Ding dong!
"I got it!"
I practically fell down the stairs in my haste to get to the front door. I had to grab for the bannister to stop myself from completely wiping out on the landing, letting out a small squeal as my feet slipped underneath me and using my momentum to spin around a few times. I grabbed for the railing again with a wide smile, enjoying the brief, dizzy, lightheaded feeling for just a few more seconds. Then someone moved in the next room, and my eyes snapped wide in alarm.
"I said I got it!"
I leapt for the door, but stopped just short of wrenching it open. I leaned back to check my reflection in the mirror on the wall. I flattened my hair down, then fluffed it back up. Then I rolled my eyes at myself. The last few weeks had seen me dressed in everything from a blood-smeared formal dress to a soaked white T-shirt, and at one point, no shirt at all. Objectively, things could only go up from here.
I pulled the door open and, as much as I tried to hide it, my smile got a little wider. Stiles was standing on the front steps, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands behind his back. He was still wearing sneakers and jeans, but he'd tried to class it up by fastening half the buttons on the blue shirt he was wearing over his band tee.
His head snapped up when the door opened, and I could feel my cheeks heat up as he grinned.
"Hi!" he said, standing up straighter.
"Hey there, Stilinski."
"…I was gonna say 'hi' again, but I don't want to make the same mistake as last time." His smirk widened as I giggled, and he cleared this throat. "Also I, uh, got you these."
He pulled his hands out from behind his back, handing me a small bouquet of flowers. It wasn't anything too fancy, just a bunch of carnations that had been dropped in water with food coloring. The edges of the petals were stained different colors, the stems bound together in crinkly plastic printed with stars.
I narrowed my eyes. "Okay, what did you do now?"
"What did I…? Now? What?"
"Mom always says that when a boy gets you flowers, it means he messed up."
"Well, I—I resent that. I think that's an egregious generalization."
I raised my eyebrows, unimpressed, and he withered.
"Okay, um…how about because of what happened at the pool? I almost drowned, you almost gave me CPR, and I'm sure that—that was very stressful for you. I'm sorry."
I considered him for a moment but smirked, stepping aside and pulling him into the house flowers-first. I pried the bouquet from his hands, toying with the soft white ribbon that held the whole thing together. I wanted to thank him, but I was having trouble forming words through my smile. Thankfully, Stiles seemed to get the gist.
"Am I gonna have to get you flowers every time one of our plans goes wrong?" he asked with a lopsided grin. "Because I have a feeling that's gonna be a lot of flowers."
"Well, you'll put the florist back in business," I teased.
"Yeah, and say goodbye to my budget. Maybe I can't afford this date."
I chuckled, shoving him a bit and backing toward the kitchen. "We can go in a second. Just let me grab my purse and pass these off to my—Mom. Hi."
I stopped short to avoid colliding with her. She'd snuck in from the kitchen while I was distracted, her arms folded over her chest, a frightening smile on her face.
"Hey guys! Are you heading out?"
"Hey, Mrs. Bennet," Stiles said with a polite smile. "Yeah, we were just about to get going if that's alright."
I cringed. Stiles, of course, hadn't been raised by my mother. He was blissfully unaware of what was going on, or the meaning of the manic smile my mother was sporting. Unfortunately, I knew all too well what was coming next.
"Mom, can we just—"
"Ooh, and he brought you flowers?" She wrapped an arm around my shoulders as she peered down at the bouquet. "Oh, those are gorgeous. Why don't you go put them in water, sweetie?"
"I was gonna ask if you—"
"Sadie, really. The longer you leave them out, the shorter they'll last. There should be a vase in the second cabinet. Scoot."
I sighed, shooting Stiles and apologetic look and shuffling out of the room into the kitchen. I tried to move as quietly as possible so I could still listen in on the conversation in the next room.
Fortunately for me, Mom had literally zero intentions of hiding what she was doing. I could almost picture her wrapping an arm around Stiles's shoulder and pulling him closer to the kitchen, that overexcited smile undeniably still on her face.
"So, flowers. What'd you do, bud?"
"Ha, Sadie was just telling me about that. Guess I'm stocking up just in case. Pre-emptive apology."
"Are you planning on needing to make a lot of apologies?"
"…W-what?"
"You heard me." Her voice gained a stony edge, but she kept the tone bright. "Do you plan on making a lot of mistakes with Sadie that require flower-embellished apologies?"
"N-no! No, I—I don't. I was just—"
"Relax, Stiles," she laughed, and there was a rustle I assumed was her shaking his shoulders with just too much force. "I'm joking. I know you wouldn't hurt her."
Stiles laughed nervously, but apparently that was not a good enough answer.
"Right, Stiles?"
"Wha—yes! Right! No, I promise. I would never hurt her."
"You're never going to hurt her? Never? That's a pretty big promise, Stiles. Do you like making promises you can't keep?"
"No! No, I was just—I mean, I'm not—obviously I'm not going to try to hurt her. I'm going to try to not hurt her. I will—I will make—I will do my absolute best to not hurt her and—and if I do then it's an accident and I—I will make up for it to the best of my ability."
"And that's a promise, Mr. Stilinski?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I promise."
I heard her clap him on the shoulder. "There you go. Good boy. Sorry about that. It kind of falls to me to give you the whole tough talk, you know?"
Stiles let out a very high, panicky laugh, mumbling assurances I couldn't quite make out over the water running in the kitchen sink.
"She's my daughter, and I know that Robert would want to be here to meet you."
"Oh, and I—I really would have liked to meet him, Mrs. Bennet."
"As it is, I kept his gun and I know how to use it. So if you hurt her, Stiles, I will hurt you."
"Ah—"
"Okay!" I called loudly, shoving the vase of flowers to the corner of the counter and marching back into the hall. I snatched Stiles's arm and yanked him toward the door. "That's great. We're leaving now. Bye, Mom!"
"I want you home safe, okay?" she called after us. She was doing an absolutely awful job of smothering her laughter, on the verge of tears from the effort. "Do you hear me, guys? Home by—"
"That's great, Mom! Bye!"
I slammed the front door and did not stop dragging Stiles until we'd made it all the way to the Jeep. I slammed the passenger door shut too, so loudly that Stiles jumped in his seat. He shot me a nervous look.
"Um, are you…do you want to…?"
"Just drive. Please just go."
He nodded quickly and fumbled with his keys. A few seconds later, we were peeling out of the driveway, safe on the road and rocketing away from my mother.
I folded my arms on my knees, sinking my fingers into my hair. "I am so, so, so sorry."
"It's uh—it's fine." He shifted in his seat, clearly not as 'fine' as he was pretending to be. "I mean she's only trying to protect you. It's not like she—like she really meant that, right?"
I lifted my head with a guilty smile. Stiles did a double take at my expression.
"No, seriously, Sadie. She's not going to shoot me, right?"
"Eh, depends on her mood, but seeing as your dad's the sheriff, I doubt it. She'd never get away with it."
"I don't know. If anything happens to you, my dad will probably shoot me first."
"Well then, I guess you better keep an eye on me, Stilinski."
I shot him a sly grin, enjoying the way his hands visibly tightened on the steering wheel. He cleared his throat and shifted again, but when I saw the splotchy spots appearing on his cheek, I decided to give him a break.
"So! Where are we going tonight?"
"Right! Ahem—well, I was thinking. You know, realistically, we could have been doing this a lot longer. Dating, I mean. If things had worked out a little differently, we even could have been dating as long as Scott and Allison."
"What do you mean?"
"Their group date: Scott and Allison, Lydia and Jackson. They all went bowling and you and I stayed home, but—"
"But Lydia and Allison were trying to get us to go together, right."
"Excuse me, I am in the middle of a planned speech here. Please don't interrupt."
Stiles glared at me as we paused at a stop sign. I smirked and held up my hands in submission. When he was satisfied that I wasn't going to interrupt again, he rolled his shoulders, pulled through the intersection, and continued.
"As I was saying. They all went bowling together and you and I stayed home, but if you will remember, Lydia was very intent on bringing you along, and Allison was very intent on bringing you along with me. Now, we both agreed that we didn't want to go watch the pre-established couples do their pre-established couple things, but if we had gone, we…we might've clicked, you know? We would've been hanging out more, and we could be on our thirtieth date instead of our second."
I desperately wanted to remind him of the butterfly effect; change one thing in the past, you could change a hundred. If I'd been dating Stiles from the start, would he have told me about werewolves soon? Later? If he'd kept the truth from me, would our relationship had survived that kind of lie? There were hundreds of variables to consider, and I almost wanted to, but Stiles was glowering at me for even considering interrupting, so I closed my mouth again.
"So," he continued, still watching me warily, "tonight we're gonna make up for lost time. We're going bowling, eating delicious and trashy bowling alley food, and then, if you're lucky, we'll stop for a super-secret surprise on the way home."
"By which you mean stop at Toby's for curly fries."
"God! Can you please just let one thing be a surprise? Seriously, Sadie?"
"Alright! You're right. I'm sorry. Pretend it never even occurred to me."
Stiles huffed, shifting moodily in his seat and squinting at the road in mild distaste. Not the ideal way to start off a date.
I bit my lip and cautiously reached for the steering wheel. Stiles jumped when I grazed his skin, but let me pry his hand loose anyway. I laced my fingers through his and ran my thumb across the back of his hand.
"I think that it's really sweet of you to put so much thought into it. Thanks, Stiles."
His face worked to stay grumpy, but his lips were already turning up at the corners. He squeezed my hand and relaxed back into his seat. "Yeah, whatever, Bennet."
I let him pretend to be upset with me, but he didn't let go of my hand for the rest of the drive.
We talked all the way to the bowling alley, chatting about our classes and our parents and how things might've been different if we'd gone on the group date. There was a polite scuffle when we finally got up to the register. I tried to offer my wallet, and Stiles batted it away so hastily that he pretty much spiked it into the ground. He bought us two games and rental shoes, and when he noticed my pursed lips, agreed that if I really wanted to, I could pay for the super-secret, totally-not-guessed, special surprise later.
"So," he started, trailing behind me as we each searched for a proper bowling ball. "How good are you at bowling? And I want a serious answer! None of that 'oh well I honestly haven't bowled in a while' crap like last time."
"I'm decent," I answered with a laugh. "Nothing special, nothing awful. You?"
"Well, I like to think I know what I'm doing because I watched that Disney movie about the bowling team when I was a kid—"
"Oh my God, Alley Cats Strike!"
"Yes! Thank you! A classic. Anyway, I don't know anything beyond that. It's mostly luck."
"Well, that's good to know. Guess we'll finally have a fair fight."
"Uh, yeah, not with a ball like that."
He chuckled, watching me test the weight of a pale blue bowling ball. I looked down at it with a frown.
"What's wrong with this one?"
"It's eight pounds, Sadie."
"And?"
"And you're like five foot nine. That's way too light."
"So what?" I asked defensively. "The lighter it is, the better I can roll it."
"No, the faster you can roll it straight into the gutter. Come here." He grabbed the ball from me, placing it back on the shelf and taking my hand. He tugged me along with him as he inspected the selection on the rest of the rack. "Eight pounders are for eight-year-olds. Average bowling ball weight for women is between ten and fourteen, and you're on the tall end of that, so we're gonna start you with…this."
He handed me a hot pink ball, releasing me so I could test the weight in my hands. It was heavier than I would've picked on my own, but not so heavy that I was straining to hold it with one hand. I narrowed my eyes and peered at him over the top of the ball.
"So you don't know anything about bowling, but you can tell me the average weight of bowling balls for women? I'm not being hustled, am I?"
"Uh, right, well…" He scratched the back of his neck, trying and failing to find a way out of the hole he'd dug for himself. "Look, I might have done some cursory Googling this afternoon. Just so I could, you know…seem like I knew what I was doing."
"I see…"
It was hard, so hard, to hide my smile. Every time I thought Stiles couldn't get cuter, that he couldn't make me feel any more lucky than I already was, he would say something incredibly candid and sweet, and the butterflies my stomach would start rioting louder.
I held the bowling ball to my chest and took a few steps closer to him.
"Word of advice?" I whispered, leaning in. "Next time you want to seem like you know what you're doing, don't preemptively tell me that you don't know what you're doing."
"Yeeeah," he dragged out. "I walked into that one."
"Yeah, you did. But it was adorable."
"It…was?"
I hummed my confirmation and kissed him on the cheek. My instinct was to peck him as fast as possible and pull away before I could regret it, but for the moment, I fought against instinct. I pressed my lips to his cheek and held them there, not pulling away until I felt his face twitch under the kiss. I leaned back slowly, an apology ready on my tongue, but I swallowed the words. Stiles turned to look at me with dazed eyes, a splotch of blush exactly where my lips had been. I grinned and grabbed his hand again.
"Come on. Tell me about the average weight of bowling balls for men, genius."
Once we'd both selected a bowling ball to our liking, we headed back to our lane and laced up our shoes. Stiles hopped on the computer to start up our game and I tried to focus on not making a fool of myself bowling for the first time in years. I really didn't have any plans to continue teasing him, but sometimes, I just couldn't help it.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Stiles glanced over at me in concern and pointed to the television over the lane. "Um, typing your name? S—A—D—I—"
"Come on, we're using our real first names? That's boring."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was so freaking critical."
"Of course it's critical. Move over."
I bumped him out of the way and cleared out the letters. I pondered for a moment, then beamed, and hurriedly typed the new names into the slot. I looked to Stiles for permission before I submitted them.
His cheeks were pink, though whether it was a new pink or a persisting one, I wasn't sure. I caught him lick his lips nervously before he reached around me to slam his hand on the enter key.
"Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy? I don't know if I should be proud or worried."
"The only thing you need to be worried about is losing this game."
"Oh, is that right?"
"That's exactly right."
"Okay, gimme your best shot, Stacy."
"You're on, Parker."
It turned out that Stiles and I were both aggressively average at bowling. I rolled everything from gutter balls to strikes. Stiles was more consistent, but couldn't manage to get all his pins down. He was okay with that for the first couple turns, but after I bowled my first strike, he started to get aggravated. His frustration was probably the only reason I was able to beat him at all.
The television above the lane flashed vibrantly, confetti exploding as the words GWEN STACY WINS scrolled across the screen.
"Oh come on, you've gotta be kidding me!"
Stiles groaned and slid down in his seat. He let his head drop back, where it promptly smacked into the back of his chair, making him yelp and jump back up again. I grinned, but tried to hold back for the sake of his sanity. I plopped down in the chair next to him.
"You've just got to stay focused on your game."
"Sadie, I promise you, I am very focused on winning right now."
"I know! You're too focused on winning to concentrate on being good. Stop thinking about beating me. You're psyching yourself out."
Stiles scrunched up his nose, grumbling about how he was totally focused and totally concentrated. I rolled my eyes and grabbed his face with both my hands. I forced him to look at me and squished his face together.
"Look, you don't have anything riding on this game. If you win, you win. If you lose, I'll pay for a few more games and we'll do best three out of five. Got it?"
"Yeh, I go' it."
"Good. Now get going. You're up first."
He swatted my hands away and dragged himself out of his chair. I bit my lip to hide my smirk, then slid down in my seat to kick his butt as he walked away. Stiles yelped again, grabbing his ass for cover and turning around to glare at me. He narrowed his eyes at my poorly concealed laughter, then shook it off, raised his chin high, and looked down his nose at me.
"You know what? I'm above this. I came here to bowl, Bennet, and you being a complete child is not going to stop me."
I held my hands up as he walked away from me. That time, he bowled a strike.
The second game went a lot better for Stiles than the first. He was just as consistent, but consistently better. He whooped whenever he knocked down a lot of pins and stuck his tongue out at me a lot, but I couldn't bring myself to be upset. This was much more Stiles: fun, competitive, a little bit of an asshole. At the same time, I knew that if he thought for even a moment I was disappointed, he'd throw a gutter ball every time just to make me smile.
I grabbed my bowling ball and strode up to the line, spinning around to stick my tongue out Stiles as he warned me not to mess up again. As I turned back to the pins, I caught sight of a couple a few lanes down from us.
The taller boy had his arms around the boy in front of him, his head ducked to his ear as his hands skimmed down his arms, showing him how to hold the ball. They stood flush against each other, chest to back, arms swinging in unison to test the ball. The shorter boy's face was about as red as a firetruck, but it gave me an idea nonetheless.
"Hey, Stiles? Do you wanna help me with this one?"
I turned back to the chairs where Stiles was watching me from the edge of his seat. He frowned at me in confusion. "Help you? Sadie, you just beat me. You're fine."
"I know! But um…you're doing a lot better this time, so maybe you could help me?"
"Oh no. I'm not going to help you just so you can beat me again. I don't think so."
"One throw, Stiles."
"No throw, Sadie."
I huffed, recalculating. I stood up as straight as possible and then leaned forward, holding the bowling ball low in front of me so my arms pushed my cleavage up. Then I pouted at him and batted my eyelashes.
"Oh, Stiles. It's just that you are such a great bowler and you are so much better than me. Would you pretty please come here and teach me how to do it properly?"
Stiles raised his eyebrows, albeit looking a little more attentive. "…What?"
My expression quickly melted into a glare. I jerked my head to the left, indicating the couple a few lanes down. Stiles followed the gesture and continued to sit there, looking back and forth between me and the two boys without the slightest clue what I was trying to communicate to him. Then, as if his chair had caught fire, he leapt out of his seat and made a mad dash for the lane, tripping over himself in his haste.
"Yes! I—I will—I can—yeah, I'll help you. Of course, I'll—yes. Got it, uh…why don't you…? Here, face—face that way."
I smirked and turned back toward the pins, ignoring the way Stiles looked back at the other couple again, like he was looking for instructions. He waffled for a moment and then clapped both his hands on my shoulders. I snorted.
"Stiles, what are you doing?"
"Me? What am I…? What am I doing? I am…straightening your back."
He pulled my shoulders back and then slowly let his hands slide down along my spine. That effectively shut me up, and I had to bite my bottom lip to ensure I wouldn't accidentally let out a gasp.
"See it's…important to keep your posture, um…good…while you're preparing because, uh—a lot of bowling is about form. So if you keep your body straight, then the ball will go straight. If you just stand…er…"
I could feel his hesitant hands hovering over my waist. I steeled myself.
"Like…this?"
I switched the ball to my right hand and reached back with my left. I grabbed one of his hands and tugged him forward until his chest bumped into my back, then pointedly placed his hand on my hip.
"O-oh wow. Okay. Yes! Um…yeah, j-just like that…"
His chest pressed into my back as he took a deep, shaky breath. It took him a few seconds to get his confidence back. When he did, he brushed my hair over one shoulder and tightened his grip on my hips, anchoring me against him.
"Okay, now just…hold the ball up in front of you okay?"
His breath washed over my ear, and I was suddenly more than glad that I had my back to him. At least this way, Stiles couldn't tell that I was blushing. His right hand ghosted up my side and down my arm, coming to rest on top of my own. He guided my arm along as he continued his instructions.
"Hold it so your thumb is facing this way, okay? Don't let go yet, but you just have to swing your arm back like this, and then forward. Depending on how fast you're going, you probably want to release about here. You want to bend your knees and keep it low to the ground, because then the ball doesn't build up momentum falling down, all the force is forward. So if you bend over"—he stiffened behind me and made a choking sound—"no, uh—sorry, not—not like bend over, bend over. I mean like—like lean down or—or forward. Obviously I didn't mean it like that, but—"
"I got it, Stiles!" I squeaked. I pursed my lips together, not sure if I was trying to stop myself from laughing, blushing, crying, or all three.
"Yes. Right. Obviously you got it. Um, so let's—let's just do it, okay?"
I nodded, laying my left hand over his on my hip. He nudged me forward and followed in my wake, just as close with every step I took.
"Okay. One…two…three…now."
He pulled my arm back by the wrist, whispering the last word as a command. I let the ball slip from my grip, probably not as gracefully as I should have. I was more focused on the way Stiles's fingers were digging into my hip, his warm breath on the side of my neck. I didn't even watch the ball roll away. I turned to find that Stiles was already watching me. His amber eyes were wide, and my heart leapt when they dropped down to my lips.
There was a loud bang, and Stiles and I both snapped to attention and looked down the lane.
"Well, would you look at that," I laughed. "Complete and utter gutter ball."
"Ouch." Stiles grimaced, releasing my hips in favor of wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Sorry. I think I was more harm than help."
"Probably. Fun, but let's not do that again."
"Agreed."
To no one's surprise, Stiles won the second game. We considered buying a third to break the tie, but decided it was best left for another time. Stiles was already keeping a mental tally of every win and loss we'd scored on each other in any game or bet. Between video games, board games, bowling, and target practice, I was pretty certain I was still winning. Of course, that didn't stop Stiles from boasting about his win today.
"Ha! Look at that, bennet! Stilinski's catching up! Suck on that!"
"Oh my God, grow up, Stiles." I snorted, smacking his arm as he took yet another picture of the screen that read PETER PARKER WINS! "The only thing I plan on sucking on is the straw of the large Coke you're about to get me. Also a slice of pepperoni pizza and, if you're nice, maybe we can share some nachos."
I smirked as he rolled his eyes at me, but he didn't bother arguing. He patted his pockets to check for his wallet and jogged off to the food court in the center of the building. I traded my bowling shoes for sneakers again and cleared the screen so Stiles's victory message would finally disappear. I checked my reflection in the touch screen, trying to casually fix my hair. I glanced over my shoulder and, in a rush decision, dove for my purse so I could fix my lip gloss. It was stupid, considering that we were just about to start eating anyway, but I still wanted everything to go right, logical or not.
By the time I'd shoved everything back in my bag, Stiles was waltzing back over with a tray full of food: drinks, pizza, and a ridiculously unhealthy pile of nachos.
"Your banquet awaits," he announced, placing the tray down on the table.
"Oh, why thank you, kind sir," I giggled, and grabbed a chair to—
"Wait!"
I froze, looking up in alarm as Stiles scrambled around the table to my side. He cleared his throat, grabbed the shitty plastic chair with both hands, and pulled it out for me with a bow. I stared at him, my mouth hanging open, long enough that he gave me a sheepish smile.
"Sorry. I just thought, uh…"
"No, it's fine! It's um…thank you."
I sat down in the chair and let Stiles push me in, grinning as he ran back to his own seat. I knew it was a little bit ridiculous—we were only eating overpriced, plasticy bowling alley food, after all—but that didn't stop me from smiling stupidly about it.
"So!" Stiles proclaimed, taking a huge bite out of his pizza. "Sadie Bennet. Tell me about Sadie Bennet."
"Stiles, we've known each other for months," I said with a dubious smile. "We're not exactly strangers."
"Not exactly, but we haven't known each other for years. Come on, start talking. Who are you?"
"Okay, um…" I furrowed my brow and took a long sip from my soda. "My name is Sadie Bennet. I grew up in Menlo Park and moved here after my dad died. I spend most of my time trying to protect the town from werewolves and other mythical—"
"No, no, no, I know all of that," he said, waving me off.
"Yeah, I know, Stiles. That's kind of my point."
"But I wanna know everything else. I wanna know your—your favorite stuffed animal, what your first concert was, how many pets you've had. Your favorite trip in elementary school, your first crush, all the costumes you've ever made for Halloween. All of it."
He looked at me earnestly, completely oblivious to the fact that he was doing it again. Just being honestly sweet, invested, open, charming—I couldn't find the right word. I tried to fight off my look of awe, but Stiles suddenly grinned widely and I knew I must have been doing a pretty shit job.
"Come on," he urged. "What's your favorite color?"
"Purple," I answered quietly, ducking my head to hide my smile.
"Okay! Good! Mine is—"
"Blue." I looked up just in time to see him raise an eyebrow. "It's the color of your room. And your Jeep."
"Oh. Right." There was a beat before he puffed up his chest, narrowing his eyes at me. "Well I'll have you know that it's not that simple. Sometimes, my favorite color is red."
"Glad to know you're a complicated man," I teased, and he snorted.
"How about this? You had that dance costume that you gave to Allison for Halloween. That couldn't have been that long ago. Why'd you stop dancing?"
"Hm, I don't know if you've noticed," I said in a stage whisper, "but life in Beacon Hills is a little too hectic to add dance recitals to the mix."
"Oh, ha ha. Cute."
"I just don't think I could handle you, Scott, werewolves, work, homework, and eight hours of dance rehearsal a week."
"I—I'm sorry, eight?" He gaped at me through a mouthful of cheese. "Wha' kin' of dance did you do tha' you were practicing eight hours a week?"
"I did a lot," I said with a shrug. "Ballet, hip hop, jazz, tap. I dabbled in some ballroom and lyrical. Pointe. And I did a year or two of gymnastics, but I don't really count that."
"Wow. I didn't realize you were so, uh…flexible…" I raised my eyebrows with a smirk, and he hurriedly cleared his throat again. "Hey! Okay, I got one. Something I don't know about you."
"Shoot."
"What's your middle name?"
"No."
I grimaced at my own quick answer, and Stiles's jaw dropped into a wide smile.
"Oh my God, does Sadie Bennet have a horrible middle name?"
"It's not horrible. I just don't like it."
"Well, I think I'm gonna love it. Give it up!"
"Stiles, I'm not telling you my middle name."
"Why not?!"
"Because I know you, and I know you're gonna use it, and I don't want to use it. I don't want to tell you."
"Aw, come on! It's just a name!"
"You're one to talk," I shot, narrowing my eyes at him. "Stiles isn't your real first name, right? So what is?"
Stiles blanched. "Oh no, no, no. That's—that's different."
"It's not different at all! You don't like your first name, so you don't use it, and you won't tell me. I don't like, use, or tell anyone my middle name. How is that different?"
"W-well, I—I have a replacement. You don't need to know my real first name because you can say Stiles instead."
"Fine. My replacement middle name is Rose."
"No! That's not how it works!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, is there some sort of paperwork I have to fill out?"
"No, just—come on, Sadie! Tell me what it is!"
"I'll make you a deal," I said, folding my arms on the table. "I will tell you my real middle name after you tell me your real first name. You're not allowed to ask my mom, and I won't ask your dad. One on one agreement."
"I'm not telling you my first name," he huffed. "I will never tell you my real first name. It's top secret."
"That's stupid, Stiles. How am I supposed to go around telling people I don't know my boyfriend's first name?"
I expected him to laugh at me, to come back with another snappy retort. What I didn't expect was for him to stare at me, his cheeks growing pink again. He lifted a hand to scratch at the back of his neck.
"So are we, uh…are we doing that now? The…boyfriend-girlfriend thing?"
"Oh." My eyes flew open in horror. "Sorry, I just…you know, I thought—"
"It's fine! It's good! It's just…it's come up a couple times, but we never really…talked about it. I didn't want to just start saying it without making sure that uh…that was something you were okay with being."
He kept his eyes on the tray of food and nervously licked his lips again, his knee frantically bouncing up and down as he waited for my answer. I dug my nails into my leg in an attempt to restrain myself.
"Yeah," I said softly. "That's definitely something I'm okay with being."
Stiles lifted his head in shock. After a moment, his face broke into a smile.
"Good. Me too."
"…I'm still gonna need your name, though."
"Oh, come on!"
The argument went on for the rest of the meal. Even when we weren't really arguing, we argued. We went back to sharing stories—my first concert, how Stiles lost his front teeth, the day I fell down in the road chasing Briana on her bike and had to go to the movies with my babysitter with a fistful of gauze taped to my leg, how Stiles ripped his pant leg on his suit trying to crawl out a bathroom window during a middle school dance after he saw Lydia dancing with Jackson—but all of the stories were interlaced with light jabs. Stiles kept calling me "Sadie Blank Bennet," making snide comments about he didn't know my initials. I took a different approach, choosing to fill in the blank that was Stiles's real first name with any other name I could think of, from "Genim" to "Mario." That annoyed him, but not enough to wear him down. Both of us were too determined to win.
But we just kept talking. We were still swapping stories when we left the building, when we were riding in the Jeep, when we parked to eat the curly fries we'd picked up at Toby's from dessert. The only thing that made us pause was the worst thing that could possible happen.
"Do you want the last fry?"
I peered down into the box that was sitting between us, frowning at the last, orangey spiral at the bottom of the container. "No, you can go ahead. I'm not really that hungry."
"Well, I'm not really that hungry either so…"
"Stiles, that's complete crap. You're always hungry."
"Well, you paid for them."
"Yeah, and I ate the last nacho, which you paid for."
"Sadie, I'm trying to be a gentleman here! Please just eat the curly fry!"
I rolled my eyes, but grabbed it anyway. It was, arguably, the perfect curly fry, long and spiraled, the color bright from all the spices and flavoring. It was as if Stiles and I had both subconsciously been saving it for last, the perfect finale to what had been a great night. And that's when I got my second terrible idea.
I popped one end of the fry in my mouth, taking about half before I swiveled in my seat to face Stiles. I reached out and tugged on his sleeve to catch his attention.
"What?"
I raised my eyebrows and pointed to the curly fry, leaning forward a bit when he refused to move. Just like with the couple at the bowling alley, it took his brain a moment to catch on. Then his jaw dropped.
"Wha—r-really? Seriously?"
I nodded and the fry bounced along with me, drawing his eyes to my mouth. I did my best to hold back a smirk. I couldn't be sure if that transfixed look was because of the fry or my lips, but I was willing to bet it was the latter.
He cleared his throat again and mirrored my sideways position in my seat. His gaze flicked back and forth between my eyes and my lips, like he was waiting for me to suddenly eat the whole fry, jump out of the car, and sprint into the night. Maybe that was why he was leaning forward so painfully slowly.
I suppressed my nerves and placed one hand on either side of his face so I could pull him forward. Stiles fumbled with the other end of the fry, but finally managed to suck it into his mouth. He stiffened under my hands as his lips brushed mine. He pulled back a fraction, as if he were surprised to find me on the other end of his treat, but then his lips brushed mine again, and I knew he must've gotten over the initial shock.
I promptly bit off my end of the curly fry and pulled back. Stiles's eyes popped open in confusion, one end of the curly fry still dangling out of his mouth. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing, leaning back on the passenger door and struggling to swallow the fry without choking myself.
Stiles glared and sagged back in his seat. He almost managed to choke himself to eat the rest of the fry.
"Oh, very funny. Very Lady and the Tramp. That's cute."
I rolled my eyes at him, but watched him closely. He finished chewing the curly fry, swallowed, and took a couple deep breaths until his breathing returned to normal. When I was certain he'd stabilized, I leaned forward and grabbed his face again. He turned to me with wide eyes, letting out a small noise of surprise at finding me so close. I hovered there for a second, waiting for him to get his bearings before I made a move. Stiles's eyes dropped down to my lips again, and he swiped his tongue over his own. Then I pulled one of my legs beneath me, kneeling higher, and tugged Stiles forward by the back of his neck.
I moved my lips slowly over his, tilting my head to the side so I could push myself closer to him. My left hand held onto the back of my seat to keep me balanced, my right hand sliding up from his neck to the back of his head so I could rake my nails through his hair.
This time, I didn't need to wait for Stiles to catch up. He was tentative with every move, careful to move his lips in just the right way as he molded them against mine. He grabbed my neck in turn, running his thumb along my jaw. And the longer we kissed, the more confident he got. His free hand found mine on the seat and gently squeezed my wrist. The hand on my neck slid up into my hair and tugged gently, almost experimentally, until my lips fumbled on his. He grinned into the kiss, pleased by the thought of gaining the upper hand.
I pushed myself higher on my knees and grabbed Stiles with both hands. I heard him take a sharp breath, steeled myself, and then parted my lips. Ever so cautiously, I swept my tongue over Stiles's bottom lip. He stopped dead, and my stomach lurched, terrified that I'd done it wrong or made the wrong move. Then Stiles's hand tightened into my hair, pulling me back to him with renewed vigor. I nervously slipped my tongue out again, and Stiles responded by tilting his head and opening his mouth.
French kissing was not nearly as easy as they made it look in the movies. I jumped a bit when Stiles's tongue found mine, and our teeth kept knocking together on accident, but eventually we started to get the hang of it—and it was never so bad that we thought about stopping.
Stiles definitely didn't seem to be thinking about stopping, at least. He started moving his lips faster, and I had to fight to keep up with even the slight change of pace. I was dismayed when he pulled his hand from my hair, but he was just repositioning. He grabbed the headrest on the back of my seat, the other hand pushing himself forward off the steering wheel. He kissed me harder, pushing me farther back in my seat and—
Bang!
"Ow! Fuck! Oh my God!"
Stiles jumped back in his seat, clutching his knee and wincing. I blinked myself back to reality, still dazed. I clutched onto the back of my seat to keep myself from toppling backwards and banging my head on the window. Stiles had been lowering me back, presumably aiming to lay me down on the seat, but climbing on top of a passenger does not work well in the front seat of a 1980 CJ-5 Jeep.
"Fucking gearshift," Stiles growled, glowering down at the offending item as he rubbed his knee.
I giggled and scooted up in my seat so I could lean my back against the door, watching him fondly. He tried smacking the gearshift for revenge, but nearly knocked us into gear and had to scramble to fix his mistake. He glance over at me apologetically, only for his expression to turn into a moody pout when he realized I was laughing at him.
"I'm so glad this is amusing for you."
"Sorry," I said with a sheepish smile. I slid my legs off the seat and face forward once more. "Maybe it's time for me to go home."
"What? No, I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to sound so mean, I just—"
"Stiles, it's fine. I know."
"Is it—is it because I messed up the kiss? Because I promise you, I—I was really enjoying myself. I mean, I hope you were too, obviously, but um…we could try again?"
"You can try again later." I leaned my head back on the seat and let it loll to the side to smirk at him. "It's honestly getting a little late, and I don't want to risk my mom shooting you."
"Ah. Right. Yeah, that…that would be bad."
I grinned as he threw the Jeep into reverse, backing out of the spot and pulling back onto the road. It was a quiet ride, both of us just looking out the window while I played with Stiles's hand. It wasn't that we'd run out of things to talk about; I was sure there were plenty of embarrassing stories to be told. It was a comfortable silence, and comfortable, peaceful silence wasn't something we got to appreciate often with werewolves and hunters for friends. So we were going to enjoy every second that we could.
"So, thank you for coming out with me again," Stiles said when he opened the passenger door for me.
I took his offered hand, letting him help me out and shut the door behind me. "You don't have to keep thanking me, Stiles. We've established that spending time together is something we both like doing. No favors."
"Well, I'm gonna keep thanking you until that sinks in. Apologies in advance."
"In that case, you're welcome. Night, Stilinski."
I grinned and headed up the driveway, but before I could make it more than a few steps, Stiles had his arm across my stomach and was pulling me back in front of him.
"Ahem, I…think I remember you saying something about trying that kiss again."
"Oh yeah? What about it?"
"Um…so…do—do you want to try it…again?"
"Stiles, I told you that you could try again," I reminded him with a smirk. "So surprise me. If you want something, you're going to have to—"
Before I could get out another word, Stiles surged forward. He gently grabbed my face and tilted it for me, bringing my lips to his and moving them softly. He actually had to coax me into motion, guiding my lips until I remembered how to move them on my own. I managed to slide my arms around his neck and tried to take a step forward. Instead, Stiles pushed me back. He moved one hand to my waist and, with two steps, my back was pressed against the Jeep. I gasped, and Stiles took advantage of the moment to slide his tongue along the inside of my lip. Part of me wanted to hold him off for the fun of it, but before the idea could fully process, he was tilting my head to the side and prying my lips apart for more. I sighed, letting his tongue slide over mine, and gave in.
This time there were no injuries to bring us to a crashing halt. Stiles held me there until we both had to stop to breathe. Even then, we hovered there, so close that our chests pressed against each other with every shuddering breath. Stiles was grinning proudly and I stared up at him in silence, a tiny smile dancing on my lips. It must have been too vague to be noticeable, because Stiles's grin slipped into a look of concern.
"What? Was that…? Was that okay?" I nodded dazedly and he furrowed his brow. "Then what is it?"
"It's just…I think that's the first time you've kissed me…"
"Well, I certainly hope not," he said with a smirk, "otherwise it's probably gonna be really awkward when I tell you about the crazy realistic dreams I've been having where you're my girlfriend."
"Shut up. I just mean that…that's the first time you kissed me. Instead of the other way around."
"Oh." Stiles bobbed his head once or twice, and then gave me another smile. "Is it okay if I do it again?"
I grinned, nodding until he hooked his finger under my chin. He pressed lips to mine once more—soft, simple, and yet somehow no less exhilarating. I let my hands slide down from his neck, pressing them flat on his chest as he slowly pulled away. A lopsided grin spread over his face and he grabbed my hands, stepped back and pulling me off of the Jeep.
"Okay, now scram, Bennet. I don't need to find out if your mom is as good a shot as you are."
"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on, Stilinski."
"Oh? You sure? You—you don't want to borrow these for your identity theft scheme?"
"Goodnight, Rodrigo Stilinski!"
"Goodnight, Sadie Blank Bennet!"
