[ As Emma all but charges from the elevator, he casts her back a flat, unimpressed look before following after her. That’s just her style he supposes. Focused. Determined. Stubborn as a mule.
Completely and utterly goddamn impossible.
He sighs quietly to himself as she admits them into their quarters, shutting the door and sliding over the latch, twisting the deadbolt lock in place. He loosens his tie again as he moves further into the room, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the bed. It’s as he’s shrugging out of his jacket that Emma makes her suggestion, and he snorts out a laugh. ]
As I recall, that was the idea.
[ And his tone is a touch meaner than he intends, but there’s just something grating about this mess. Something annoying about how Emma seems to be treating whatever that was as a giant inconvenience. Maybe he just feels insulted, like her sharpness is an affront to his skills. (He is, after all, the world’s greatest lover.)
And maybe it’s stupidly spiteful, but while he does ditch the jacket, drapes it over the back of a chair, he decides not to change. Instead, he untucks his shirt, undoes the first couple buttons at his throat. He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it thoroughly to rid himself of that slicked back style he had so carefully constructed prior to the party. The cufflinks go next, and as he plops down in a chair in front of their equipment, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
This time, he looks over at her pointedly, foregoing those fleeting, embarrassed little glances, almost like he’s daring her to comment. ]
no subject
Completely and utterly goddamn impossible.
He sighs quietly to himself as she admits them into their quarters, shutting the door and sliding over the latch, twisting the deadbolt lock in place. He loosens his tie again as he moves further into the room, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the bed. It’s as he’s shrugging out of his jacket that Emma makes her suggestion, and he snorts out a laugh. ]
As I recall, that was the idea.
[ And his tone is a touch meaner than he intends, but there’s just something grating about this mess. Something annoying about how Emma seems to be treating whatever that was as a giant inconvenience. Maybe he just feels insulted, like her sharpness is an affront to his skills. (He is, after all, the world’s greatest lover.)
And maybe it’s stupidly spiteful, but while he does ditch the jacket, drapes it over the back of a chair, he decides not to change. Instead, he untucks his shirt, undoes the first couple buttons at his throat. He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it thoroughly to rid himself of that slicked back style he had so carefully constructed prior to the party. The cufflinks go next, and as he plops down in a chair in front of their equipment, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
This time, he looks over at her pointedly, foregoing those fleeting, embarrassed little glances, almost like he’s daring her to comment. ]
Waitin’ on you, Cullen.