Author's note: Straight down to business. Thanks to my beta UntilNeverDawns, who's doing a fantastic Job with this story. I would also like to thank xthefirestillburns, Bharm and ThatGirl54 for their continued support. A kind word here and there really does wonders. Thank you, guys!
Stephen was wearing a suit. Not just any run of the mill suit. No, he was wearing the kind that was hand-tailored, came with a matching vest and jacket and was rather posh. Although he looked like he came straight from the GQ cover shoot, he kept tugging at his tie. It was making her nervous, which was ridiculous, because they were only heading over to Hartford to have dinner at her parents' house, for crying out loud. This wasn't an award ceremony or an induction to the hall of fame.
Even though she had repeatedly pointed out to him that dressing up like that was ridiculous and over the top, he had stubbornly insisted on it being a necessity by saying: "No, way in hell am I going to give that banshee of your mother more ammunition by not dressing up for the occasion!" As a direct consequence Nina had been forced to dress up as well. She fidgeted in the driver's seat uncomfortably and he laid a reassuring hand on her bare knee.
"Relax, you look stunning, luv," he told her, referring to the black fifties-style dress that she had put on earlier. Since they had to drive over to Hartford for dinner, Nina had barely had time to get changed once she had come home from work. She had just grabbed the first thing from her closet which happened to be that little black number she was wearing now. Nina wouldn't have been Nina if she had been entirely comfortable with being dressed like a proper girl. She had joked that it made her look like a Stepford wife. He had merely quirked his eyebrow and told her that he had not been aware Stepford wives were that hot.
He had yet to remove his hand from her leg. By now it had wandered a little higher, which made her chuckle nervously and remove one hand from the steering wheel to put his own back where it belonged – on his side of the car. He frowned.
"Steve, you don't want us to die in a blazing car wreck, do you?" she briefly threw him a look, before concentrating back on the road again. "Because that's going to happen if you keep trying to encourage me to reenact the car sex scene from Basic Instinct..."
"Well, if you're uncomfortable about doing it while we're moving, how about you pull over?" he grinned and a devilish smile spread on her face as well.
"I swear sometimes you're such a guy," she shook her head, trying her best to sound disapproving, even though in her heart of hearts she had to admit the idea sounded VERY appealing. But at least one of them had to act the role of the responsible adult from time to time. It was unfair it had to be her right now. He really did look particularly handsome tonight. "And no," she added regretfully, "unfortunately we don't have any time for that. My mother hates tardiness."
"Come on! She's already decided that she's going to hate me, so what is a few minutes give or take?" Stephen pointed out.
"Only a few minutes?" she said, grinning at him.
"Seriously?" he raised his left eyebrow, shooting her a skeptical look that made her laugh. "What do you expect, lass? I've been through three weeks of celibacy and you look rather nice in that little black dress of yours…"
"You make that sound so tempting, sweetie," she mockingly batted her eyes at him for the fraction of a second before she refocused her attention again on the road. "But unfortunately we're almost there, so get your hormones under control, O'Sexiness."
"O' Sexiness?" he repeated incredulous and she just shrugged her shoulders with a smug grin.
"Get me hormones under control, she says," she heard him growl under his breath as reached for the flowers on the backseat. "Have you noticed how I always end up getting cock-blocked because of your family?"
She laughed. Actually he did have a point there. The first time they had wanted to sleep together her brother had come knocking at the door of her apartment in the middle of the night and now her mother had made sure with her presence that nothing had happened between them. "Okay, I agree. They tend to pop in on us at the worst possible moments."
"Yeah, well, I wish they didn't. The universe needs to cut us some slack," he said running his hand through his hair. For once he wasn't wearing a flat cap. She had told him that she wouldn't leave the apartment without him having done his hair properly. The threat had proven to be ineffective. He had just laughed it off and told her that he would be happy to lock the both of them up in her apartment until the cows come home. So after she had sworn under her breath and grumbled a bit because of his stubborn streak, she had ended up doing his hair like she had done so many months ago. Unlike back then, they ended up making out with each other like teenagers, which would have almost resulted in them being late.
"We're there," she announced finally after she had parked the car in front of a white two-story house with a lovely front porch. The garden was all neat. It looked like someone had trimmed the lawn lying flat on his belly, using a nail scissors and a ruler.
"So this is where you grew up...," he observed. He looked through the windowpane pensively and then back at her.
She nodded.
"Don't get me wrong. It's a lovely ol' place. But very home decorating magazine. I somehow can't see you and your brother chasing each other over the lawn."
Instead of an answer she removed her seatbelt and leaned over the handbrake to kiss him. She limited herself to a brief peck on the lips, because she knew her father would be lurking behind the curtains of that house, peering outside from time to time to make sure he would not miss her arrival.
"A kiss?" Stephen asked in astonishment, his voice mocking and surprised at the same time. "I thought I'd get a slap on the back of me head for that sort of comment..."
"Why? For saying exactly the right thing? Don't be daft," she smiled and he had to smile as well, because of what she had said and also because he had noticed his own vocabulary rubbing off on her more and more.
They got out of the car. Nina looked around suspiciously. Her dad was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps this time he wanted to wait for her to ring the doorbell like normal people, which made her feel oddly disappointed. She rounded the car and came to stand next to Stephen. He clasped her hand and they started walking up to the front porch. The wooden stairs emitted a familiar creak when they stepped on them. Nina pressed her finger on the doorbell she hadn't rung in a couple of years. It had never been necessary before. Funny, she didn't remember it sounding like that.
The door was opened by her dad who, big surprise there, was also wearing a suit including a tie. "There you are, Nini!" he immediately pulled his daughter into a hug. When he let go of her, Nina threw a brief look at Stephen. She was trying to gauge his reaction upon hearing her father call her Nini. His grin had grown particularly impish now, which was sort of unsuitable for the situation at hand. Luckily it assumed less maniacal dimension when her father chose to address him.
"I assume those aren't for me," her father joked as he laid eyes on the flowers in Stephen's hands. "Pink carnations are Nina's mother's favorites. My daughter has briefed you very well, I see. I'm Jonathan Stewart," he held out his hand to Stephen who shifted the flowers to his other hand and shook it without hesitation.
"Stephen Farrelly. Pleasure meeting you, sir," he said.
"None of that sir or Mr. Stewart business, please. It used to be Professor Stewart all the time. Now that I'm retired, I prefer John," he told the younger man. Nina was surprised by his words. Her father wasn't usually hung up on formalities that much was true, but he wasn't ready to let just anyone call him by his first name. So whatever first impression Stephen had made, it must have been a good one. She smiled.
"So my wife tells me you're a professional wrestler...," John remarked conversationally as he motioned Nina and Stephen to come inside. "I used to wrestle too, back in high school."
Stephen realized that her dad, much like her, wasn't someone to mince around matters. He was outspoken, but in a more elegant way than his daughter. He tried to be more apologetic and charming about it. "Really, were you any good?" Stephen asked with a smile.
"No," John smiled back. "I was more the bookish type. At the age of 16 I was all lanky and thin and wearing glasses so thick you could use them to start a fire. I eventually joined the track and field team and everyone was that much happier for it." In passing he tapped the back of his knuckles against one of many black and white pictures hanging in the hallway. "That's me."
Inevitably Stephen and Nina stepped closer. Nina had looked at those pictures many times, but she never grew tired of it. She turned her head to watch Stephen as he regarded the photo of her father with genuine interest. It showed, true to his words, a lanky boy aged 16 with a goofy grin on his face. He was sweaty and had just finished a race out of which he had obviously emerged victorious, judging by the medal in his hand.
Stephen's eyes wandered to the right. Next to that photo was one of Nina and her brother. She must have been around ten back then. There was a pair of glasses sitting on her nose and she was wearing braces, which were very much visible thanks to her toothy smile. Her brother was around six and sitting on top of a pony she was guiding by the reins. The expression on his face grew tender and he turned his head to smile at her.
She had always thought that photo to be hideous. He, however, seemed to disagree with her in that point. "Little Nina with braces and glasses. Haven't seen anything more adorable in a good long while."
"Yeah, she was a cute kid, wasn't she?" her father agreed. "But always such a little spitfire. She had so much energy in her. It was hard to get her to sit down longer than 5 seconds, let alone sleep. I think she gave me the first ones of these," John indicated the greying hair at his temples.
"They make Stephen dye his hair a shade darker than his original color. He won't even know if I give him any grey hair," Nina decided to pipe in before Stephen could even think of making a smart comment.
"I'm sure that's a consolation to Stephen, Nini," her father told her with a hint of irony in his voice as he threw her one of those many indulgent smiles he reserved especially for his daughter. "We'd better head over to the kitchen and say 'hello' to my wife, unless you feel like carrying around those flowers forever, Stephen."
They stepped inside the kitchen. Once again Nina was greeted by a familiar sight. Her mother was preparing god-knows-what and calmly sipping from a glass of white wine whilst doing so. Even in the middle of what seemed to be utter chaos, she kept her composure.
"Nina, Mr. Farrelly...," she started to say upon seeing them, but was gently interrupted by Stephen.
"Mrs. Stewart, allow me to present you with this little peace offering," Stephen held out the flowers to her. His smile would have doubtlessly melted the heart of any less strong willed woman, but Mrs. Stewart had not been called the Ice Queen of Hartford during her one decade-long reign over the literature faculty for nothing. She remained steadfast, even as Stephen added the next words. "And if it's okay with you, you can call me Stephen."
She nodded once and took the flowers from him. "Thank you, Stephen," she said, pronouncing his first name in a way that made it sound just as formal as Mr. Farrelly. Nina couldn't help but notice how her mother failed to extent the same courtesy back to Stephen and her father seemed to as well.
"So, Nina, Stephen, would you like something to drink?" Nina was aware it was her father's way of dissolving a tense situation while putting Stephen to the test at the same time. Lucky him, he had already mastered the first hurdle without even trying. People who were ambitious and liked to do sport always were welcome in her father's house. She had no doubt Stephen would do just fine.
"I'll have a beer, dad," Nina smiled at her father who was already walking towards the fridge. It was that one time he got away with drinking a beer during the week, so he was rather enthusiastic about getting it. "You, Steve?"
Stephen looked insecurely between John and Mrs. Stewart. Eventually his gaze came to rest on the fridge. "I'll have one, too, please, if that's alright," he said politely. She couldn't help but notice how he had come more reserved once they had stepped into the kitchen. Even his accent sounded more subdued now. Apparently he was trying hard to impress her mother. She felt a wave of affection flood her and she took his hand in hers and gave it a brief squeeze.
"Three people drinking beer inside my kitchen. It almost feels like we're inside a bar. A sports bar at that," Mrs. Stewart sighed.
"Don't pretend like that's never happened before, Maggie," John addressed her with a smile. "It's always like that when Tim is home," he stage whispered behind his hand to the other two. He got out three glasses from the kitchen cupboard and Nina produced the matching coasters from a drawer.
"Yeah, we use coasters in this household. Don't ask," she told Stephen with an eye roll.
"I'm afraid all we have is lager. I don't know if you like that," John told Stephen before he actually poured the drinks.
"It's fine, si...," he found himself slipping there for a moment, but only out of respect and courtesy. He was thrown a stern glance by Nina's father and quickly amended his mistake. He cleared his throat. "It's fine, John," he said.
"Nina, didn't you want to tell your father something?" her mother called out to her over her shoulder as placed the carnations in a vase, tugging a bit at the flowers to arrange them until they met her approval.
"Oh, erm... yes, well," she chuckled, taking a sip from her beer to come up with the courage to give her father the good news, "Listen, Dad… My short stories are going to get published."
Her father placed his own glass back on the kitchen counter. He looked at her incredulously for a couple of seconds before he moved forward to hug her. "That's great, sweetheart! I'm so happy for you!"
"Well, thanks," she answered, picking at her nails. Stephen saw that as a signal to take a step closer to her. He leaned against the counter next to her and when he felt sure nobody would notice he discretely took a hold of her hand. "But don't expect anything too big out of me. I'm surely no Hemingway or Poe," she said, albeit now with a tiny smile on her face. She had finally mastered the talent of understatement, though at the most inopportune moment, at least in Stephen's opinion.
"I think they're brilliant. You're brilliant, luv," Stephen's voice was overlapping with her mother's and father's protest, but it was his voice she heard the clearest. Perhaps it was because he was standing right next to her and she was looking at him.
"Yes, listen to Stephen," her father encouraged her. "He might be onto something there. I'm sure he as an Irishman will be able to spot literary talent. After all Ireland is home to many gifted writers."
"And many people who like boozing," her mother let out a derisive snort, which earned her one of her John's rare genuinely disapproving glances.
"You're both right, actually. Most of the times it was a combination of those two things," Stephen joked good-naturedly, for once determined not to let any of Mrs Stewart's comments get to him. "We have had a lot of brilliant writers who enjoyed drinking the juice of the barley. Beckett, Shaw, Wilde..."
Nina's mother quirked her eyebrow, clearly surprised by Stephen's display of literary knowledge.
"Yeah, one has got to wonder whether they managed to be so brilliant because of that or in spite of that. I seem to recall hearing someone say God invented whiskey to keep the Irish from ruling the world," Nina said and raised her glass in a silent toast.
"Well, I'm not that much into whiskey, so there's hope for me yet," Stephen grinned and lightly clinked his glass against hers.
"Oh ever so humble, Farrelly! So you've got your own little world domination scheme already planned out? I can't help but wonder what role I will be playing in that...," she smiled for once breaking out of the formal situation by making a comment that was very much like her.
"That's entirely up to you," he said ever so vaguely in a rather neutral voice, which left her sort of disappointed. That was not how their banter worked! It was like they had met for a western shoot-out at noon and he had brought a banana instead of a gun. She gently nudged his side. He just gave her funny look which she reciprocated with a pointed stare. What the hell was going on with him tonight? He looked different, behaved differently… Admittedly the suit gave him the air of a ginger James Bond, but that wasn't him. She wanted her cheeky Irishman back. She wanted to loosen his tie, help him out of that stupid blazer and tell him to start acting more like himself again.
"Why don't you give Stephen a tour of the house?" her father suggested, keeping her from commenting on Stephen's weird behavior for now.
"Of course," she smiled brightly. This was actually a brilliant idea. Perhaps, if they got away from her mother, Stephen would loosen up again. She grabbed him by the sleeve of his blazer which gave him just about enough time to put his beer back on the kitchen corner, before she pulled him after her like an oversized teddy bear.
She stopped in the hallway. It was decorated with more photographs, but before he had the chance to take a look, she pointed at the two doors on either side of the hallway. "Study, living room, guest bathroom, dining room." Without any further ado she practically dragged him up the stairs. At the end of those stairs there was another hallway. "My brother's room, my parent's bedroom, bathroom, my room. Tour's over." She opened the door to the room she had referred to as hers and pushed him through. She didn't leave him any time to have a proper look at her room either. Just as soon as the door had closed behind them, she walked around him, placed her hands on his chest and gently pushing him back until he was leaning against the door. Warm light was streaming in through the window behind her and he had to squint to see her properly. For now she was just a dark silhouette. Then she moved a little closer, which allowed him to see her face and read its expression. For some reason she was annoyed. With him? He asked himself what he had done to merit this.
"What's up with you?" came her inevitable question, which didn't give him any chance to ask her why she was so annoyed with him.
"What's up with me?" he echoed. He thought for a moment. "Nothing."
"You're not acting like yourself. It's like you've suddenly become that PG-friendly, tame version of yourself. I want my Stephen back," she pouted.
"My Stephen," she had said. He kind of liked that title. Automatically he buffed his chest a little, taking in the expression on her face. The look on it was sort of disbelieving and desperate. It was adorable and flattered his ego, but that didn't make her request any less unreasonable. "Lass," he sighed, "you're really something else. I'm trying to behave meself to impress your parents. Don't you see that?"
"I do and I'm thankful for it. But I think you're getting a little carried away. I kind of like the way things are between us. Don't mess with that," she told him crossing her arms over her chest.
He chuckled at her words and at her gesture. He laid his hands on her elbows and uncrossed her arms before he pulled her towards him.
She was standing right in front of him now. Close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to see him blink a couple of times against the sunlight. Her fingers closed around the lapels of his blazer and she pulled him down, so his face was level with hers. He smiled at her before he leaned in to kiss her.
Kissing him, though it wasn't new anymore, still held the same excitement it had had in the beginning. It was different every time. This time it started out with a series of gentle and innocent little kisses. But there were also some little forays into naughtiness when his tongue briefly touched hers. She smiled. That was more like it. Her fingers closed more tightly around the lapels of his blazer and she came to stand on the balls of her feet to sling her arms around his neck and deepen the kiss.
"So this is your room," he said eventually after they had broken apart. Now she sort of regretted having dragged him in here, because his curious eyes were soon roaming all over the place. He was far too perceptive for his own good sometimes and she hated to think about which conclusions about her character all that pesky perceptiveness would lead to. He gently pushed her out of the way to take one more step to stand in the middle of the room. His eyes flitted over book covers, posters and the framed pictures on her desk. She couldn't help but cringe.
He took a step closer and in passing, touched his index finger to the Mr. Spock bobble head figure standing on her desk. The tiny Vulcan started nodding his head. Stephen grinned and inspected her collection of Star Wars novels that were lined up in the shelf over her desk with great interest. He eventually reached out and took one in his hands to leaf through it.
"I think the conclusion that I am a total nerd is quite inevitable by this point," Nina told him, leaning against the edge of her desk with a defeated expression on her face.
"Is it?" he smirked. "I kind of got that vibe from you, yeah." Given the fact that they were surrounded by all sorts of Star Wars and Star Trek related items which included a Yoda cuddly toy, sitting in the middle of her bed, his statement was rather humorous.
"Hahaha! Really funny!" she said and stuck out her tongue at him.
"Have I already told you about one of me odd jobs before wrestling?" he smiled at her, putting the book back on the shelf.
She shook her head, which encouraged him to go on. "Back when Episode One hit the cinemas, they were looking for a tall fella to fill Darth Vader's boots. Long story short, because I happened to be in the right place at the right time somehow, I ended up promoting the movie as Darth Vader."
"You're kidding me," she gaped.
"No, absolutely not," he told her in all earnestness.
Her eyes were sparkling now. They had that giddy exuberant look again he loved so much. She grabbed his elbow in enthusiasm. "Oh, my God! You're like the perfect man!" she gloated. Under normal circumstance she would never say something that mushy to him, so he basked in those words while he had the chance.
"Don't you forget it," he grinned at her. "I think it's time we headed back to your parents. They'll be thinking I'm doing God knows what to you if we stay away any longer."
She nodded and they started leaving the room. She tugged at his arm as he was just about to open the door. "Wait! Just answer me one last question..." He nodded and braced himself for that last question. Once Nina was allowed to ask a random question it could be anything.
"Did they let you keep the costume?" her eyes were sparkling and there was a mad smile on her face. He couldn't help but realize just how much he loved that half-crazed woman right then and there.
Despite that he let a long suffering sigh, mostly to tease her. "What's gonna happen if I say 'yes'? Will I have to model it for you?"
"Would you?"
"Christ, Nina!" he chuckled. "No!"
"Is that a definite 'no' or one of those 'noes' I can eventually work into a 'yes'?" she asked as they were walking down the stairs.
"It's one of those definite ones. As in no fecking chance in hell. You would have to get me absolutely paralytic to have me agree to that," he told her and threw her an admonishing glance over his shoulder.
A retort was already on the tip of Nina's tongue, but she never got to make it, because they were interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream. They both ran back to the kitchen, because that was where the scream had come from. Mrs. Stewart was clutching a kitchen towel to her finger, while her face was a grimace of pain. There was blood on the cutting board. Nina started asking her questions like "Are you all right? How bad are you hurt? Do we have to call 911?" John burst in through the door only seconds later, hovering around his wife with a worried look on his face with pretty much the same questions on his lips.
There was a lot of excitement in the air, but despite that Stephen remained completely calm. It was no wonder. He'd seen a lot of his colleagues bleed all over the place after ladder matches. He'd seen head wounds that needed to be stapled together, broken bones and bruises the size of Canada, so a little kitchen accident left him somewhat unfazed.
He walked over to Mrs. Stewart and gently touched her shoulder. The older woman looked up at him questioningly. "Can I have a look?" he asked, his huge hands already reaching for the kitchen towel she pressed to her finger. "Let's go over to the sink for that," he suggested and she complied.
Nina and her father were hovering in the background. Nina was the first to break out of her daze. "Do you need the first aid kit?"
"Yeah, be a love and get it for me, darling," Stephen told her, not minding for once what her parents thought about him calling her 'darling'. Currently they were distracted by other thoughts anyway.
He gingerly lifted the kitchen towel away from Mrs. Stewart's finger. He opened the tap and guided her finger underneath it. As the water ran over her injured finger, she sucked in her breath and he gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but I can't see the cut clearly with all that blood." She gave him a tight little smile and a nod of understanding.
Stephen's eyes narrowed in concentration as he regarded the cut on her finger. It didn't look too deep. She probably wouldn't even need stitches, but they would definitely have to put some disinfectant on it and wrap it in gauze. As if on cue Nina returned with the first aid kit. Her verdict was about the same as his.
"I think it's enough if we wrap in some gauze, Mom," she told her mother and gently patted her on the shoulder.
Mrs. Stewart smiled bravely. "I just gave myself a fright, John," she turned her head to address her husband, "would you be a dear and get me a Sherry, please? I'm afraid cleaning the cut won't be very pleasant, so I' m going to need something to take the edge off."
"Sure, Maggie," he replied and left the room.
"He won't admit it, but he can't see any blood. It's better if we get him out of the room or he'll pass out," Mrs. Stewart threw Nina and Stephen a tight smile thanks to the pain she was in.
"Do you need any help?" Nina looked at Stephen.
"No, I got this," he said. "Just pass me the disinfectant and the gauze."
Mrs. Stewart watched with fascination and wonder as the roughly six foot man cleaned and wrapped her finger with a gentleness and diligence she hadn't thought him capable of. Perhaps she would have to go back on her initial judgment of calling him a brute. That 'perhaps' turned into a 'certainly' when he smiled at her after he was done with her finger and told her everything would be fine. She was beginning to understand what her daughter saw in him, but that didn't mean they would be pals from now on.
John returned and held the glass of Scotch under her nose. "Well, I'd better get back to work then," she announced after she had taken the first sip from it.
"With all due respect, Mrs. Stewart, but the hell you will," Stephen announced. Nina had to grin. Now that was the Stephen she knew and loved - a very hands on and down to business sort of guy. She couldn't help but notice how his Irish brogue had inadvertently become more pronounced during her mom's little mishap.
He took off his blazer and hung it over a stool that was standing in front of the kitchen isle. His tie followed right behind and he proceeded to roll up the sleeves of his shirt next. "So what do we do?" he asked her mother with the air of determination as he rubbed his hands together. Nina stepped next to him and threw her mother an expecting glance.
The stern expression on her mother's face that had been firmly set in place since they had arrived briefly gave away to a smile. But only very briefly, because she quickly caught herself again. "First of all you should put away the dirty cutting board and knife. There might still be blood on the working space..." For once her mother's voice didn't sound like she was giving out orders to someone who was her intellectual inferior; her tone had become a little more respectful. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking, because she still had a close eye on them and didn't hesitate to criticize what they were doing and how they were doing it.
Stephen seemed to be unfazed by her comments, however. He calmly hummed a tune under his voice while he was chopping carrots into small pieces. Nina stepped next to him, not caring whether she invaded his space. Their hips were practically touching, she briefly leaned her cheek against his upper arm, the one that wasn't moving while he cut those vegetables into tiny pieces. Her mother was shooting them disapproving glances and rattled around the melting ice cubes in her glass like a rattle snake would rattle its tale, but Nina didn't care about those warning signals.
"What are you humming?" she asked Stephen.
He hummed a little louder. She started smiling. She knew that song. There was a certain irony in him humming "Unforgiven" by Metallica inside her mother's kitchen. What were those lines again? Never free Never me So I dub thee unforgiven? When he laid down the knife, she gave into the impulse of laying her arms around his midriff and pressing her cheek against his back. She heard her mother clear her throat behind them and ignored it.
"Unforgiven? Don't be such a drama queen, Steve," she whispered softly and gave him a last, brief squeeze before she let go and walked over to the stove to take the potatoes off of it.
"I'm a bloke. Blokes can't be drama queens, lass. We're at best bad-tempered," he pointed at her accusingly with a still intact carrot he hadn't used. To top the comment of he took a savory bite from it that was clearly audible throughout the kitchen.
"You keep telling yourself that, Red," Nina teased right back. She carried the pot of potatoes over to the sink and let cold water run over them. "I see you like raw carrots. Wanna help yourself to a raw potato as well? I seem to remember you bit into one last week during show time. How do you do it? It must taste disgusting."
"Really? That's disgusting," her mother commented in the background, which only let Stephen grin and shrug his shoulders.
"Well, Nina? Wanna see it again?" he leaned back against the kitchen counter casually, his neat and shiny Oxford Shoes crossed over each other in front of him. "How about a little wager? You sit down there," he indicated the stool on the other side of the counter, "and be quiet."
"That's it? Nothing more?" Nina asked in surprise. "How long are we talking?"
"Until dinner is served, which should be," he checked his wristwatch, "in about 25 minutes. You manage that and I'll eat an entire spud. You lose, you take a bite yourself. Deal?" he held out his hand to her. She hesitated briefly, but then shook it. "Deal." The terms of the bet sounded comparatively easy. Something about Stephen's smile had her hesitate though. To say that it was devilish would have been an understatement. He knew Nina well and he seemed to be quite sure she wouldn't be able to sit down and be quiet if he managed to push her buttons correctly.
"Personally I don't see the point of betting," Nina's mother pointed out. "It seems to be based on the concept of schadenfreude which simply fails to amuse me."
"Yeah, but it's also based of the concept of getting something you wouldn't under normal circumstances, Maggie," John pointed out to her.
"He wants our daughter to take a bite out of a potato! How can you condone that sort of behavior?" Mrs. Stewart said in an outraged voice.
"Only because her calling me a drama queen doesn't strike me as very respectful," Stephen pointed out and started mashing the potatoes. His biceps flexed under his shirt as he squished those potatoes with a fork.
"Understandable," John replied. "A young man like yourself wouldn't like to have his manliness questioned by a remark like that."
"I don't feel threatened by it," Stephen briefly interrupted his present activity to shrug his shoulder nonchalantly. "In fact this is just about having a little fun."
"I think this is not about fun. It's about your need to reassert yourself which most likely stems from a profound feeling of insecurity," Mrs. Stewart observed.
Trying to not let Mrs. Stewart comment get to him, Stephen started to carefully layer the different ingredients over each other in the casserole. She had luckily forgotten to impart instructions by now, another pleasant side effect of the bet. Because honestly, why would anyone want to tell an Irishman how to prepare a Shepherd's Pie?
"Does it?" he grinned. "I like to think a little wager over casual things makes life more interesting. As long as no one gets hurt... Me sister sees it me way, by the way and she's a psychologist, mind you. So I like to think she would be aware of the inferiority issue if there were one." He opened the oven and put the casserole in it. He rubbed his hand together in satisfaction over a job well done after he had closed the door.
"Your sister? Does she live in the States?" her father inquired curiously.
"No, but she comes to visit at me home in Tampa whenever she can." He could see Nina's interest was piqued by that remark.
"Tampa?" her mother asked and Nina couldn't help but be thoroughly unsatisfied with her question technique. Where exactly? Why Tampa of all places? He had never said a word about the fact that he owned a house in Tampa.
"She likes the weather there," he gave Nina a pointed look, daring her to say something now. He knew how she loved to get in the occasional teasing dig about his pale skin. "She takes every opportunity to sunbathe by the side of the pool she can get." Sunbathe? His sister? She supposed that fair complexion ran in the family. Sunbathing? How ridiculous! Wait a minute… Pool?! His house had a pool?! Nina washed down those question with a long drink from her glass of beer.
He rounded the corner and came to stand behind her, so that he was still able to look at her parents while he talked to them. His hands were resting at the base of her neck. He knew how she loathed being touched there. The timer on the oven was ticking down. She wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet. Luckily he removed his hands from her shoulders and came to stand next to her.
Judging by the grin on Stephen's face, he was having the time of his life. She took a look at her watch. Unfortunately for him that time would only last about fifteen more minutes.
"Do you get to stay there often?" Mrs. Stewart asked.
Stephen frowned, trying to estimate the amount of time he usually spent at his house in Tampa. "A couple of weeks a year tops. Maybe next month I'll be able to go there again. But I've also got a little trip planned to the San Diego Comic-Con."
Nina's eyes grew large. The Comic-Con? No way was he going to go there alone. He was going to take her, right? She fidgeted a little in her seat as she desperately tried not to take the bait Stephen had so skillfully laid out for her. She let out a frustrated little groan.
He patted her arm sympathetically. "Poor lass, this must be killing you," he said, leaning on the kitchen counter next to her. Her eyes narrowed as she threw him what could well be labeled a death glare.
"She's holding up nicely, however," her father remarked, not without a certain pride.
Stephen gave her an appraising look. His eyes roamed over her face. He took in her stiff posture and the frown on her face. "Then again I can't help thinking that bet was a stupid idea. She looks about ready to burst. Come on, love. I'm calling the whole thing off."
Nina crossed her arms over her chest. One of her eyebrows was raised and gave her face a rather skeptical expression. She indicated the oven timer with her outstretched arm. Two minutes left. "Alright. Playing it rough. I understand," he nodded with a sigh.
Exactly two minutes later, almost simultaneously with the timer, Nina spoke again. He had expected her to fire all sorts of questions at him, but instead of that she only said. "I win."
"So you do," he confirmed as he pulled the Shepherd's Pie from the oven. Her mother's oven mitts with their pink floral pattern looked sort of ridiculous on him. He gingerly placed the casserole on the counter. It emitted a very nice smell, enticing enough to have her father jump into action. "I'll get everything ready," he announced, scurrying off to the dining room to set the table.
"Let me help you," Mrs. Stewart supplied. "I'm sure you've got no idea where our good china is." They both filed out of the room and left Stephen and Nina alone in the kitchen.
"I'm guessing you want to collect on your wager now," Stephen remarked.
Nina looked at him pensively. "What does it taste like?"
"Let me put it this way. There's a reason why people started boiling them," Stephen told her with a condescending smirk.
She thought for a second, and then shook her head. "You're a pest, but I don't think you deserve that, Farrelly."
"Anything else you want?" He wiggled his eyebrows and took off the oven mitts, which added immensely to his attractiveness.
"Yeah," she let her eyes roam up and down his body once and licked her lips. "But that's something you can only give me when we're back at my apartment," she told him. Nina hopped off the kitchen stool and rounded the counter so she came to stand right in front of him.
"And I've also got a couple of questions...," she told him looking up at him with a sweet smile.
He took a step closer and slung his arms around her midriff. "I suppose you do," he grinned. "About Tampa?" She nodded. "How about I'll try to answer them on the way back?"
"Deal, and you are taking me to Comic-Con," she told him, looking at him sternly.
"Am I now?" he grinned. "I didn't know that. Interesting. Maybe it's in my calendar somewhere where I keep all me important appointments…" He made a show out of taking out his cell phone and checking.
He frowned. "Doesn't seem to be in here. Sorry. Such a pity. It only says: Sheamus Comic-Con. Nothing about you. Well, there's always a next time…," he shrugged his shoulders.
She raised her hand to slap his upper arm. He caught her wrist with a grin. For being rather unpredictable most of the time she was on occasion rather predictable.
"Say "Pretty please, Steve!" and we're talking," he taunted her. His thumb was tracing lazy patterns over the inside of her wrist. Her eyes fell on it and he could see them narrow. She was getting worked up, which was sort of nice, because he liked it when she did.
"Never," she hissed.
"That or you sink those pearly whites of yours in one of those raw spuds and I might actually consider it…"
"Do you really think I wouldn't do that? Obviously you don't know me all that well," she said, already trying to tug her hand free to walk over to the pantry where her mother kept their canned goods and the potatoes. He let her wrist slip from her fingers. She raised her chin stubbornly and stormed over to the pantry, only to reemerge seconds later with a potato in her hand. He rolled his eyes in disbelieve.
"You're really going to go through with that?! I was only messin'!"
"If you insist on being a stubborn ass... Yes, I'm definitely going to," she announced and washed the potato under the tap.
"So are you going to take me?" She held the potato up to her mouth.
"Ha! You won't do it anyway," he said crossing his arms over his chest.
His eyes widened in disbelief as she took a savory bit out of the potato. She bravely managed to chew and swallow without making a face, but as her taste buds started to register what she was eating she eventually made a face and let out a disgusted noise. "Gah!"
"As ucht Dé!" he cursed and ran his hands over his face. That woman was driving him crazy. Once again he reminded himself that he was with her out of his own volition and because he loved her, craziness included. Well, probably because of that crazy streak she had in her.
"You just took a bite out of a bleedin' spud just to prove me wrong. What you did that for, you crazy lass?! I was seconds away from agreeing to take you without even making a fuss," he admonished her, just as her father popped in his head through the kitchen door to tell them they were supposed to come to dinner.
They both nodded at him in unison, Nina with a sweet smile like she was a perfectly innocent little angel, while she was hiding the potato she had just bitten into behind her back.
"So does that mean you are going to take me?" Nina whispered to him triumphantly.
"Yeah, but you'll be riding in a different car with a nice little white jacket that ties in the back," he said.
"Says the man who has probably eaten a whole sack of raw potato in his entire career...," she whispered back as they sat down at the table together.
"Four," he held up his fingers at her and gave her a sharp look.
Dinner was pleasant. The conversations remained polite, the food tasted good. It was the incident that followed after dinner that was thoroughly unpleasant.
Stephen, despite having loosened up again to the point of acting more like himself, still tried to impress Nina's parents, especially her mother, so he made an effort to be particularly attentive. After dinner he got up and helped with the dishes (he would have done that anyway). Not only did he carry them into the kitchen, but he also offered to wash them up (he probably wouldn't have done that under normal circumstances).
For some odd reason, that offer had him stranded with Nina's mom inside the kitchen. Alone. He had thrown Nina a couple of pleading looks, but it was no use. She had been whisked away by her father who wanted to show her some literary project he was working on, which left him alone with Mrs. Stewart, at the mercy of a woman nicknamed the Wicked Witch of Hartford.
