"Me? I'm all right, Freckles." Let's see, he tells himself, ain't no one tryin' to kill him: that's good. Ain't no one trying to have him arrested: that's good. Ain't no one slappin' his face and tellin' him to get lost: that's good too. Ain't no one sayin' back off, Sawyer, the Mars deal's off. As far as he's concerned, that's real good.
For just a second he raises his hand like it's magnetically attracted to her hair. It wants to feel those silky strands between his fingers, let 'em cascade over the skin on the back of his hand. Yeah, he's got a thing for how it feels and usually he spends so damn much time figurin' out how to get what he wants he don't pay no mind to those little sensual pleasures. It's always the big picture, the end game, the con, the payoff.
Funny thing though: ain't no con here. This is real stuff, and what he wants to do is move those cans of Fosters ("it's Australian for beer, mate") away and give her a kiss she ain't likely to forget.
But that thought'll keep. Or it won't. It'll be there, persistent as hell in the back of his thoughts and then when he just can't stand it no more he'll give in to it like some damn Neanderthal claimin' his woman. And then they'll see where it goes.
"So what name you think I ought to use? Got any special requests for me to consider?" That's a good enough place as any to start, and there ain't gonna be no recriminations about how she already got her passport or went out into space by her lonesome or nothin' like that. No reason for that.
no subject
For just a second he raises his hand like it's magnetically attracted to her hair. It wants to feel those silky strands between his fingers, let 'em cascade over the skin on the back of his hand. Yeah, he's got a thing for how it feels and usually he spends so damn much time figurin' out how to get what he wants he don't pay no mind to those little sensual pleasures. It's always the big picture, the end game, the con, the payoff.
Funny thing though: ain't no con here. This is real stuff, and what he wants to do is move those cans of Fosters ("it's Australian for beer, mate") away and give her a kiss she ain't likely to forget.
But that thought'll keep. Or it won't. It'll be there, persistent as hell in the back of his thoughts and then when he just can't stand it no more he'll give in to it like some damn Neanderthal claimin' his woman. And then they'll see where it goes.
"So what name you think I ought to use? Got any special requests for me to consider?" That's a good enough place as any to start, and there ain't gonna be no recriminations about how she already got her passport or went out into space by her lonesome or nothin' like that. No reason for that.