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The look on his face. Oh, geez, the look on his face. Misha fought to keep her own expression mild and interested until Brian had focused on his pizza once more. Then she risked biting her lip for an instant. Drugs? Who in their right mind could ever think Brian would lose control to something like that?

She finished her pizza in silence while he still worked at his. Then she slipped from the couch, set her plate down on the coffee table, and bent to kiss Brian's forehead. "I'm going to get us drinks," she announced. "Then you can tell me about the red convertible or whatever that you'll be getting to celebrate your early mid-life crisis, Handsome. And how soon you'll be taking me out in it."

With that, she disappeared into his kitchen and he heard the refrigerator open and shut.

She had a pair of the beers in one hand and the glass bottles clinked together ever so softly as she walked. The sight of Brian peering over the couch at her tugged at something inside and Misha smiled without thinking. The moment she was close enough, her free hand came out to rub over his short crop of hair. Then she skirted around the couch, handed him one of the open bottles, and reclaimed her spot beside him. A slight shift and she fell right back into line, her body warm against his.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, so very softly that he instinctively knew this was a voice few heard. Her free hand slipped out to tangle fingers in his before bringing it up to her lips and kissing his knuckles.

Misha could not help it; she scowled a bit at his words and lowered his hand from her lips to rest with hers in her lap. The look held no anger, though, only the dissatisfaction of a woman caught in a trap that was exactly the sort of one she usually laid. Why did he have to make it about give and take, she thought? She had no idea where to even start. After all, all things considered, she was not really hurting.

Much.

Just a bit of discomfort. That hardly rated Machiavellian tactics.

She finally sighed and looked back up to meet his eyes. A wry smile twisted her lips. "You are a devious man, Brian Watterly," she said. "You're lucky I like you so much... and that I'm worried enough about you to let you pull this on me." She lifted a shoulder to shrug before smiling more for him. "Okay, handsome. You have a deal."

"Seeing as how I asked you first..." She trailed off and tried an impish smile on him. However, she was more interested in his inviting posture, offering his body for her comfort. Misha showed no hesitation and slid over close, closer, until she ended up half in his lap and could rest her head on his shoulder. She pulled his arms around her snugly. Then she settled one hand on his forearm. She watched his face for cues. "So what happened, sweetie?"

Her use of a new nickname barely registered; she was too focused on his reactions.

Misha had listened to Brian's words with a growing mixture of concern and understanding and worry. Her hand on his forearm started to stroke idly, soothing him, as he spoke. His accent built; her hand stilled for a moment at the idea of what that meant and then drifted up and over to curl her fingers over his opposite shoulder. She felt the tension beneath her touch but kept from biting her lip. Instead, Misha kept her eyes trained on Brian's face as he unloaded.

His frustration was all too clear. There was a touch of betrayal there, too, she thought. Plus the understandable anxiety over his family's response. She could not begin to imagine how awkward the conversation had been.

Her hand crept up his shoulder until her palm was against the side of his bare neck, then gently cupping the curve of his jawline. "People," she finally murmured, "really like to make up stories and the wilder, the better. Those guys know better. They're just being idiots. Your family knows better and they're just worried. It's what families do."

"A wilder story?" Misha's eyes danced now and she snuggled into him more. Her voice dropped a bit, hitting a special range between teasing and something a little more velvety. "You could tell them that you have been whisked away so a world famous modelling agency can try to court you and convince you to be their premiere model and muse."

She momentarily ignored his question but she justified it with the knowledge that she would be responding. Just not that instant. She wanted to tease him a bit first. That was allowed.

"Maybe a little," she admitted. Misha dropped her eyes and shifted a bit until her weight leaned more into one side of his chest. Then, nibbling on her bottom lip, she withdrew her hand from his shoulder and let it slide down his chest to press briefly against his aforementioned abs. They felt firm under her palm and she could also feel the slight rise and fall of his diaphragm as he breathed.

As much as she wanted to tease and joke about his abs and how his body was entirely more than fine, she knew instinctively Brian would call her on the diversion technique.

Misha sighed and settled her head back on his shoulder. "I don't know. It's hard. I've never outright lied to my parents," she answered. "I'm still doing the advice column so they at least know I have an income of some kind and aren't worrying about me ending up living in an alley somewhere. They're just worrying about other things. Dad hasn't come out and said it but he is two steps from pulling strings to find out where exactly I am because he thinks I got caught up with, I don't know, a band of skeevy traveling circus performers. And Mom? I am pretty sure Mom is convinced that I followed a boy out here and she is really, really torn on that topic."

Misha lifted her head and gave him a crooked smile. "Oh, Handsome, you are a very, very nice man indeed. If you were the boy I chased across state-lines, my mom would not be at all torn. She'd be delighted." She laughed softly.