26.3.1 What's this all about?
"Well, what's this all about?"
Pamela just grinned at him. Cheeky.
One leg crossed over the other, arms folded, she was just sitting the way she always did. Only this time she was sitting in his lap. She'd plopped down there after the boys had left, after spending most of the conversation leaning against the wall by the fireplace with her arms crossed over her chest. And then she'd gone and sat in his lap, draping an arm around his shoulders.
Much to his considerable bemusement.
"Pamela..."
"What?" Her pretty hazel eyes all wide and innocent. "Can't a girl spend some quality time with an old friend?"
Bobby huffed and grumbled, but deigned to drape an arm over her knees and make a semblance of an embrace out of it. Actually, she thought he seemed a little embarrassed.
"I ain't up for much, you know," he told her, eyeing her like he thought she might try to grope him or something.
Pam chuckled, kissed his forehead. "You're up for plenty, Bobby-boy."
The conversation got somewhat less awkward, after that. And lasted for a good three hours at least. Till the sun was down and the air had gotten cold, and they'd pulled a couple blankets around them both.
It wasn't much. But it was what she could give him, and maybe better than a rousing lecture on what exactly he could do, confined to a wheelchair. Just treating him as she always had, a little flirty, a little playful. Pushing the boundaries, never passing the comfort zone. Quality time with an old friend, the subtext of the message clearly intended, at least, and she hoped it was clearly read. Not useless. Never useless, and certainly not unwanted.
Not while she was around, anyway.
Bobby is maninflannel, used without permission but with lots of love.
Pamela just grinned at him. Cheeky.
One leg crossed over the other, arms folded, she was just sitting the way she always did. Only this time she was sitting in his lap. She'd plopped down there after the boys had left, after spending most of the conversation leaning against the wall by the fireplace with her arms crossed over her chest. And then she'd gone and sat in his lap, draping an arm around his shoulders.
Much to his considerable bemusement.
"Pamela..."
"What?" Her pretty hazel eyes all wide and innocent. "Can't a girl spend some quality time with an old friend?"
Bobby huffed and grumbled, but deigned to drape an arm over her knees and make a semblance of an embrace out of it. Actually, she thought he seemed a little embarrassed.
"I ain't up for much, you know," he told her, eyeing her like he thought she might try to grope him or something.
Pam chuckled, kissed his forehead. "You're up for plenty, Bobby-boy."
The conversation got somewhat less awkward, after that. And lasted for a good three hours at least. Till the sun was down and the air had gotten cold, and they'd pulled a couple blankets around them both.
It wasn't much. But it was what she could give him, and maybe better than a rousing lecture on what exactly he could do, confined to a wheelchair. Just treating him as she always had, a little flirty, a little playful. Pushing the boundaries, never passing the comfort zone. Quality time with an old friend, the subtext of the message clearly intended, at least, and she hoped it was clearly read. Not useless. Never useless, and certainly not unwanted.
Not while she was around, anyway.
Bobby is maninflannel, used without permission but with lots of love.