Well damn. This iss going to get down right embarassing if this keeeps up.
And, as always when her head became fuddled by Royce, Charlie started blurting out exactly what was on her mind. "You know, you need to give me some sort of warning before you do something like... like that," she finally said reproachfully, as if he had snuck up behind her and said "boo" instead of complimenting her. The proverbial butterflies were no longer in her stomach, but were instead shooting straight up to her brain and interfering with its normal business. "I can't... I can't think if you just... you know, say such... things... such ridiculous... like that... This is all your fault, you know," she finished, gesturing to herself in a single sweep that was meant to encompass the stammer and anything else adding up to her current state of idiocy.
Charlie couldn't really look at him without losing it again (not that she really had it now), but she chanced a quick glance to realize that he was standing alarmingly close, now. If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch his... well, almost anything of his, and for a long second wondered how he could walk around in little more than a tee beneath a long-sleeved shirt in the middle of November, and entertained the thought of him taking just one step forward and wrapping his arms around her because he looked like he should have been cold, but she was more than warm in her flannel shirt and hoodie, but considered removing the latter so she could push her sleeves up and actually touch his skin for the firm time, wondering how cold he might be, and... and promptly stopped that line of thought as she realized that her hand was twitching with the desire to close the gap between them.
Good grief, Doyle, get a hold of yourself! she ordered silently. Before it could decide whether or not it wanted to obey her, she stuffed her hands under her arms and held them tightly to her sides. Of course, that only made her imagine them being Royce's hands, which of course made her think of-
No. Behave. It would hardly do to have Royce think we're crazy, right?
Of course, when one began to argue with her own limb and speak in the plural form about herself, one had to actually question whether Royce thinking she was crazy wasn't all that incorrect in the first place?
In the meantime, Royce was talking about... wait, what was he talking about? Oh, cookies. Complimenting them? Why do that? It's store-brand cookie dough, easy enough to make. And as she opened her mouth to tell him as much...
Rosey said she had other things to do so I guess it'll just be me and you. I mean, if you're comfortable with that.
Well, now. Down right embarassing indeed.
"YesImcomfortablewiththat," she said all at once, but her voice came out more like a squeak than an actual human's voice. Her heart was thundering in her chest and her face must have been tomato red by now. What on earth was going on with her?
With a groan, she collapsed on her desk, hiding her face under her arms.
"I'm okay," she mumbled from underneath her arms. "I'm just, you know, having a mental breakdown. Nothing to worry about."
What must Royce be thinking of all this? Is he having second thoughts about that kiss? Is he thinking of making a run for it?