Friday, June 1, 2012

Flash Fiction Friday - 6/1/12

"I know immature is your middle name, but what's mine?"

Lucky's smile was roguish, and that made it dangerous. I took a step back and pretended to mull it over, all the while checking for escape routes.

Three. One out the backdoor, one out the front, and one out the window.

"Trouble," I told him, trying to match his grin with one of my own. By the way his lips stretched farther, I decided I'd failed.

Or he just liked his nickname.

"Besides," I continued, not giving him time to respond, "how am I immature?"

"Please." Lucky snorted. "You've been playing games with me since we met. A mature woman would just give me a straight yes or no answer, so I can move on with my life either way."

My jaw dropped. "I already told you no! You don't want a straight yes or no answer! You want to keep playing the game!" "I'm hurt by that."

"You're epitomized by that."

"Ooh, a four-syllable word. Think you're better than me now?"

I couldn't even sputter out an answer to that, and he laughed. "Moira Bentley, at a loss for words? I'm shocked."

"You're an ass!"

He laughed again. "And you're easy to wind up. Maybe you'd be better at this if you could keep your cool. Or is it just me that riles you up?"

I wondered if he'd go away if I ignored him. Sometimes guys did, but Lucky seemed just persistent enough to take it as a further challenge. So instead I gave him an order he couldn't refuse, "Leave me alone, Lucky."

Defiance crept into his eyes, but the compulsion was already in place, too strong for him to resist. "That was low," he said, face clenching as he struggled against his body's desires.

I shrugged, trying not to reflect how much it cost me to put him in this position. "Maybe now you'll remember that I always have the upper hand."

Hurt flickered across his face. "Yeah," he said, disappointment evident in his voice and posture and everything. "I won't make the mistake of forgetting again, your Majesty."

I hated the way he called me that.

I kept my face neutral as I cocked an eyebrow at him, and his shoulders slumped in resignation. "For how long?" he asked, looking at his shoes.

"Three days." Enough for a slap on the wrist and a reminder that we weren't equals, no matter what he thought.

"Yes, ma'am."

I let him stay just long enough to make sure my backup guard was in place, and when he was gone, I slumped into a chair and put my head in my hands. "Can I get you anything, your Majesty?" the guard asked, respectful and polite, exactly the way he was supposed to be.

"No. Thank you."

"Of course."

And he resumed his post. No banter or side comments, no flirting, no jokes.

A professional.

Just what I wanted.