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 Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2014 2:09 am
He distracted himself by "answering" Kostya's text, a convenient excuse not to look at her, a thing to do with his hands that kept him from reaching instinctively and fearfully for hers. "Well, your choices range from subpar cafeteria food to dismal cafeteria food to dismal vending machine fare, so you tell me. And I'll sleep on the floor," he acquiesced grimly, "startled though I am to hear that you're taking orders from Bashmet and not the other way around." astrazilla Text to Bashmet: clever ******** ploy w the sleep upstairs you meddling matchmaker b*****d
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Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2014 2:21 am
America, it should be said, had been formulating a way to just stay up in the tree house without actually having to lie to Kostya about it. Distractedly she said, "I think I'll make an omelet. There were eggs in the kitchen fridge last I saw, only a day off expiration. And there's plenty of other s**t to add in."
She paused and almost did a confused double-take as the rest of Taym's words filtered in. "Really?" The girl squinted a moment and then beamed at him, "Thank you, it's appreciated. I'd demand to take the floor instead but you'd probably just sleep in that damn chair to spite all comfort."
With an extra bounce in her step, definitely at odds with her resounding defeat, the girl continued, "Konstantin doesn't ask me for much, so when he does, I try to listen." Pulling a scrunchie out her pocket as they left, she happily tied her hair up, the bold YOU TRIED clearly visible to Taym as she skipped ahead.
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Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2014 2:38 am
That "really?" molded his usual self-loathing into a knife that went straight to his heart. Really? Of course. Really? The floor. Really? You tried. He wished he'd chosen anything else to write back there. The words were just a taunt, now, and he debated the wisdom of having a second cigarette and pointedly, uncomfortably, did not comment about sleeping in that damn chair, where he so often had--including, and the comparison had to be made, it could not avoid being made--the night that Peyton had stayed with him. He strayed to safer territory. "I make," he informed her, "a kickass omelet."
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Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2014 2:43 am
Recalling what her own "omelets" generally turned out as, America spun back around to face Taym, walking backward as she went. "That so, Mister Thompson? You gonna prove it?" She grinned, eyebrows raised.
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Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2014 2:53 am
"Man of my word," he assured her, feigning distraction with his phone because he always found it easier to turn his grins away, secretive, than give them free run. "I am confident in my title and will gladly defend it against all comers." A silent bark of a laugh followed, tired, but without the usual edge of bitterness. "America Jones," he said: "loses the game and still wins the bet. I am completely unsurprised." He pocketed the phone and hazarded a glance at her, and his hands hesitated before they vanished into his pockets as well, safely away from temptation. "Lead the way."
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Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2014 3:00 am
America caught the edge of the smile, same as the time she'd brought him pie, and wondered if she could ever truly explain the charm of being too much boy. Likely not. Stepping and spinning to walk beside him, she smiled, a little smug, and echoed her earlier observation, "You're learning, at least."
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