losttheright | you're not the answer I should know

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stephen meyers

you're not the answer I should know

She doesn't sleep.

Not even for any lack of trying, at least at first, though she suspects a different girl, a more sentimental one, might have stayed awake on purpose, trying to commit every detail to memory in case this winds up being a one-time occurrence. (She's already done that.) Instead, it's hours, or at least it feels like it, that she lies with her head on Stephen's chest, waiting to drift off, never quite letting herself manage it. Eventually, it becomes too futile, and Molly gives up. At least sleeplessness is nicer here, wearing his shirt and with Stephen warm beside her than in her own empty apartment, which she knows from experience after the couple of weeks she's spent here. This isn't anything new. She thinks, though, that what she knows now might just make it worse. Hating Stephen was never easy, but everything else was easier when she thought she'd done what she needed to. Being dead wouldn't have been quite as terrible then. Now, knowing it was for nothing, it's practically fucking unbearable, especially now that she doesn't have Stephen fucking her to distract her from all those uncomfortable truths. All she has is this, whatever that even is, some fragile thing that she can hold onto in the dark but that she's not sure will last until morning. At least she got this, her answers and one pretty great night, but it's only here in the quiet of Stephen's apartment that she thinks that might be disappointing. She'd never want anything more than this, but she thinks she could get used to it even so.

It's for that reason that she considers leaving when the first rays of sunlight filter through his bedroom window. It would be simpler, God knows, easier than waiting for him to ask her to leave, and it's not like he couldn't find her if he wanted to do this again sometime. She thinks she made pretty obvious last night that she's willing enough to put their past behind them to be with him. In the end, though, that's not a risk she can take, and not just because his chest feels too good under her head for her to care to move. If he misinterpreted that, took it as a sign that she'd changed her mind, the fault would be hers, and having underestimated Stephen once, she has no desire to fuck things up again. He came through for her once before, albeit too late. He could prove her wrong now, too.

All there is to do, then, is wait, excruciating as that is, as the sun comes up, to see what he'll do, if he'll write this off as a mistake or if they might have made their peace after all. That, and to hope, but Molly doesn't want to admit that, even to herself.

When he finally does start to wake up, she can tell, feels it by the change in his breathing, but she doesn't do anything, just stays curled against him with her eyes still shut. It's a cheap trick, maybe, but she won't have to keep it up for long. She just wants to see what he does first, too certain of what she wants and of the fact that she shouldn't want it to make the first move herself.

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It's still early when Stephen wakes, a habit he can't shake, but the head on his chest is a feeling both familiar and unexpected. Absently lifting his hand to brush his fingers carefully through her hair, he gives himself a few moments of simply lying where he is. It's too early to make heads or tails of how he feels about this turn of events now, but the base emotion feels a hell of a lot like satisfaction, quiet and calm. She's alive, she's still here, not some extraordinarily vivid dream. He expected as much, if only because he's not crazy enough for that to have been imagined and her treatment of him has been far too lenient for that anyway.

Half-asleep, he hardly remembers why this was supposed to be a bad idea. As pleasant as it is, though, he isn't one to linger in bed, sentimental, and it isn't long before he pushes himself to get up. He doesn't want to wake her, but he should be up and about, maybe make some coffee for them. Easing slowly out from under her, he leans down to press a kiss to her hair first, a drowsy temptation he doesn't think to resist.

The gesture is a startling one, like ice through her veins, and Molly doesn't know why, but it's enough to make her wish he'd do it again and wish she'd left when she thought to a while ago. None of this makes any sense. It didn't last night, either, but this is different now, like they've snapped out of whatever haze they were in, and for all that she's been lying here wanting to be able to stay, she can't make sense of the notion that maybe he won't tell her to go, having worked herself up to expecting to hear as much so she could play it off as easily as she knows she ought to, as she'd be able to with anyone else. Stephen, though, he fucks with her head, and this is just further proof of that. He shouldn't be so affectionate with her; she shouldn't like it so much that he is. It's still not nearly enough to send her running.

"Mm, I'm awake," she murmurs like it's a protest, muffled and drowsy, her head slumping against his pillow against her will even as she opens her eyes to get a look at him. If there's one benefit to a distinct lack of sleep, it's that it has roughly the same effect as being woken up. Though she doesn't think she'd lie if he asked, she still doesn't want him to know right off that she's been awake this whole time. "It's early, isn't it?"

"Not that early," Stephen says, fingers running through her hair again as he straightens up. Granted, he knows, his idea of what constitutes early is a little different from that of most people, but she worked with the campaign. She gets it. Things are completely different here and it isn't like he has to rush out or anything, but he still has things to do, ideas to work on before they all hunker down to discuss what's ahead, people he should check in with. Even so, he can stick around a while longer. There's no need to rush, not today.

"I was gonna make some coffee," he says. "You want some?"

"Yeah, sure," Molly answers, mostly instinctive, brows furrowing a little as she makes herself sit up. She doesn't get it, she really fucking doesn't, part of her still waiting for the other shoe to drop or whatever, but that's no reason not to go along with it while she can. Besides, she's exhausted, more aware of it now that she's sitting up with her eyes open instead of lying against Stephen, and she can't deny that coffee sounds pretty appealing. So does sticking around until she's not welcome anymore, even if she isn't sure she'll be able to tell when that is, if this is all some sort of pretense or if he genuinely wants her here for the time being. Maybe he'll just give her the coffee and tell her to go (but then, why bother with such an act?). Either way, she guesses she'll see before too long.

Just as strange is the fact that he doesn't seem to be running off anywhere, no meetings or whatever. Then again, she's not even sure where he would be going or who he would be meeting with, not yet having even asked what he's been doing with himself since he got here. They got sidetracked before that, something she doesn't regret half as much as she probably should. This is Stephen, though; he's bound to be doing fucking something. It's a strangely warming thought, confirming what she's believed since she showed up here — that someone would need to try to make some kind of order in this place. No matter how much he's fucked up, she can't think of anyone better for it. "Coffee sounds great. You mean you're not in a hurry?"

Stephen shrugs, not sure how to answer that. Technically, he's not in any rush, and it isn't supposed to be a difficult question either. It just feels weird to agree to that, not least because some part of him is always in a hurry. He doesn't have anywhere he needs to be yet, though, or any deadlines to meet.

"Not right this minute," he says, reaching for a wrinkled shirt to put on, though he doesn't trouble finding anything to pull over his boxers. It's not like he's going anywhere yet. It doesn't sit well with him, not having a full schedule, and the few weeks he's been here haven't been nearly enough to put him at ease with that, but he's doing what he can to make sure that changes soon. In the meanwhile, it's not like it's her fault he's been working non-stop for the last fifteen years and isn't really sure how the fuck he's supposed to cope with staying still. "It's not like I have meetings around here yet. I mean, I got stuff to do, but... uh, no. I'm not in a hurry."

"Okay." Somewhat surprising or not, it isn't like she needs to hear anything more than that. For that matter, it still doesn't say anything about how long it'll be before he tells her to go, though the longer she stays here, the less convinced Molly becomes that it's going to be something immediate. The trouble is, while she'd have understood being sent to the door, she hasn't got a fucking clue what it means that he hasn't done so yet, what it will mean if he doesn't. It's not like this is suddenly going to be something serious, the two of them still the same people they were, except in the ways that they aren't at all. She'd been so prepared, though, to hear that he was done, that this is difficult to wrap her head around.

It's nice, though, too, and while ordinarily she'd be a little better at hiding that, right now, still something like half-asleep, she can't help but smile as she watches him, fond, teeth pressing to her lower lip. That he can do this to her, stir up some unnameable emotion, is completely fucking unfair, but it's hard to mind right now, with how startlingly comfortable this is. Groaning faintly as she sits up, she stretches her neck, her arms, but doesn't yet move from the bed. "What sort of stuff? I don't even know what you've been doing around here."

Not as much as he should be, Stephen thinks, but he's working to change that. Soon enough, he will, and they'll get things rolling here. If they're going to be stuck, they're going to make something of this place, because with the way things are, there's no way in hell they manage like this much longer. "Same sort of stuff," he says wryly, leaning in the doorway. "A hell of a lot less press. I'm getting ideas and shit in order for a — you know, kind of a town hall meeting next week. Get everyone in one place to talk about forming some kind of government."

It may only be provisionary, since he wants to think they'll find a way out of here soon. He's told a few people they would, mostly scared, uncertain teenagers, and he doesn't want to be wrong and he doesn't want to be here when there's a whole fucking campaign back home to be finished and won. There's no telling, though, how long that will really take, and if it proves to be a long time, then they need this even more.

"Yeah?" It's with a little more than drowsy interest that Molly looks at him now, brow raising as she tips her head to the side. She isn't actually surprised, of course, for more than one reason, not the least of which is that this is Stephen, and it's hard to imagine him standing by and letting nothing happen, no matter where he is. Ever since she showed up, she's been saying the same thing, anyway, that someone needed to get something started around here. The way of things now just isn't sustainable. What is a little unexpected, though, is how intrigued she suddenly is. Whatever she said, she hadn't really wanted anything to do with that process, knowing a little too well what people in government are like now. Then again, she wouldn't have thought she would want anything to do with Stephen, either, and he's proven her wrong there.

Finally swinging her legs over the side of the bed to stand up, she fights off the impulse to cross to him, curl her fingers in his shirt and kiss him, try to coax him back to bed. She doesn't know enough yet for that, and she doesn't want to be that presumptuous and fuck everything up. Between the two of them, there's been enough of that already. "I've been wondering when someone would," she says instead, thoughtful, pleased, if a little self-conscious, her nose wrinkling. "That was one of the first things I said when I showed up, that we'd need something like that around here. You know when it's gonna be yet?"

Stephen shakes his head. "Wednesday or Thursday, maybe," he says. He wants to be able to get the message out first, with time enough to make sure everyone actually checks their email, since that isn't exactly a priority around here for a lot of people because there's no real reason for it to be. In addition to the fliers Kurt's said he'll put up, he'd rather wait and make sure they get across. If they're going to do this, and they have to, he wants as many people there as possible.

That she all but perks up when he mentions it makes him optimistic, too, although he hardly needs encouragement to be excited about this. They're literally building a governing body from the ground up, the kind of thing he would never have dreamed of doing only because it would never have occurred to him they might have a chance to. It's a real chance to make something, to do some really worthwhile work he knows will legitimately affect people. "There's no way we can continue the way things are going," he says, heading closer to her. He remembers vaguely having offered coffee, but this matters more. "And if no one else is gonna step forward... You'll be there, right? You'll come to the meeting."

Huffing out an exhale of a laugh, Molly fixes him with a skeptical look, rolling her eyes fondly at him. "I do live here," she points out lightly. "It would be pretty stupid of me not to." She gets the feeling that's not really what he means, but it's the best response she's got, mostly because it's the only way of deflecting. Even before she knew Stephen was here, she wasn't going to get involved in that sort of thing; now that he's the one starting the whole thing, she's pretty sure it would be even more ill-advised to do anything more than just go and pay attention, hear what others have to say.

The trouble is, the fact that she has to keep telling herself that is pretty vivid proof of the fact that she'd like to do more. She can't pretend like the idea doesn't hold a hell of a lot of appeal, getting to be a part of something in the early days like this, really make a difference. For that matter, she likewise can't pretend that she doesn't like the way he's asked, like he legitimately wants her there, even if she suspects it's just because he'd want as many people there as possible, that it has little to do with her. That's not the point, or it doesn't have to be.

"It would be," Stephen agrees, but he doesn't trouble to hide the way he smiles, teasing and pleased at once. It's pretty fucking stupid, he knows, to want her there specifically after what happened last time they worked together, but hardly any of the trouble there was the political aspect. She still knows the world of it better than most of the other people here, and he'd like to think that, as far as the political goes, she's learned from her mistakes.

Of course, then again, she's here with him now, so that may be overly optimistic.

"There's like one other person here who knows anything about politics," he says. "She runs a parks and rec division in the middle of Indiana. It's pretty much you and me, from the ground up. It would be very stupid to miss an opportunity like that, yes."

His response doesn't actually come as much of a surprise, less of one than it probably should, something about his earlier question having already suggested he was going to say something to that effect. Even so, Molly finds herself thrown off by it, beyond just having thought she was done with that whole twisted world. She can reason through her own impulses there; having never known anything else, it makes sense that she would come back to it here in spite of everything, especially under circumstances like these, a possibility they wouldn't have gotten anywhere else but that's kind of fucking amazing. What shakes her is the fact that he would want her involved. After a few short weeks here, the campaign feels like a million years ago, another lifetime, but she remembers too well what he said to her that day in the stairwell when he told her she had to go home, that she'd fucked up, and having done so, didn't get to be a part of that world anymore. Though she's been able to set aside any number of things that he did, the idea that he might have changed his mind about her on that front, that he might be encouraging her to come work with him, is unsettling, mostly because of how much she likes the idea.

"Stephen..." Trailing off, she runs a hand back through her hair, shoulders lifting in a halfhearted shrug. She can't just agree, but she can't just decline, either, not when she knows how right he is. It would be phenomenally fucking stupid to let a chance like this pass her by, the only one she knows she'll ever get, almost as stupid as it would be to go work for someone who fucked her over before, and whom she'd really like to continue fucking in the future. (It shouldn't sound so good, the way he says you and me, like they're anything at all. That much, at least, she manages to ignore.) "You do remember what happened before, right?" she asks simply, as close as she'll get to talking about the way everything ended, pressing on without waiting for a response. She knows he does, doesn't need to hear him say it. That's not the point; there's no reason to get into that. "I'm not... I was gonna be done with all that. Why would I go running back into it now?"

Because someone has to, she thinks, and because, past mistakes aside, she does know a hell of a lot about it, and because if they really are the only two for whom that's the case, then it would be fucking selfish of her not to because of some bullshit reason like having fucked her boss and almost gotten sold out for it before. She's not sure she has that in her. It's about something bigger than that, even in a city of only forty people. Someone has to do something for all of them to survive, and however smart Stephen may be, she doubts one man could do it on his own. There's only one answer she can give him to the question he hasn't asked, and it's written all over her face, even as she waits for him to say something. Her own question isn't one she really needs a response to, but it isn't what she means, either. What she really wants to know is why he would want her to, and she thinks that's probably apparent, too.

"Why wouldn't you?"

Stephen could probably come up with a dozen reasons easy all on his own why Molly wouldn't want to be a part of this, why she would choose to stay as far away as possible. Not one of them trumps the reasons why she would. He moves closer, back to stand at the edge of the bed, near her without being too much in her space yet.

"I mean, give me one good reason," he says, "'cause I can't think of any. You didn't want to leave politics. It was circumstances, Molly, and this — this is different. No one here knows about any of that. It's a fresh start. The mistakes don't count anymore. The rules have changed. Fuck, we get to make the rules. A government from the ground up, it's a — a once in a lifetime chance. Less than that, it doesn't happen. I mean, this is... immediate impact. This is really doing something." Just thinking about it is embarrassingly exciting. Before he knew what happened between the Governor and Molly, Morris was the best chance he'd had at real hope in years, the first reminder in a long time of the idealism he possesses, but this here, this is why Stephen got into politics to begin with. "But I mean, if you've got a good reason why you shouldn't, by all means, I'll figure it out."

He's right, of course. Molly knows it even before he starts speaking, all of that just logical, if a little surprising to hear coming from him. There's really no point in trying to pretend otherwise, and she knows that, too, just like she knows how obvious her own hesitation has got to be. She has reasons, and plenty of them, but none compare to what he's said. None are anything she'd want to say, anyway, when foremost among them is that, when she didn't want to leave, it was before he'd abandoned her, before he tried to sell her out, before neither he nor Morris answered their fucking phones. What he told her last night isn't something she intends to spend much time thinking about, mostly because it makes her feel sick when she does, but it's enough to remember that she doesn't want to make him feel bad for it. They both fucked up. It's stupid to think that either of them really gets a fresh start, that their mistakes don't matter, when they're both here to remind the other of what they did wrong, but that doesn't mean she can't put them aside. She'd want him to do the same, preferring that he not just see her as what she did before.

Besides, untrue or not, she likes hearing him say it, because she knows he's got to at least mean it a little. There's nothing obligating him to her here (there never was in the first place, and he tried anyway), the offer not one he would have had to extend to her if he didn't legitimately want her involved, and beyond that just being flattering, it's kind of inspiring, too. She's never been short on confidence, even beyond her looks and her ability in bed, but with as epically as she got everything wrong before, it's nice to hear from someone else — someone as good as Stephen, no less, who knows about all of it — that she could still be good for this. God knows she wants to be.

"I..." she starts, shrugging helplessly as she bites her lip. "I'll think about it. Okay? And either way, I'll definitely be there." She doubts she's fooling him for a second when she doesn't believe it herself, but she needs to at least try to regain some common sense before she goes into this, working with the one person here she knows she shouldn't trust. Everything about it is a bad idea, but that's still not enough to keep her away, all the more for the fact that it's him.

Stephen arches an eyebrow at her, not wholly believing her. She isn't the kind to demur (for that matter, she hasn't, in his experience, been the kind to act with much thought or reticence, and the sign of either might be for the best, regardless of his impatience). Something like this is a fucking dream come true for people like them, and while there are so many ways it's impossibly far from ideal, it still gives them untold opportunities. She'd be crazy to pass up on any of them.

"Okay," he says. "Long as you'll be there. Come on, I never put that coffee on." He thinks about holding out a hand to her, but he doesn't. The gesture is too intimate somehow, even after everything else, for him to safely chance it now.

Grateful that he at least doesn't press the subject, Molly shakes her head a little, mouth set in a small smile. "I wouldn't miss it," she assures him, that much coming easily, maybe even too much so. It's too true, anyway, beyond just the fact that she'd be fucking dumb not to go to a meeting about the well-being of the place she's going to spend the rest of whatever life she gets to have, more than she was supposed to. She'd go because he wants her there, whether or not she'll agree to work with him, which makes no sense at all but is still true. She wants to ask why it matters so much to him, but she doesn't, not wanting to hear the answer.

Instead, she just starts towards his kitchen, glancing at him intermittently all the while. Though only in his shirt and her underwear, she doesn't see any sense in going for her clothes first; it seems a gesture too equated with leaving, and she doesn't want him to think she's in any kind of hurry to go. Besides, it's not that much of a view like this, or like she'd care even if it were. "But yes. Coffee," she says, almost a laugh. "God knows I could use it."

"I'm practically living on it," Stephen says wryly, "but what else is new?" The apartment isn't the nicest place he's ever lived and it isn't the worst either, a small, neat place, perfect for one guy on his own. He's not exactly great at cooking, but he's learned enough over the years to fend for himself when he isn't on the road. Still, he's managed to keep even the kitchen pretty clean. There's a lot about all this he doesn't trust, but the fact that there was a coffeemaker waiting helps some toward making him feel a little less angry about being here.

As he sets up a fresh pot, he glances over at her, the other thing making a big damn difference. If nothing else, at least she has a shot here. It doesn't absolve him of guilt, it doesn't fix things, but it makes them a little more like how they should be. There's something about her, too, walking around in his shirt, perfectly at home. It's a little daunting, but he likes it, likes the level of comfort she's willing to show with him now. It's a start.

"I would have been surprised if you were doing anything else," Molly says, barely managing not to laugh. Even away from the campaign and his actual job, even without anything really in place here yet, it's too difficult to imagine Stephen letting himself relax or treating this like an opportunity to do so. That she's been relying pretty heavily on it too isn't something she cares to admit to when the reasoning for it is so different. He doesn't need to know about the trouble she's had sleeping, the way what she did keeps her awake at night; they've talked about all of that enough already, and things feel comfortable between them now in a way she isn't ready to give up yet. Chances are, it'll come to an end soon enough anyway.

Leaning sideways against his counter, she stifles a yawn against her shoulder, watching him through half-lidded eyes. Even on her feet, she's still contentedly drowsy, enough to make how easy this is a little less surprising. It's not what they were or even what she thinks they could have been if everything hadn't gone so horribly wrong, but she thinks that helps. They can't change the past. They can just keep going. For now, that feels startlingly right. "Guess it's a good thing there's coffee to be had at all."

"God help us when we run out," Stephen says wryly. "Think anyone around here knows how to grow it?" It doesn't matter if they do or not. He knows the climate's all wrong. That's beside the point for now, when he isn't discussing anything serious, when it's just an easy topic they agree on. It's still early enough, after all, that he can't handle anything much heavier than this, unless it's politics. He could do that one in his sleep.

With the coffee slowly dripping into the pot, he heads over to her side, huffing out a near-silent laugh at how she looks, half-asleep against his counter. There's an element of smugness in his amusement, knowing he kept her up late, but mostly, he just likes her like this, even if he has to fight off the memory of the last time she looked this way, wearing his shirt. He'd kiss her, but he's not sure they're there.

"Doubtful," Molly says with a slight shake of her head, all but rolling her eyes at the thought. Granted, she's not sure that isn't because she doesn't even know what that would entail, but it still seems like a lot to ask for. They're lucky to have this much, something she doesn't intend to take for granted, even if she hasn't really let herself think yet about what will happen when this all runs out. If this was all here for them in the first place, she's sure it has to work out somehow. There's no reason to keep them all cared for only to leave them without any sort of solution afterwards.

It's too early to think about most of that, though, when there will be time for it later. Besides, even like this, Stephen is distracting, not even the fact that she's still standing here waiting for coffee to finish brewing enough to ward off the uncertainty she feels around him, not knowing what's going to happen next or what he wants. She smiles up at him anyway, warm if faintly confused. "What?" she asks. Something about the way he looks at her, she can't figure out, though she's not sure that isn't because she won't let herself, not wanting to read too far into anything and get her hopes up only to have to admit to being disappointed later. It's not like she's looking for anything here. She just likes this, and isn't willing to let it go just yet.

"Nothing," Stephen says, still drowsy enough himself he probably looks like a real dope right now, but he can't bring himself to care. It's not as if she's any better off. "You're cute when you're all sleepy." It's probably too affectionate for whatever this is, but it's true, too, so he says it. There's too much else to try and keep penned in to work on hiding that simple a fact anyway. She's adorable, half out of it the way she is. He feels as if he out to try and shepherd her back into bed just to get her to sleep more.

Whatever this is or isn't, he doesn't know. He's still in no position to be in a relationship, not ready to leap back into that mess or taken on something serious when there's work to be done here, but then, he doubts she wants one anyway, and with good reason. Neither of them is there, but she doesn't seem in a hurry to leave or to take him to task again as she did last night, so as far as he figures, the old rules are back in play, same as things were before they changed. Sometimes he can't tell if he's spinning shit even for himself, but it doesn't matter. He gives in after a moment, leaning over to kiss her with a hand at her waist.

Though she still hasn't really got a clue what any of this means, Molly is just about grateful regardless for the kiss, for the closeness it provides and the answers, and for the fact that it keeps her from having to think too hard about the statement preceding it. Cute isn't exactly a word that she would have thought he'd use to describe her, and any potential weight that might be attached to it isn't anything she cares to consider, not least because she's not nearly awake enough to do so with a clear head. What she knows is that it's fucking stupid to be here at all, even more so to relish the fact of it the way she does. What she also knows is that it feels far too good to ignore or walk away from.

Humming against his mouth, she tips her head up, one hand curling in the front of his shirt as she leans into the kiss, soft but still intent on making the most of it. It's only a moment, though, before she draws back, nearly laughing, more fond than she'd usually let herself be. "Your breath is terrible," she tells him, before kissing him again anyway, because she can. "But I, uh, I'll try to take that as a compliment. Cute? Really?"

Stephen laughs, loud and surprised, as he steps away to find a pair of mugs for them. He's just lucky this place came stocked with the basics, because he's pretty sure he wouldn't have thought to get two — or, at least, to have both clean at the same time. As it is, he still has to carry the one he used yesterday over to the sink to clean as he talks. "Yes, cute," he says. "You are. What, you want me to take it back? I could take it back." It's hardly the first word to come to mind most of the time with her, and it shouldn't be when she looks like this, but it's true even so. He'll blame it on not being fully awake yet himself if pressed.

"I didn't say that," Molly says with a laugh of her own, even as something in her chest seizes tight. She just isn't sure whether it's with panic or hope, needing this to mean something just as much as she needs it not to mean too much. Even when it came to whatever existed between them before this place, she's not sure cute has ever been the sort of thing they're supposed to say to each other, at least not in any kind of earnest way, and he seems to mean it. She still doesn't mind it half as much as she thinks she should, due at least in part to how refreshing it is to see him smile like that. Shifting to lean straight back against the counter, watching him all the while, she arches an eyebrow, grinning. "What would you call me instead, if you took it back?"

It's pretty shamelessly fishing for compliments, but at least she's aware of it. Last night was proof enough of what he thinks of her, anyway, and more importantly, that he can't get enough of her. They're better off keeping things light for now, familiar, if only to keep from getting too serious.

Stephen glances back over his shoulder at her, brow lifting slightly. She's gorgeous, unabashedly so, and she fucking knows it, lounging around like that in next to nothing. Whatever she plans to do with her day, he doesn't know, but he's having a hell of a time not trying to pick up where they left off last night.

"Shameless," he says. "I didn't say I'd call you something else, just that I'd take it back."

Edited 2012-05-01 06:55 (UTC)

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