Re: Log, Ocean's Eleven, Seven Hills: Sam A & Cris M
Sam didn't get that it was fake. She didn't get artifice. Ok, so she could play at things, yeah? Like the girl in the skirt at the club in Miami, she could do that, but it was still part of her, and she couldn't play the game how he did. She didn't read the woman like he did either. She understood on this really basic fucking level that the woman wanted him, but that was all. She felt the woman's entitlement as something that crawled along the skin, yeah? But she couldn't give it a name, and she wasn't actually worried he'd go with her or whatever. It wasn't him fucking someone else that she worried about; she had a list of worries as long as her rap sheet, but that wasn't on it.
Whatever was on that list of worries blinked into nothing when he gave her that hungry look though. Just like that, and she was fucking simple. She didn't know it, just like she didn't get that she was too trusting and naive behind the words like a sailor and the willingness to call people on shit. Yeah, no, but it was easy; that look, and she was fucking gone. The pad of fingers against his lip, that shit just fueled the fire simmering under the white rows of tiny buttons.
She wasn't sure what she expected him to do with the chessboard. She knew he wasn't into creative shit, but she knew he had to make things up for Teresita, yeah? And Sam liked talking. She liked words and discussing things that didn't have to do with the fucking mess of life. Ideas, philosophies and the fictional lives of chess kings, those things said as much about a person as anything else. And, yeah, she was on shit. Anti-anxiety shit, depression shit, shit for what the doctors deemed as 301.0 - Paranoid Personality Disorder. She'd looked it up on the tablet after catching a glimpse at the file, ok? But it was all shit they were going to want to send her home with, and she just wasn't sure she was going to keep up with it; she didn't like feeling like her head was stuffed with fucking leaden cotton balls.
He sat forward, and she finished with her lips. Harlot, and she set the tube beside the queen and bit her lower lip as she considered. Red on her white teeth, and she held the queen to her chest, as if it was a big consideration. And it was, until he said he wanted to kiss her, and her mind could only focus on one thing at a time, yeah? "¿Van a botarme si te beso?" she asked, and she handed over the queen with an open palm and a teeter-chair stretch across the board.