do—if it doesn't make you happy—you shouldn't be doing it…" he waits a second to continue, "you should do what you want to do."

All she wants to do right now is to shut him up. For this talk of happiness and dreams to end. And she wants her lips to be the reason for the hiatus of conversation. She wants to slam her body into his, wrap her arms around him, feel the muscle that covers his build. She wants him.

But she has never been one to follow her dreams.

She steps away, looking at the painting. If she can't use her lips to divert the conversation, she can use her words.

She begins to talk about the painting, and Toby pitches in his own thoughts about it, letting the conversation of before go awry.

…

He asks if she wants to get dinner after, and when he asks her that, a question of her own forms in her mind. Is this a date?

She doesn't think it is. They are just being…friends...(?) or something.

Besides isn't he dating Hanna's friend, or whatever? She doesn't know. She refuses to ask, because she doesn't want to fully put out this aloofness she has towards him. Her asking that question would certainly kill her appeared indifference for him, right?

It isn't a fancy restaurant, really. It specializes in pasta, but it is not some big Italian restaurant. In fact, a lot of the pastas aren't even Italian! There Is tai, Chinese, and simple Mac n' Cheese! A place that serves Mac n' Cheese certainly could not be called fancy.

Still, Spencer feels like it is a date.

Since when did boys get her so wound up inside? Especially Toby Cavanaugh?

And then it finally slips out.

"So, how'd your date with Hanna's friend go?"

And it now clear. She cares.

"I actually didn't go on it, yet…"

"What?" she spits out, completely shocked by the words. "It's been a week and a half…I thought you would have…" she struggles to find the right words for her fractured sentences.

He looks amused, but surprise, he doesn't poke fun of her. Even though an insult lies on his tongue, he speaks another form, "Hanna's blind dates are always…a little too interesting for me."

"Hmm, makes sense. You being your bland self."

"Yes, see, I much rather go on dates with people like you. Uninteresting and dull."

She doesn't know how to react to the comeback. On one hand, he called her uninteresting and dull. On the other…

"Aw. You want to date me, Cavanaugh? That's so sweet," she counters, managing to push down her nervousness.

He chuckles, picking up his menu to look at.

…

They are in front of her apartment building, and she wants to invite him up. Even though that makes absolute no sense, right? What would they even do up there? Intensely stare at one another? Argue? Isn't that all they do?

"So…you should come up with me. I have your shirt, and pants…" she explains, nervously, training her fidgety eyes on him. "I can give them to you," she offers.

"You can't go up there, and bring them down to me?" he complains.

"Just pick your lazy ass up, and follow me," she demands, a trail of laughter following her decree.

They go up to her apartment, and she finds his clothes. Giving them to him, and an amused smile glowing on her face when he smells them. His whole face lights up when he smells them.

"Thanks," he offers. "I've forgotten how good clean clothes smell. I haven't washed mine in awhile," he goes on. "Including these," he says. "Probably three months."

A look of disgust crosses the brunette's face.

"I'm just kidding," he supplies, laughing. He lets the articles of clothing fall to the counter.

"That's disgusting," she remarks.

"I was kidding!" he exclaims.

"Well, your sense of humor is disgusting."

"Humor is subjective…" he waves her off.

"That's what I say," she observes aloud.

"We just keep discovering mutual interests, don't we?"

"Yeah…" she sighs. "I think it needs to stop," she exasperates.

"Enemies, right?" Toby responds.

"Forever," she voices back.

It's those eyes. Those intense, blue, alluring eyes of his. They arouse a reaction of lust and desire from her. She can't help it. It just happens. And whenever she tries to push back those feelings, they just boil back up. And now, they are boiling over. Overflowing, and taking away her power. She can't push them back anymore. They have completely taken her over.

Her eyes fall to his lips. It is just an inherit thing. His lips should be easier to ignore—to avoid, but they aren't. In fact, they are almost worse. They tease her, asking her to lean into them. And Spencer can't say no to them.

Suddenly she is kissing him, grasping his shirt underneath her shaky fist. It takes a moment for his lips to come to life, but once they do, everything is at full force. The highest power. All the tension that has been building up between them dissolves into the kiss.

His hands grip at her hips, pulling her into him. They are so strong, so hard, and rough against the skin that peaks out from her shirt.

Her hands encircle around him, going up and down his spine. His hard, muscular, back resides at her fingertips—fabric so rudely interrupting her skin and his. She pushes him in her, her hands pulling at him, and grasping at the fabric of his shirt. She feels like she is on fire, like her whole body is defying the laws of temperature.

How can a kiss with Toby Cavanaugh feel so good? How is it even possible to get this much of a rush from a little, tiny make out session?

How will this end?

How will they go on from this?

Oh God. What has she done?

They part, both breathing rapidly, their hands still holding each other's body.

She lets go, and he follows suit.

They just stare at each other. They are always staring at each other.

"Goodnight, Spencer…" he speaks first.

"Goodnight," she responds in quiet voice.

She watches him leave, still feeling paralyzed.

Then she notices it. He forgot his shirt and pants.

a/n: i know a lot of you wanted paSSIOn fight make out, but sh...you will get something like that next chapter. yay. oops spoilers.

Well, things are finally moving! YEE.

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