"So why were you at Jefferson Hall?" I ask.
We were walking down a mostly abandoned campus street at the moment, her with a seemingly guided purpose, and me just following her around aimlessly.
"You know, waiting for you to walk down that specific hallway, just so I could stumble out, have you see me, and then fuck you in an elevator," she deadpans, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at me. Her hair was long and black again, making her seem more carefree, and her green eyes glimmered with a mischief that told me this night was far from over.
"Your plan worked exceedingly well, then," I chuckle, earning a dry laugh from her. I was running out of things to say, but I didn't want her to leave because I didn't know when I would be able to see her again. "So where're you from?"
She didn't answer. She continued to trail in front of me, her suede stiletto heels hanging from her fingertips. Her black shirt had started riding up with each of her steps, the revealed skin sending a shudder through me as I remembered how it felt against my hands.
"I'm a native Washingtonian," I tell her, offering up meaningless information in a futile hope that she would trust me enough to reply. We both had secrets, and I didn't need to know all of hers. I just wanted her to stop pushing me away when we both wanted the opposite. "My parents moved here after my grandma died. I was two and barely understood what was going on. All I knew was that we had traded some pretty cool woods for a lot of buildings."
"I like the city," she finally says, stopping my avalanching from continuing. "It's always pulsing with some kind of life."
"I can't argue with that," I agreed, taking a few quick steps to fall into line with her. I brushed my hand against hers lightly, reaching to take her heels from her hand. She let them go with little protest, and I slung them over my back as we continued to walk. Exhaustion seemed to cling to her actions, so the suggestion presented itself without my permission.
"My place isn't that far from here," I commented, looking around as if I needed affirmation. "We can head back there."
She gave me an incredulous look that made me realize I needed to incentivize her further. "I can make dinner."
"Well?" she questions, curiosity etched into her face.
"Well enough for a couple professional chefs that taught me," I respond, trying and failing to keep a smirk off my face.
"Fine," she assents, and it becomes nearly impossible to stop the wide grin from spreading across my face.
Calm the fuck down, Everett. You're losing all the game you have.
