Pillowtalk | D. O'B.

6. Stay*

She blinks, eyes falling across his face as he finally meets her eye.

"And then I finished this," he adds, and despite herself, she's tempted to smile.

"Alone?" she questions, and his smirk grows.

"Alone."

That shouldn't make her as pleased as it does, but it does, and she rolls her head forward again to look up at the sky. Stop fucking smiling, dumbass, she demands of herself, but it's too late.

She's smiling, he's smiling...but neither of them speaks.

Not until...

"So...will there be a second date?" she questions, still gazing up at the clouds, attempting to sound nonchalant. "I mean, just because you really should get out there more. Branch out...you know."

He hums to himself. "Nah, I don't think so. She was nice, but...not really my type."

She smirks. "Oh? Didn't think you had a type. Just...anyone interested."

He rolls his eyes as he picks up his pen. "Yeah, well...apparently, my type is bossy and shit at climbing up trees."

She scoffs, moving her head back to the side so she can glare at him. "For your information, jackass, it was your idea to sneak through the window—"

"No, it was my idea to sneak through the front door, but you thought you were a spider monkey or some shit—"

"I can get up the tree just fine, it's just the getting down part—"

"Right, that's the problem," he snorts, and she purses her lips together smugly.

"Fuck you," she retorts, glancing back up. "And I am not your type."

"Rory," he sighs then, and she looks over. "You're the only type I'll ever have."

He's not trying to be sentimental or even profess something for the sake of making her swoon. In fact, he's not even looking at her, still scribbling things onto his notepad as he tells her this, completely casual and relaxed as if telling her the weather.

And yet...her heart skips a beat.

She knows he means it. Knows that he believes it through and through.

She wants to tell herself that it's only because of the sex. The meaningless, really fucking good sex that she was giving him for free, with no expectations or conditions.

She wants to tell herself that this is his version of rebelling. Dating the girl with no future, the girl that peaked in high school, the girl who everyone thinks is pitying him by sleeping with him.

She wants to tell herself that he doesn't realize what he really wants because he's too dumb to see that he can do so much better than her.

But despite the reasons she's created to convince herself that he really doesn't mean it...she sits up.

She sits up, crawls over to where he's sitting on the grass and kneels beside him.

She takes his face between her hands, turning his head away from the computer as he blinks, looking over her expression with furrowed brows.

Then...she kisses him.

It feels like far longer than two weeks and for the first time, she can't remember why it was so important to convince him that she didn't care about him in the first place.

Because this...she really fucking missed this. She missed the way his breath hitches when she touches him, missed the way he grabs onto her hips to pull her down into him, missed the way he bites her bottom lip.