and i watched us talking in the mirror [maria]
Friday afternoon drags on longer than it really needs to, Martel feels, but that's probably got more to do with what hasn't happened yet than what already has. He finds Maria unsurprisingly quickly, and - as agreed - collects her keys from her. (And obligingly takes care not to lengthen his strides 'til she has to run to keep up with him, because ( Read more... )
"Because I have you wrapped around my little finger," Maria says, smiling. She stops in front of the car (and him) to kiss him, lingering longer than she would have in any other circumstance. It isn't fair to use your wiles on your boyfriend to get him to do what you want, but Maria only believes in fairness when it suits her purposes.
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Martel looks unconvinced - though the kissing is slightly more persuasive. "You do not." He is wrong, by the way. "Get in the car, then, if we're going."
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"Don't worry, you have my legs wrapped around your waist half the time, so it's equal," she calls over her shoulder, turning to walk around the car toward the passenger seat. By this point, Maria is used to Martel always driving her car, and maybe that's sort of weird, but it's how they work. Besides, he knows most of Minneapolis as well as she does by this point.
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Martel stares over the car at nothing in particular for a moment, as if contemplating his fate and whether or not he should just drive the car directly into a pole once he's in it. Or at least as if he's trying to convey this impression really hard at that...wall.
He does know Minneapolis well enough now, though, so when he gets in the car he doesn't have to ask for directions.
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Once in the car, she starts hemming up her uniform skirt. Because the goal of the day for Maria is apparently to look like something one would find in a very expensive fetish magazine.
"Where are my safety pins--oh, there."
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"Are you-" of course she's serious, never mind. Martel gives the car in front of him such a look.
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She props one maryjane-clad foot up on the dash, eying her leg speculatively. "Do you like the kneesocks or the garters better? The garters are a little pin-up for the whole Catholic schoolgirl thing."
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Eyes firmly on the road. "I'm really not interested in the 'Catholic schoolgirl' thing."
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"Really? Okay, just the little schoolgirl skirt thing. You don't like that at all?" She drums her fingertips against the armrest, watching him with a faint, knowing smile.
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"Your terminology's really off-putting, I'm sorry."
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"I know, I know. I'm not Catholic! Ignore all Catholic connotations. You're telling me you don't like the little flippy skirt, that's what you're saying?" She waves to the semi driver next to them, playful.
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"Not only the - do you have to do that?" You know, when she has her foot on the dashboard.
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"I guess not. Finish your sentence!" She tucks her legs down.
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Martel grumbles disagreeably under his breath instead. "Stop interrogating me about your clothes."
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"You are so sullen! Finish your sentence. Come on, please? Please please please, sir?" She makes a ridiculous kissy face at him, and then breaks off to giggle.
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"No, no, no, no. Maria." Well, if he were annoyed, he probably wouldn't mimic her, so there's that.
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