Dirty Shirley - Chapter 2

Relief washed over her and she picked her feet up and put them back on the couch, stretched out in front of her.

Cal walked into her kitchen and grabbed a glass from her cupboard—he walked back into the living room and poured himself a glass. Smiling, he picked Gillian's feet up and set them back down on his lap—her eyes were wide as she smiled at him.

She watched as Cal raised the glass to his lips and took a sip—his face scrunched up in disgust when he felt it on his tongue.

Gillian giggled, and Cal threw her a look, "Wine's a bit too classy for me, love." He said, leaning his head back against the couch. Gillian giggled, and Cal stared at her out of the corner of his eye, reveling in the carefree sound, "So," he began, "How did you get here?" He asked, his hand vaguely waving in her direction.

Gillian looked at him, her brow furrowed, "What do you mean, 'here'?" She asked.

Cal laughed, watching her as she tried to work out his meaning. "Pissed on your couch on an idle Thursday," He said, by way of explanation.

She looked at him then, "Oh." She inhaled, "I thought maybe you were getting all deep on me or something," She waved her hand, "You." She said, simply. And her eyes were sad.

Cal, face reader extraordinaire, understood what she didn't say: It's always you.

The thought made him sad—Gillian was the most put together woman that he knew. And the thought that he had the capacity to break her down was excruciating for him. He'd always longed to protect her—so he'd pushed her away, clawed at her even, hoping she'd keep her distance. But, she never did. She always forgave him and she did so quickly and without a grudge.

Gillian felt the air drawn out of the room as she saw the sadness etch itself into Cal's face.

He fixed her with a look—he hadn't come here to make her sad, so he changed the subject: "So, what were you drinking that made your tongue red?" He asked, as he took a swallow of his wine.

He nearly spit it out when he saw Gillian stick her tongue out and then cross her eyes downward to observe the color on her tongue.

She slipped her tongue back inside her mouth and a grin spread over her face—"Dirty Shirleys," She said, smiling.

Cal furrowed his brow, "Dirty Shirleys?"

"Yep!" She said, excitedly—"It's—" She trailed off, thinking hard, "Vodka…"

"Of course," Cal sad, a bemused smile playing on his face.

"7-Up, and grenadine—Like a Shirley Temple, but dirty." She said, emphasizing the final word, and her voice dropped low and her lids fell heavy.

Cal swallowed hard, watching Gillian's lips form the word 'dirty'—sultry Gillian was very sultry, even while drunk, and he found her hard to resist.

"I see." Cal said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Gillian smiled, "Want one?" She asked.

Cal clutched his wine glass—"No, I'm good." He said, holding it up. He wasn't really a wine sort of guy. He'd drink it on occasion, but in truth he was a beer guy. But, despite his love for the stuff, he never drank it in front of Gillian. Upon finding out her father was an alcoholic and beer was his poison of choice, any time he thought he might even see her for a second for some odd reason, he didn't drink beer.

Lately, that meant he just really didn't drink it, because he always wanted to leave room for the possibility of Gillian.

Cal could all but see the proverbial light bulb flicker over Gillian's head as her eyes widened—"Wanna play a game?" She rushed out, excitement apparent in her voice.

Cal laughed at her expression—"What, like Monopoly?"

Gillian drew her lips together and pushed out air, "Please, Cal, I would so monopolize your ass!"

The imagery of the unintended suggestiveness of Gillian's words was by no means lost on Cal. He waggled his eyebrows at her, "I can get behind that…" He said, leering slightly.

A look of consternation came over Gillian's face, "No." She said, and her lips formed a slight pout, "Not that kind of game," Her words ran together with a slur, "Like a…fun game!" She said, finally.

"I'll play any game you'd like, Foster." Cal said, his tone sexier than it needed to be. It was the truth, though, and Gillian flashed him a devilish grin as her eyes lit up.

"Okay!" She said, and she clapped lightly, overcome by the excitement, "I want to play ten fingers!"

Cal's eyes went wide and he nearly choked on his swallow of wine.

Gillian giggled wildly at his expression—and Cal grinned at her, "I'd love to play that one with you, love." He said, innuendo slipping in to his words.

She laughed, "No, Cal," She emphasized his name, "It's not that kind of game!" She said, a silly grin still plastered on her face.

Cal contemplated this, and he pulled a disappointed look, "Pity, that." He said, finishing the last of his wine—grabbing the bottle, he refilled his glass, "So, what sort is it then?"

Gillian's face clearly held excitement as she threw her legs under her, sitting cross-legged on the couch as she leaned forward to explain the game to Cal—"Well, sometimes it's called I've never—or Never have I ever, whatever—"

She trailed off and Cal thought a moment, he thought he remembered Emily and her friends giggling in her room playing something similar to this. He sighed, realizing that he had just committed to playing a silly teenage game with Gillian Foster. The thought also, however, made him extremely excited.

Cal nodded, "Okay. Well, how's it work, then?"

"Well, you put out ten fingers—and then the object of the game is to get the other person to put all their fingers down. Whoever runs out of fingers first, loses!" She said, and then her brow furrowed and a pout came to her lips—"Wait. Does that make sense?" She asked, her eyes wide with worry.

"Yes, love, it actually does. But, how do you get the fingers down?" He said, and a smirk fell on his face—there was an innuendo there somewhere, but he couldn't quite find it. Because he didn't drink wine very often, it was affecting him in a funny way—he was feeling warmer. Of course, he was sitting in Gillian Foster's living room with a very drunk Gillian—so, there was that to account for the warmth as well.

Gillian's eyes lit up, "Well—you say something that you've never done, and if the other person has done it then he—or she—puts a finger down." She said.

Cal wrinkled his brow, observing her—her relaxed posture was something he didn't see enough in her as of late, and he enjoyed seeing her like this. He was almost sad that it had to come from alcohol, but he was still happy to see it.

Gillian mistook his look for confusion, alcohol riddled as her brain was, and so she explained with a heavy sigh that seemed to say I cannot believe you're not getting this, "So, for instance. Let's just say that—I don't know, I've never been on a rollercoaster—"

Cal cut her off, "You've never been on a rollercoaster?"

"Shut up." She said, and then giggle at the look he gave her—with Gillian Foster drunk, you never knew what you were going to get, "I didn't say that. I said for instance—it was hypothetical," She gave him a pointed look and Cal took in her dilated pupils and the slight gloss of her eyes, "So, anyway, say it's my turn and I say 'I've never been on a rollercoaster,'" She broke off to look at him harshly, "and you have been on a rollercoaster, then you put a finger down."

Cal couldn't control the smile that came to his lips, and he also couldn't resist messing with her, just a little—"Any finger?"

Her eyes narrowed and she gave him what he was sure she thought was a very mean look but which was, in fact, actually quite adorable, "Yes, Cal, any finger," She said as a gleam came into her eye. Cal watched, then, as she raised her delicate hand so that her palm was facing her face.

Then, with a look, she acted as though she was being demonstrative, and before he knew it, Gillian had put down all but one finger on her right hand—and he was staring at her middle finger. Gillian Foster was flipping him off—"Any finger at all," she said, her words coming out long and with more syllables than they actually had. She smiled lazily.

Cal smiled at her—and looked at her elegant finger making a rather vulgar gesture—he took it in his hand, "That's interesting, that is." He said as he squeezed lightly on her finger. Gillian's eyes darkened a bit before Cal let go—she slid her hand into her lap and smiled at him. "And that's yet another idea of yours I can get behind, love." He said, his voice falling heavily over the words—letting both innuendos register on her pretty features.

Cal stifled a chortle when they finally did register. Gillian's eyes widened as she realized both double entendres and she looked truly shocked. Because she was drunk, her response time lagged a bit, so the expression lasted longer than it normally would have, before it gave way to the tiniest hint of desire.

Cal ached slightly at the sight—a turned on, drunk Gillian Foster was something he'd only seen in his dreams, and it was painful in a funny sort of way having her before him in person.

Gillian gasped and put on feigned shock, "Well, I've never…" She said, laughing.

"Yes, love, that is the name of the game." He said, winking at her.

She laughed then—"And for that, Cal Lightman, you get to go first."

He looked shocked—"But, it's your game!" He said.

"Doesn't matter. I make the rules." She said, playfulness in her eyes.

"Too right." He said, shaking his head.

Gillian looked at him, clearly waiting for him to begin the game.

Cal sighed with a flourish—"Fine. I've never…." He trailed off, searching his mind for something—finding surprisingly little appropriate things, he finished, "Been bungy jumping."

Gillian looked at him and her mouth fell open. "Cal, Cal, Cal, Cal," She said, reciting his name, "Let me explain something to you. That is not how you want to play this game. Bungy jumping is pretty outrageous," She said, "and most people haven't done it, so it's not a very effective question if you're trying to win."

Cal looked at her, a gleam in his eye, "Oh, I'm always trying to win, Foster."

"However," She said, dramatically, the beginning of the word coinciding with the end of his last syllable, "Luckily for you, I, in fact, have been bungy jumping." She finished with a grin.

Cal couldn't contain his shock—he had said it flippantly, testing the waters for a silly first question. He didn't think she'd actually done something so—reckless. So, wild.

Reading his look, Gillian just laughed, "I've said it before, and I'll say it again," she tilted her head to the side, "You don't know me as well as you think!"

Cal looked at her—he knew things about her, yes. Important, heavy things. He was excited to learn all the little minute details that made up who she was. And yes, he wanted to learn them all, "When? Where?" He said.

She grinned at him. "In college. While I was studying abroad. A few of us went to Switzerland one weekend—and the guys decided to go bungy jumping while the girls went shopping." She shrugged, "I was curious."

Cal liked the idea of a curious Gillian Foster, "And?" He prompted.

"And it was terrifying." She said, matter-of-factly, "But. I'm still glad I did it—if only because I get to see reactions like that one," She pointed to his face, which still had remnants of shock upon it. She held up her fingers, "So. You get a finger," She said, shaking her head.

"You already gave me one, love." Cal said, chuckling lightly.

Gillian smiled, then, as she put her thumb down. "Now, it's my turn." She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought, and Cal took a gulp of his wine—he was very aware that Gillian was not purposefully trying to be sexy. He was also aware, however, that she absolutely was, anyway.

She played with a tendril of hair while she considered—she wanted to flirt—and she figured she could be mundane and wait until the right time arose—maybe it would, and maybe it wouldn't—or, she could just jump in. Had she not had so much alcohol, she would have undoubtedly picked the former—but her head was swirling with vodka and grenadine, and so she felt herself drawn toward the latter:

"I've never…" She paused and Cal didn't miss the sparkle in her eye, "streaked." She finished the sentence, and one of her eyebrows went up as did her pitch, slightly—indicating the silent question, have you?

TBC

A/N: You don't want an author's note from me now. Okay. :D But here it is anyway.

Oh, and Gillian and Cal were drinking Cabernet Sauvignon. In case you were wondering.

Now. Holla atcha girl.