We're awkward, she muses as she looks into his retreating form. He was wearing a beanie, and she had to admit the moment he joined their group, sullen and weathered, wearing a black trench coat, she can't help but feel her pulse quicken.
San Francisco was bitterly cold and wet and foreboding, but not his spirit.
Occasionally he would turn around and give her a look, as if saying why are you walking behind me? But she made no attempts in trying to change the situation. If this was a normal day, it would be her walking ahead, and he'll be the one chasing.
It felt kind of weird, seeing him on her place.
He looked back for the nth time, gave her the best death glare he could manage, and failing miserably.
"I get the feeling that you're avoiding my company," he kept walking, still looking at her, never minding if he'd bump into something or someone.
"In case you haven't noticed, I do," she retorts, "Eyes on the street James."
He turns, facing her while walking backwards, an honest smile plastered on his goddamn face.
"Shoot, only got eyes on you," he teases before breaking into a grin. Does he have any idea how much she liked the way his eyes crinkle when he does that?
"Funny," she fakes a laugh. He tips his head and gives her a thoughtful look.
"That was supposed to make you blush,"
That did the trick. She did blush alright, damn James.
