What the fuck is that?
“You better be wearing at least sweats or I will leave this apartment right now!”
Oh, yeah, she’s nervous. Be cool, and don’t blow it.
I laugh - because who says this shit? – hugging her close. Deciding she’s going to need her space if I’m going to win her over, I move us to the couch and blindly grab for the remote, turning on the tube.
“See? I’m wearing sweats.” I’m not dangerous. I’m not Lord Voldemort or a Death Eater. The fact that I know what they are is your fault, Sera.
Shit, she’s checking me out and being obvious about it. I can’t tell if she’s blushing, though, with the blue glow of the TV.
I want to see if she blushes in other places, too.
Dead puppies. Maggots. Squirming maggots!
“I think you should put a shirt on, too.”
“No way. I like the way you look at me.” I grin.
“I don’t like the way I look at you. Please, for the love of Castiel, please put on a shirt for me.”
I look down at her but she’s staring at Die Hard like it’s more important than what we’re doing.
“Why?”
“I’m... uncomfortable.” She sounds… uncomfortable. Obviously, genius.
I snort. “Baby, I’ve been out of the game for a while, but the way you look at me, you’re not uncomfortable, are you?” Please tell me I’m reading the signs right. This is all bullshit if it’s not what I think it is. I can’t be reading it that wrong.
“I think you’re so bloody beautiful, I’m wondering what you’re doing here on the couch with me, when you have Alysha on the backburner. And that makes me uncomfortable.”
I grinned at the beautiful part, even if a man doesn’t like being called beautiful, it’s still a plus. My mouth dropped that act real fucking quick when all Sera did was force-feed me the truth. I exhale through my nose, and try and think of a way that I can explain my situation to her.
She’s going to see the ugly part of me and turn tail. It was too good to be true, man.
“I guess I deserve that.”
“Yeah, you deserve it!” She’s flaring at me full on now, her eyes are fierce and her mouth is moving fast. Her hands get in the mix and physical harm looks like it’s going to happen tonight.
“You’ve been with Alysha a long time, am I right?”
I nod.
“The whole tossing her aside thing is more than freaking me out. Beautiful guys like you, they use and destroy girls like me. And if you can toss aside Alysha when she’s clearly that gorgeous, I’m wondering what’s in store for me.”
Girls like her? What the fuck? No. She doesn’t get it.
“Baby, you’re not getting it. The question isn’t if you’re good enough for me, looks-wise, personality-wise, what the fuck ever, but whether I’m good enough for you.” I clench my jaw tight, and my hand’s on the back of her neck making sure she can read my face. I don’t like being told what I do, especially when I don’t do it.
“Then prove it to me. Prove to me that I’m good enough for you.”
With fucking pleasure, baby. But I need to go slow with you, turtle-slow.
“I thought I was doing that, Sera. You think Aly even says hello to Matty, you think she talks to him about Batman and Superman? Yeah, right. She can’t even fucking deal with my sugars let alone the kid. You think Aly plays with him? Christ, Sera, did you see how he asked you to play soccer? I don’t even do that, and you’re a stranger. That means something to me. From where I’m sitting you’re more than good enough. And I haven’t even started on the killer body you have.”
She looks like she doesn’t believe me.
“Speaking of the soccer game - why did you bloody kiss me when I took my penalty kick? I ended up scoring and I made him cry. I was going to miss.”
I nod. Changing the Subject 101. “You don’t think he would’ve known that? He’s four, not an idiot.”
“But he cried! And it’s my fault!” Sera actually looks… hurt. Fucking shit, I want this girl in my bed… now. Wait, what did she say?
“Sera, that’s a lesson he has to learn. He has limitations, he needs to know that he can’t push his body like everyone else can.”
“But he’s four! Can’t he learn that lesson when he’s forty-five or something?” She waves off her hand into the distant future.
“This isn’t what I really wanted to talk about.”
“Oh-kay... I’m still pissed at you.”
This whole conversation is a master ping-pong game I can’t hope to win. My strategy is shot to shit, and she’s spinning me around in circles.