She don't know: that makes two of 'em. Slowly, he shakes his head; he can feel a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Damn, baby, he wants to say, ain't we a sorry pair.
What the hell's he doin'? He ain't the one who gets all serious over this stuff. No, he's smooth and suave and saunters right in the door whether it's open or closed and takes exactly what he wants. Damn the consequences; he'll figure out a game plan and go for it. So what if his partner in crime ain't sure what the play is? They'll work it out.
Again, he shakes his head and now the smile gets a little bit bigger. That raw moment of open and painful honesty's passed and he's damn glad about it too. Now he can be the old Sawyer. The one who plays I Never, the one who takes revenge on boars and tree frogs, the one who won't sell or give away his rightful spot on the damn raft.
The one Freckles gave herself to 'cause she wanted to, not 'cause he conned it out of her.
"So, Miss Secret-Keeper." His thumb traces the fullness of her lower lip: back and forth, back and forth. "You don't know and I don't know. That means we get to make it up as we go along." Screw the picture in his pocket. That thing doesn't get to weigh him down, not on his watch. Leaning forward, he lets his lips follow the path of his thumb. She don't want this, she'll let him know. And if she does want it, then so much the better.
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What the hell's he doin'? He ain't the one who gets all serious over this stuff. No, he's smooth and suave and saunters right in the door whether it's open or closed and takes exactly what he wants. Damn the consequences; he'll figure out a game plan and go for it. So what if his partner in crime ain't sure what the play is? They'll work it out.
Again, he shakes his head and now the smile gets a little bit bigger. That raw moment of open and painful honesty's passed and he's damn glad about it too. Now he can be the old Sawyer. The one who plays I Never, the one who takes revenge on boars and tree frogs, the one who won't sell or give away his rightful spot on the damn raft.
The one Freckles gave herself to 'cause she wanted to, not 'cause he conned it out of her.
"So, Miss Secret-Keeper." His thumb traces the fullness of her lower lip: back and forth, back and forth. "You don't know and I don't know. That means we get to make it up as we go along." Screw the picture in his pocket. That thing doesn't get to weigh him down, not on his watch. Leaning forward, he lets his lips follow the path of his thumb. She don't want this, she'll let him know. And if she does want it, then so much the better.