Re: Quicklog, DC: Clem M/Shane A
Just like you, not coming prepared, honey. [That smirk was something from memory. No one smirked like that clear across the country where her daddy stashed her away while her belly was big. Heck, no one dressed like that out there neither. Life was real pristine out in England's countryside, and Shane was the plain opposite of pristine. It made her feel a whole lot better, like she was thumbing her nose at her daddy from across the hotel and the universe and any other old place the world felt like tossing her. Point was, Shane wasn't nothing like the boys back home. Heck, even Graham wasn't, not the boys she spent time with. She thought that made her like them better than she ought.
He laughed different too; like he meant it. Polite was what she'd been hearing for twelve-straight months, and she liked the loud music in the clubs plenty, because it meant she didn't have to hear what those damn fool boys were whispering in her ear. She didn't give a damn what they had to say, come the end of the night. She wanted adoring and dancing, and she didn't want a lick of their opinions.
He padded the couch, but that drink came first.] I know how to be a hostess. Don't you go criticizing, sugar. [And she did know. Etiquette training had been real important, and she could play the part real well when she wanted to. Yellow walked into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later. A pretty little silver tray in her hand, her drink next to something in a tumbler for him. Scotch, real expensive, and a silver case with imported smokes in. She set it all on the coffee table beside his boots, and then she sat, body toward his and knees on the cushy couch. It was young sitting, elbow on the back and she smelled like Savannah - Chanel No. 5 and ozone and something like limes - as she leaned closer.]