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Aug. 14th, 2009 01:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinpraEven So
Contessa tugged self-consciously at the cuff of her blouse. And then at the end of her ponytail. And then she was smoothing the line of her slim skirt. For the third time. She chalked it up to skirts being an unusual part of her daily wardrobe, but knew that wasn't the reason at all.
"The kid's 13 and is going to be more weirded out by being in a billionaire's mansion with his weird friend than his weird friend's questionable fashion sense," she groused to herself. Still, she pulled down the vanity mirror in her little Jetta and checked her makeup for the second time--fifth if you counted checking at red lights on the way over.
The door opened. Startled, Contessa looked up into Bruce's blue eyes bright in the darkness. "What's taking you so long?"
Contessa slapped his arm when he tried to hand her out. "Don't scare me like that!"
"If you would stop sitting in the care and rescue me, I wouldn't have to scare you."
Frowning, Contessa studied him. "Are you freaking out?"
"No."
She noted his clenched jaw, the white-knuckled fist at his side, and his lack of gloating smile at his little surprise with the car door. "Yes, you are. You're always trying to get me, and when you do you never fail to rub it in."
Bruce ran his hand over his eyes. "I don't do 14 year old boys."
"I should hope not."
That got her a glare. "Sorry. Reflex." She got out of the car, went back in for her purse, then faced Bruce. "It can't be that bad."
"We've been sitting at the table for 45 minutes with nothing to say."
"I'm not that late!" She could feel the alarm on her face. "Am I?"
"No. We were early. Now help me?"
He was in a way, Contessa realized when chivalrous-to-a-fault Bruce preceded her through the back kitchen door. Sure that she could only make things more awkward, she took a deep breath and hoped that the stress didn't give any of them premature heart attacks. This is such a bad idea...
Contessa tugged self-consciously at the cuff of her blouse. And then at the end of her ponytail. And then she was smoothing the line of her slim skirt. For the third time. She chalked it up to skirts being an unusual part of her daily wardrobe, but knew that wasn't the reason at all.
"The kid's 13 and is going to be more weirded out by being in a billionaire's mansion with his weird friend than his weird friend's questionable fashion sense," she groused to herself. Still, she pulled down the vanity mirror in her little Jetta and checked her makeup for the second time--fifth if you counted checking at red lights on the way over.
The door opened. Startled, Contessa looked up into Bruce's blue eyes bright in the darkness. "What's taking you so long?"
Contessa slapped his arm when he tried to hand her out. "Don't scare me like that!"
"If you would stop sitting in the care and rescue me, I wouldn't have to scare you."
Frowning, Contessa studied him. "Are you freaking out?"
"No."
She noted his clenched jaw, the white-knuckled fist at his side, and his lack of gloating smile at his little surprise with the car door. "Yes, you are. You're always trying to get me, and when you do you never fail to rub it in."
Bruce ran his hand over his eyes. "I don't do 14 year old boys."
"I should hope not."
That got her a glare. "Sorry. Reflex." She got out of the car, went back in for her purse, then faced Bruce. "It can't be that bad."
"We've been sitting at the table for 45 minutes with nothing to say."
"I'm not that late!" She could feel the alarm on her face. "Am I?"
"No. We were early. Now help me?"
He was in a way, Contessa realized when chivalrous-to-a-fault Bruce preceded her through the back kitchen door. Sure that she could only make things more awkward, she took a deep breath and hoped that the stress didn't give any of them premature heart attacks. This is such a bad idea...