She was so graceful, and as she somersaulted, each of her feet had released a spectral contrail that boggled his mind until they dissipated in the yellow-orange haze of the city at night. Brian’s face gave away how impressed he was by the acrobatics. “Looks like I got a cheerleader after all,” he teased, walking along in her wake as if under a spell. If she was a witch, he’d happily stumble right into her lair, and probably climb in the boiling cauldron without being asked.
He needed to write a song about her, about him, about how she crooked a finger and he was toast. He caught up to her and looped his finger into her front pocket. “We should go somewhere alone, I think.” Brian didn’t care if they went to Valerie’s place or his. He didn’t even care if she drank a glass of milk or a bottle of wine, or if she wanted to read a thick book or strip out of the clothes she described as so restricting. He just wanted to be there. Okay, truthfully, yeah, he had a preference. He was a guy and she was murder on his hormones. But if he needed to, he’d improvise.
Besides, he still had to get his revenge. What was that thing she said at his apartment, just before climbing off of the couch with that innocent ‘who, me?’ look on her face? That she wanted to do things until he ached in ways he never knew he could.
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ninetydegrees
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on 2013-10-20 08:18 pm (UTC)She was so graceful, and as she somersaulted, each of her feet had released a spectral contrail that boggled his mind until they dissipated in the yellow-orange haze of the city at night. Brian’s face gave away how impressed he was by the acrobatics. “Looks like I got a cheerleader after all,” he teased, walking along in her wake as if under a spell. If she was a witch, he’d happily stumble right into her lair, and probably climb in the boiling cauldron without being asked.
He needed to write a song about her, about him, about how she crooked a finger and he was toast. He caught up to her and looped his finger into her front pocket. “We should go somewhere alone, I think.” Brian didn’t care if they went to Valerie’s place or his. He didn’t even care if she drank a glass of milk or a bottle of wine, or if she wanted to read a thick book or strip out of the clothes she described as so restricting. He just wanted to be there. Okay, truthfully, yeah, he had a preference. He was a guy and she was murder on his hormones. But if he needed to, he’d improvise.
Besides, he still had to get his revenge. What was that thing she said at his apartment, just before climbing off of the couch with that innocent ‘who, me?’ look on her face? That she wanted to do things until he ached in ways he never knew he could.
Yeah. Revenge.