I fish through my bag for my keys, but they're not in any of the obvious pockets. I swear I left them in here, right beside that makeup set I never use and the unopened pack of Kleenex. I glance at my desk, and there they are, sitting right where I left them this morning. It's clearly been a long day.
I reach for the keys, and another hand blocks me.
Fingerless gloves.
How many people do I know who are always ready for combat?
I look up at Brock's face, too weary to question his motives. He's looking at me in that same way he looked at me in the examination room: a mixed expression of curiosity, amusement, and faint desire.
"Do you always play hard to get?" His gaze shifts to my lips.
"If I was easy, that wouldn't be very fun for you, would it?" I humour him with a mirthless smirk.
"On the contrary, I think it'd be more fun for the two of us." He picks up my keys and shifts them to his other hand—the one farther away from me.
"Okay, Rumlow. What do you want?" I cross my arms, my words laced with a defeated sigh.
"You don't need these today," He holds up the keys, "Dinner. My place."
"You have such an odd way of asking me out on dates." I try to take my keys back and he pulls his arm out of reach.
"I told you, I don't ask." There's an amused smile on his face.
"Your strategy is bold, but it's not going to work every time, you know." I try my best to sound critical but damn it, that smile makes him so irresistibly charming.
"I know. But it's worked so far." He leans in close, lowering his voice. So confident.
It makes me want to win this argument even more.
"It won't work this time." I look him in the eyes, fighting the smile that pulls at the corners of my mouth.
He stares at me defiantly for a moment, his gaze flickering between my eyes and lips. We're just centimetres apart.
"My keys, please." I smile, placing a hand on his chest.
We're interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat at the door. We both glance over to see Michael looking uncomfortable and passive-aggressively annoyed at the same time.
Great. Twice today, people have walked in on us in awkward situations. Dr. Jones is fine, but Michael is clearly unimpressed.
"I didn't know public displays of affection were going to be a new standard in this workplace." He sounds so calm, you could almost miss the underlying irritation in his voice.
Well, damn, Michael. I didn't expect you to be so fearless. I glance furtively in Rumlow's direction and note the slight surprise on his face.
Better intervene before he has a chance to say anything.
"Agent Rumlow just found my keys at the firing range and came to return them to me." I lie, placing my hand out expectantly as I smile in Rumlow's direction.
With an expression of someone who's just been outdone, he reluctantly hands them over.
"I don't really care." Michael rolls his eyes, seating himself at his desk. He immediately busies himself with his laptop. I pick up my bag without a word, silently motioning to Rumlow that it's time to leave.
Once we're out in the hall and out of earshot, I stop, turning to look at him. He's watching me silently, his mouth set in a sober line, his expression unreadable.
God damn it. Even when I win, I feel like I'm losing.
I avert my gaze, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible as I say the next three words.
"Where's your car?"