Chapter 10
“I was unaware Buffy had such a charming boyfriend,” Rupert said playfully the following day, driving himself and Spike to work.
Spike gritted his teeth at the reminder, having lost a lot of sleep the night before thinking about Angel and what his head would look like stuffed and mounted over the crapper.
“Might have been good information to have ahead of time, yeah.” Spike glanced at his uncle briefly before he took a drag off his smoke. This was his fourth one, and he’d only been awake for an hour.
“She’s never spoken of him or at least if she has, I didn’t remember. I’m sorry, Spike. That must have been…well, I’d say awkward, but somehow that doesn’t seem to do it justice.”
Spike looked at the stick shift between them, staring at it absentmindedly as he let those words sink in.
“How long have you known Buffy and Joyce?”
“Well, let’s see. I met Joyce not long after I moved here, almost five years now. I met Buffy shortly thereafter.”
“And she never said anything about Angel?”
Rupert’s eyes narrowed as he tried to recall if he’d heard the name before. “You know, Joyce has mentioned an Angel before, how she thanked God he was there for Buffy, and such. I had honestly thought she was simply expressing her spirituality,” he said, starting to snicker. His joviality sobered when he finally caught on that Spike wasn’t in the mood to joke.
“No, Buffy has never mentioned him to me. Then again, she is seventeen years old and I am old enough to be her father. No reason for her to tell me anything.”
Spike smiled at that, his hope lingering, mouth twisting to hide it at the last second.
“They’ve been dating for three years, can you believe that? Huh,” he said, laughing quietly when a very dangerous thought seeped into his brain and started plotting. “She put up with that wanker for three years. He doesn’t think she’s good enough to get into that school. Can you believe the nerve of him to say that shit to her?”
“Spike, let it go.”
“Let what go?” he said defensively, sucking on his cigarette hard. “Not doing anything!”
“That’s right you’re not, because if you even think of doing something foolish…those consequences still apply.”
He let out an annoyed puff of air and turned his face to the window, grumbling under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said I only wanted to punch him a few times and teach him a lesson!”
“Your methods of teaching are precisely what I want you to avoid. Let’s not forget that we have to report to a probation officer every month. Any mess up, Spike, and you’re on the next plane back home and off to jail again. I won’t be able to help you if that’s the case.”
“I know, I know,” he said, getting more and more frustrated. The looming threat of leaving LA and going back to Latchmere House plagued his thoughts almost as much as thoughts of Buffy did. Her Majesty may not be so kind the second time around, and Spike might just wind up in Wandsworth if he wasn’t careful. “You don’t have to keep reminding me!”
Rupert sighed, raising his hand from the window frame to rub his forehead, staring at the bumper-to-bumper traffic in front of them. They sat in uncomfortable silence, save the one time Rupert shouted and laid his hand on the horn when his wits started to fray. He finally turned on the radio.
The traffic was awful. It was always awful, but today it was just obscene. Spike lit his fifth cigarette. Rupert was notably testy, too, and Spike figured now would be a good time to ask him how his evening went with Joyce since they had time to kill, but he was afraid of the backlash if he asked during such a stressful moment.
However, boredom won over Spike’s hesitation, and so he said, “Where was Hank?”
Rupert turned up the volume on the radio, pretending not to hear. Spike smiled and looked straight ahead, taking a puff.
“So he’s an investor,” Spike continued anyway, nodding as if impressed. “Must be a cush job to afford such a big fucking house. I wonder how many bedrooms it has.”
Rupert sighed in annoyance. “He travels. I believe he’s in Spain right now, purchasing another hotel. Or a cruise liner. Perhaps he’s having mink and sable quilts made for him by child laborers. Who knows?”
“Is he gone often?”
“For several months out of the year, yes.” The car moved forward three feet and stopped again, rocking back and forth when Rupert slammed on the brakes. “This traffic is unbelievable!”
“Several months. Hmm. Bet that’s hard on Joyce, not having a man to share her bed every night. Must get lonely.”
“I imagine it does.” Rupert smiled mischievously. “Bet she tosses and turns in that great big bed every night,” he grumbled. “Serves her right.”
Spike looked at his uncle’s profile abruptly, his suspicious eyebrow rising. “How do you know she’s got a big bed?”
Rupert turned the stereo up even more, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Spike chuckled, shaking his head with a familiar appreciation he reserved for the man he had always looked up to. “You old dog.”
“I have no idea what you might be referring to.”
* * *
This would be the last day Buffy had to come to the store. She’d be back at school the following day, surrounded by her friends and Angel, far away from the bother of Spike’s presence.
He was terrified that this would be the end of any chance he’d have with her, and was finally able to admit to himself that he had it bad for Buffy Summers. He had it so bad he wasn’t thinking clearly. He had it so bad that when she entered the shop just then wearing a pretty black sundress and red flats, when she looked up and smiled at him as if they were the only two people in the entire world, he could have sworn his knees trembled.
This was an awful place for Spike to be, standing on the edge of the pit of no return, the endless fall of love. His toes were dangling over the abyss and he couldn’t yet bring himself to look down. It was tempting, though.
When her fingers came up to tuck her bouncing, shining hair behind her ears, when her eyelashes slowly lowered and opened as if in a dream, he wondered if he was doing this to himself on purpose. If he’d only allowed himself to feel it after he knew she was spoken for. If he were always making things more difficult than they needed to be.
“Hello, Buffy,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets and chewing on his lip in an unusually shy manner. Bold hadn’t done the trick, maybe this shit would work.
She smiled sweetly, her shoulders widening when she clasped her hands behind her back and swayed a bit. “Hey.” Her eyes remained on him as she walked past to the break room, her smile never waning.
Something was different. Something was very different.
He followed her into the break room, watching her carefully as she dropped her large, fabric shoulder bag on the table. She inhaled slowly and folded her arms as she turned to face him.
“So…”
“Yep.”
Buffy twirled a lock of hair, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I’ve uh…got some school work to do today.”
“Cool, cool,” he said, nodding to fill in the gaps. “Not practicing today?”
“I mean, I’d like to but…I have a lot to catch up on.”
Still nodding like a bobble head, Spike toed the peeled-back corner of a tile on the floor.
“Right, probably stuck in here all day then.”
“Yeah, probably,” she said, laughing awkwardly. “Stupid homework.”
He took a step back, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “So…I guess I’ll head to the back. Let you get started on it.”
“Yeah, I mean…whatever.” She shrugged one shoulder and chewed on her upper lip. He thought she might say something else, but she didn’t, so he backed away to the door.
“I’ll just be in the back room. If you—if anyone needs, not that you’d need me but, if, uh, if you do, that’s where I’ll be.” He could not find the off button for his mouth in time to stop that disaster of a reply. This was a crash-landing of failure.
She laughed and sat down at the table. “Ok, Spike. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He put his hands in his pockets. Stood a second longer. Then he shook his head and walked to the back room.
“The fuck was that about?” he said to himself, opening up a cardboard box. “What’s wrong with you, man?”
It seemed as if the moment he realized that he felt something more for this girl other than the uprightness of his cock, all his confidence flew out the window. It was driving him insane! Why couldn’t he think of what to say to her now without sounding like an idiot? If he didn’t man up by the end of the day, he’d fuck it all up for sure. This was not the day for him to be a pussy!
Maybe he could use a soda.
When he went back to the break room, he pretended that his purpose had not been to talk to her. In fact, he didn’t even look at her as he walked past her to the fridge and opened it. He looked over at her once he was safely behind her out of view, drumming his fingers on the metal door before he turned to check out the selection inside the fridge.
There was grape soda, two bottles of water, half a pitcher of something orange, and a Diet Slice way in the back. He grabbed the bottle of water and the Diet Slice. Quite a bounty to show his mate.
“Want one?” His offerings dangled in front of her face as he stood behind her. She craned her head back to look up at him, smiling.
“Thank you.” She took the bottle of water, which he knew she would, and he walked around the table to sit beside her. He cracked the can open and sucked off the fizz noisily.
“What’s that, Geometry?” He took a large sip, pointing to her opened book with his chin.
“No, Algebra II. You wouldn’t happen to be a math genius, would you?”
He gave her a cynical purse of his lips in reply.
She laughed softly. “Can’t blame a girl for tryin’!”
She tapped her pencil on the edge of the table and looked down at her book. Then it slipped out of her grasp and skidded across the table. He caught it before it fell to the floor and handed it to her. She smiled slightly in thanks before her focus turned to her book, and he started bobbing his knees up and down anxiously.
When another awkward minute passed with the two of them sipping their drinks and not saying a word, Spike finally had his fill of it.
“This is awkward now. Why is it awkward?”
She sat back fully in her chair and crossed one leg over the other towards him. “Was it ever not awkward?”
He snickered and scratched the side of his head. “I guess you’re right. I had fun with you last night,” he offered as a good starting point to end this ridiculous unease.
“You did?”
“Course I did. You’re fun when you’re bitchy.” He smiled boyishly at her.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
There it was again, that weird something crackling between them, making it difficult to do or say anything. It felt as if his mouth were filled with cotton balls and his hands were on speed because he couldn’t stop fucking with things on the table like some sort of toddler.
Buffy scooted her chair forward so she was more comfortably positioned, cleared her throat, and then she started on her homework once more.
“I like your shoes,” he said lamely.
She looked at him through her eyelashes, smiling prettily. Then she tilted her head to look down at her now extended and pointed foot. “Yeah, they are kinda cute, huh?”
He nodded, scratched his chest and took the last sip of his soda. This was it, no more reason to sit here any longer. He crumpled it in his hand, tossed and made it into the trashcan across the room, and then rubbed his thighs. “Well, I’m off.”
As he rose to stand up, Buffy did too, her fingers linking and unlinking together, her chest rising and falling.
“So, um…I know you probably think it’s lame and you’d probably hate it anyway, but I thought I’d, y’know, ask you if…”
Spike felt a tingling, warming sensation bloom from the center of his chest. She was fucking adorable.
She fidgeted with the inner crease of her elbow. “Well, my friends are throwing this party? Um, it’s next weekend.”
He took a step towards her, smiling contentedly. “And?”
“And…I thought maybe…y’know, because you don’t have any friends or anything, that you’d like to come.”
He snorted. “I’ve got friends,” he said, offended.
Buffy’s eyes widened instantaneously and her hand landed on his bicep as she rushed to say, “No, I didn’t mean it that way! Just…here. You don’t have any friends here.”
Spike’s shoulders relaxed, but his pout had yet to evaporate. Then he realized she was still touching his arm and he smiled again.
“So you’re asking me on a date, then?”
“Not a date! Just friends. Going to a party together. As friends. Still with the having a boyfriend over here.” She swallowed.
He folded his arms with as much masculinity as he could muster and lifted his chin. “Will Angel be there?”
“He’s uh…” She turned away slightly, scratching the side of her head. “No. He won’t be there. So anyway, you want to come?” She quickly turned back around, peeking up at him hopefully with her big eyes, as if he’d say no. He didn’t miss that she was hiding something, but it didn’t matter. She’d asked him out on a date whether she could admit it to herself or not.
“Sure, kitten. I’ll come with you.”
He wished he could paint the smile she had right then, wished he were an artist, that he had some hidden, innate talent to help capture her image and immortalize her. He’d have to go an entire week without the reminder before he saw her again.
“Cool,” she said casually. “So, I guess I’ll call you later and we can uh…y’know, work out the details.”
His confidence was returning. The pussy boy within had shriveled away until it turned to dust with a girlish cry. His back arched slightly as if his crotch had built in radar for the girl he wanted, his eyelids lowered, his lips puffed out, and he took one of her trembling hands in his and jerked her forward. The shocked gasp she emitted turned into an almost silent whimper when he kissed the palm of her hand, then turned it over to kiss the back of it.
“Thanks for the invite,” he said, all smoky and full of promises, thumb caressing the pulse point of her wrist.
She swallowed and her head nodded a fraction of an inch.
His lips hovered over her knuckles as he looked her in the eyes. “Don’t call too late, though. Unless you want me to sing you off to sleep.” He kissed her hand a third time and lowered it, sweeping his fingers down her palm before he finally released it.
“Ok,” she said softly, her hands now curling beneath her chin, eyes wide and nervous, curious, and a bit frightened. Best look in the world.
“See you at lunchtime.” He smiled like a boy who didn’t know how to behave, swaggering backwards and out of the room.
“That’s right, motherfuckers,” he said to himself when he was in the back room again, ripping up boxes, sneering and cocky and damn proud to be a man. “Spike’s still got it.”