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"That's the guy that stole my job, isn't it." It wasn't a question.

She responded with a look first, "...Yeah. But he didn't get your woman. ..And he never will."

It hit kind of like a brick to the stomach, sucked the air up and out of him, left him with only enough to offer a chiding laugh. I love her, man. ...What does that mean?

He went back to filing. Mindless repetition. Gave him time to think. To think about more than the games in his hand, or the sleeves they went into. Still, he couldn't get his mind off the way her hand felt against his side. That subtle, caring touch. It said nothing, to most. But to him, it said everything. ...didn't get your woman.

There it was. Thrust so casually out as if it meant nothing. Echoes. This may be bad timing, but... ...Who am I kidding here? I can't imagine a day passing without talking to you that I would enjoy. It isn't very often that I'm not thinking about you...smiling. Another smile, bigger this time. I love you and I'm not going to make you think its one-sided when its not. ...going to steal you.

He looked over his shoulder at her, watched her nose scrunch up, watched the way she bobbed her head left and right, counting as she took in breath. Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-ei.. "Twelveteen."

He offered, as if he were helping. Of course, he was just trying to be a distraction, that same grin still there, hanging at the corners of his mouth. If you're still available...

It still felt as if he'd been suckerpunched. She meant it. Everything she'd said. When she said she loved him, when she told him she wanted him, that she was his woman. All of it. She really meant that. ...I'm not old, dammit.

The grin grew wider still, and he reached over to poke her side. She squirmed, jumped and gave a little half-squeal, 'Stoppat!' She insisted, trying not to laugh. Her lips twisted as she glowered with mock severity, her cheeks filled with high colour.

"My knees hurt," she pouted, light, playful.

"Whyzat?"

"'cause I'm old."

A roll of his eyes, "You're not old," he insisted, staring at her. Couldn't help himself.

"You make me feel old," she shot back, walking to the counter.

When he joined her, he bumped shoulders, peering at her profile, "Well, that's okay. I make you feel young when it counts."

She couldn't stop the grin, couldn't help but turn her head away. Embarrassed? "You make me feel sexy."

She faced him.

His eyebrow arched, "You are sexy."

Description
"That's the guy that stole my job, isn't it." It wasn't a question.

She responded with a look first, "...Yeah. But he didn't get your woman. ..And he never will."

It hit kind of like a brick to the stomach, sucked the air up and out of him, left him with only enough to offer a chiding laugh. I love her, man. ...What does that mean?

He went back to filing. Mindless repetition. Gave him time to think. To think about more than the games in his hand, or the sleeves they went into. Still, he couldn't get his mind off the way her hand felt against his side. That subtle, caring touch. It said nothing, to most. But to him, it said everything. ...didn't get your woman.

There it was. Thrust so casually out as if it meant nothing. Echoes. This may be bad timing, but... ...Who am I kidding here? I can't imagine a day passing without talking to you that I would enjoy. It isn't very often that I'm not thinking about you...smiling. Another smile, bigger this time. I love you and I'm not going to make you think its one-sided when its not. ...going to steal you.

He looked over his shoulder at her, watched her nose scrunch up, watched the way she bobbed her head left and right, counting as she took in breath. Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-ei.. "Twelveteen."

He offered, as if he were helping. Of course, he was just trying to be a distraction, that same grin still there, hanging at the corners of his mouth. If you're still available...

It still felt as if he'd been suckerpunched. She meant it. Everything she'd said. When she said she loved him, when she told him she wanted him, that she was his woman. All of it. She really meant that. ...I'm not old, dammit.

The grin grew wider still, and he reached over to poke her side. She squirmed, jumped and gave a little half-squeal, 'Stoppat!' She insisted, trying not to laugh. Her lips twisted as she glowered with mock severity, her cheeks filled with high colour.

"My knees hurt," she pouted, light, playful.

"Whyzat?"

"'cause I'm old."

A roll of his eyes, "You're not old," he insisted, staring at her. Couldn't help himself.

"You make me feel old," she shot back, walking to the counter.

When he joined her, he bumped shoulders, peering at her profile, "Well, that's okay. I make you feel young when it counts."

She couldn't stop the grin, couldn't help but turn her head away. Embarrassed? "You make me feel sexy."

She faced him.

His eyebrow arched, "You are sexy."