And the eyes. If only those eyes could speak.
“You know…” She swallows. Edgy. “Sometimes, when people are in extreme circumstances together, they tend to become attracted to the danger.” She takes a deep breath before she continues. “They project that attraction onto the other person and begin to think that maybe…” She clears her throat. “Their attraction, misguided as it may be, is actual feelings.” She breathes again. “For that person.”
She’s lost her damn mind, I admit. But also, pretty fucking awesome.
“Obviously—”
I cut her off. This could take all night.
“This your way of saying you’re attracted to me?”
Green laughs, but she doesn’t mean it.
“No.”
She’s lying. But that’s neither here nor fucking there. Right now, I need her to stop being so damn alluring with the blurting of the factoids.
Pronto.
“Green?”
“Hmm?”
I also need a certain member of my anatomy to chill the fuck out.
“I should get you back to your car. And what’s his name.”
My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It sounds like it belongs to some love-struck teenager who doesn’t know his way around a woman.
Totally not my voice.
“Connor. Right,” she says with a slight dip to her own set of vocal chords.
Without another word between us, we get into the car and leave. I’m part worried I’m making another mistake, leaving another Leary, and part grateful I officially dodged a bullet there with Green.
In other words, for the first time in a long time, I’m questioning my decision-making skills.
CLOSE CALLS AND NOT SO CLOSE CALLS
“WHAT DOES HE DO, ANYWAY?” The silence was killing me. I have no fucking idea why the first thing that comes to mind is the douche-man. I must be desperate for conversation.
“Who?”
Seriously?
“The boy-toy.”
“Connor.”
“Whatever.”
“He’s, um, an accountant, actually.”
Accountant?
“I didn’t peg you for the boring type, Green.”
“He’s not boring.” Her tone goes from quiet and thoughtful to defensive in a heartbeat. Methinks the lady doth protest too fucking much. “He’s…”
The word isn’t coming to her at first. I’m positive she’s gonna go with something like comfortable or safe, but she ends up deciding on, “Clingy.”
“Clingy.”
“Yeah.” She’s back to quiet now. “Clingy.”
“Well, I can certainly see why you’re with him then.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny, Stiles.”
Don’t I know it.
Admittedly, there’s a part of me that wants to explore this conversation. See what she means by “clingy” and maybe ask her why she’s still living with this bozo if she’s not all that into him.
So, of course, I avoid asking her altogether.
“Wanna grab something to eat?”
“It’s two o’clock in the morning.” She gives me one of her now infamous looks like I’m the crazy one even though she’s the one with a rant for every topic of fucking conversation.
Still, it’s not a “no.”
She’s right, however. There aren’t a lot of options at two AM. Good thing she’s with me.
“I might know a place.”
X X X
Green’s thing for Chinese food is straight up. Low blood sugar, however, that was a lie. A ruse if you will, to manipulate a guy who, apparently, falls for manipulations of the tiny, smart ass, babbling brunette kind.
Who knew?
Shoulda paid more attention to the nervous tics.
She hasn’t stopped talking since we picked up our food. Amazingly enough, not a word has been spoken about the earlier moment we had by the Chevelle.
We ended up back at my place despite the fact that it’s probably a bad idea. The worst idea in the history of ideas actually.
That’s not true. Alexander Graham Bell’s six-nippled sheep was probably the worst.
Beside the point.
It’s not my fault we’re here, by the way. The Chinese was take-out only. A fact I seemed to have forgotten about in the midst of trying not to let my dick do all the thinking.
I wasn’t about to agree to eating over at Connor’s place, and I don’t exactly enjoy eating on the sidewalk at two AM, so my place it is.
We opted to sit on the floor instead of the couch. At least, I’ve got that going for me. If I can’t get comfortable, I can’t exactly make a pass, right?
Not that I would make a pass at Green under any circumstances whatsoever.
Most circumstances.
Okay, there might be one or two circumstances where I would possibly, potentially, think about making a pass at the woman.
The fact stands that she’s got a Connor, which pretty much means, not happening.
Jesus.
Is it hot in here or what?
Gotta be the peppers.
Not that I’m thinking about it.
With her hair down and her boots off, she looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. And if she continues to lick her lips the way she is, I might have to step in and help her out with that.