Read Between the Lies : Chapter 2
Fic!
14A/ Gossip Girl/ DAIR.
Once she reads Inside, Blair cannot get Dan out of her head. She realizes the only way to deal with her feelings is to follow the same advice her gave to her when she wanted chuck: wear him down, become avoidable, and to drive him crazy.
Chapters: 1,
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With the sudden realization of feelings, she has to avoid him. She cannot take seeing him and acting like friends, and she shudders at the thought of it. She wants more, now and takes every measure to avoid him. Making excuses when he texts to plan Brooklyn outings, or more movie nights.
She doesn’t expect to see him at one of Lily’s parties, hosted in a local club. She doesn’t even feel pretty, in the floor length black dress, but he approaches her none the less, and the effect is mesmerizing. She can’t look away from him as he comes towards her, and she feels her whole body relax, and tense up at the same time. Nerves speed through her, butterflies take flight in her abdomen, she feels like the luckiest, most beautiful girl, and yet, she can’t help wanting so much more.
“Hey stranger,” he smiles, “How’s your transfer application to Yale going?” he asks, and has clearly been paying attention to her excuses to not hang out.
“If you need someone to look it over,” he offers his editing skills and she drags him to the bar, and she wants to tell him everything, about how stressed she is, how she wishes they could watch movies together, and how she would even stoop so low as to go to Brooklyn coffee shops for distraction, but she can’t make the words leave, he’s silenced her and she can feel her courage leaving, every time his eyes glance over her. In her heart, she knows she has to stop avoiding him, but she can’t bear this moment now, suffocating in his attention.
“I can help you,” he promises, nudging her with his shoulder. She snaps at the immediate touch and needs to have her hands all over him. She turns her attention back to him and evaluates his look. The skinny tie ( she’ll pretend she hates,) his hair sprinkled with gel, three day old writer’s stubble, and a fantastic black blazer with red silk lined lapels. She wonders where he found the fashionable piece, and uses it as yet another reason to touch him.
“Let’s don’t talk about that,” she teases, imitating Daisy, making her voice all 1920s, as if she was just another character in a Fitzgerald novel, and in any second she would transform into a flapper dress, and Dan would be her distraught, terribly disturbed, yet stylish and rich husband. Even that would be greater than reality, for she would have him.
“You know,” she begins, her fingers edging up the side of his lapel, caressing the silk, “Oscar De La Renta introduced this look, the lined lapels, it wasn’t widely successful at first,” her fingertips dance across his chest as she moves her focus to the left side, caressing the silk, she can feel his breath on her face, and doesn’t have to look up to know his eyes are fixed on her.
“But this red is fantastic, what hipster dive did you find this in? Please tell me it’s not vintage, or unwashed from some second hand drab store-,” she meets his gaze, as her palm presses into his chest, still holding onto the silk of the lapel. She looses her breath for a split second and avoids the impulse to pull him in until their lips meet. She knows, that she should have taken her hands off of him when she mentioned the second hand stores. That would be like her, that is what she would do, but she can’t deny that loving him is changing her. She hates how much of a better person she’s becoming.
“I uh...Nate...he...lent.. it to me,” he seems to stutter the words, but she’s sure she’s just nervous and it seems like forever in between his words, the pauses tortuously long. She meets his gaze and smiles, thinks of a billion compliments: it looks fantastic, it looks horrible: you should take it off, it’s so soft, I love the feeling of the silk, you look better in it than Nate ever could, you make me hot, and chooses yet another, more suitable one.
“You clean up nice Humphrey,” she tries, aware of every beat of his heart beneath her hand. She doesn’t care if anyone sees them, and if anyone mentions it, she’ll lie and say she was giving him fashion advice. Nothing can ruin this moment, she realizes, and she catches her self thinking that avoiding him might not be the best plan. Rather, that she won’t be able to avoid him because he’s too irresistible to her. Her eyes gravitate to his lips before she can help herself and she forces herself to keep his gaze, reluctantly avoiding the urge to yank his lapels and catch his mouth in hers.
“Thanks?” he asks. She can’t help but laugh at his reaction, grinning as she slaps his shoulder as if he’s told the best damn joke in the world. Then, she leans her bare shoulder against his at the bar and orders another scotch, and one for him.
They talk Fitzergerald, and Monet, and she can’t really pay attention, because she’s zoned out, just imagining him pressing her against a wall, stripping her. Erotic fantasies blind her, until he makes some ridiculous statement ( Van Gogh, the best Dutch post impressionist? Please!) that she has to argue. Then she slips back into the fantasies and pretends to listen to his dialogue, and she tries, but the fantasies take over, because the images flashing through her mind are all the more fascinating.
When she does tune back into the conversation, it’s only because he’s pulled away and their skin isn’t touching, when she needs desperately to be holding onto at least a piece of him.
“Oh look,” she comments, her hand gravitating to his. He’s already looking where she is, but she can’t help the need to touch him again, and her fingers caress his arm, to draw his attention in, unable to contain how much she wants to touch him. Every inch of their skin should be touching, she thinks, not just her bare shoulder against his, not just fingers on his bare arm. Every inch.
“She,” Blair points to a blonde just entering the party, “once wrote a sonnet to me,” she adds the gossip, and she knows he doesn’t care, and she couldn’t care less about all the gossip in the world right now. At least, she thinks, it’s a reason for our hands to touch.
“Really?” he asks, laughing.
“Yeah, I guess if she wasn’t you know....” Blair rolls her eyes, practically batting her eyelashes, before she meets his gaze.
“A woman?” he asks, inquisitively.
“No..I’ve been with a ..” she leaves it off and sees him turn a deep shade of red. His features betray him and she can tell he’s visualizing it. She can hardly contain her laughter.
“I was going to say, such a bad writer,”
“Oh it’s that she was a writer?” he asks, suddenly with a defeatist tone in his voice.
“No, not just that, she was a bad one, I’ve been with a writer before,” she points out. She can’t tell if it’s a lie or not, and checks her mental list of men, wondering if any of them were writers, but doesn’t care enough to find out, perhaps some of them wrote on the side.
“Ok,” there’s a change in his voice now, and if she was paying attention to something other than the blonde in the last season Marc Jacobs dress, or touching him, she would recognize it as hope.
“So go back to the whole...being with a girl thing,” he grins, his eyebrows arching.
“Well the poem was horrible,” she laughs, resisting the urge to say what she’s really thinking, how badly she wants to flirt and ask him You want to know all the dirty details Humphrey? Mostly because she can’t do that here, not with Chuck, Nate and Serena all hanging around, who in a second could be swarming around them like vultures, sending Blair’s obvious and failed attempts at flirting, to gossip girl.
She cringes at the idea of the blast: Queen B flirting with Lonely Boy? Has she given up the Prince for the Jester?
“Ok,”
“I mean, rhyming? Really?” She recalls some rhymes from the poem, rolling her eyes, “Something like, Blair can’t see how I stare, her perfect majestic hair, something something care in the world, do you know how annoying it is to get your name rhymed with?” she asks.
“I was Dan the Man in middle school,” he says before he can stop himself. She has to turn away from him to laugh, her eyes crinkling up, her nose scrunches before she can help it, and it’s not lovely and lady like and practiced, but real and she comes back into the conversation, quieting her laugh before she realizes her hand is still on his arm, and his eyes are fixated on her.
“But she even rhymed my name with chair!” she tries to continue the conversation, but giggles seep into her words, disrupting her sentence. He grins at her joke, but his smile expands more at her reaction, her inability to stop laughing.
“Oh its funny, need a minute, do you?” he asks, taunting her, eyes squinting as if he’s angry, but she knows him well enough to know he’s teasing.
The blonde seems to have a sixth sense and she looks over to them at the bar to see them giggling. The blonde waves to Blair, which only makes Dan start laughing, and hard.
“She’s coming over here!” Blair complains, hitting him, but he can’t stop laughing. He grins, from ear to ear and tries to keep a straight face.
“Put your arm around me!” she commands.
“What?”
“Humphrey, just do it, she can’t come over here, look in my eyes, pretend we’re together,” she grabs his hand, slipping it around her waist until his face is inches from hers. She smiles, not because the blonde is retreating, but because she hasn’t been this close to him since they kissed. Maybe this will inspire another book, she thinks, moving closer into his touch, his arms to look past him, over his shoulder, to make sure the blonde really has turned away. His breath is on her shoulder, his hand rigid on her waist. An energy vibrating off of him, nervousness almost, but she tells herself she’s imagining it.
“Good, she’s gone,” she mutters, just near his ear.
“I missed you,” she says before she can help herself. That’s when everything changes. He pulls away from her and clears his throat, his laughter forced, his looks filled with a weird sorrow.
“Good,” he forces a smile. It seems like it happens in a moment, but he pauses, thinks of nothing to say, and slowly, decides to leave.
“I should go find my dad,” he says, and before she can stop him, she’s alone at the bar wondering what just happened. To her, it seems sudden, abrupt, in the middle of their laughter and smiles, and suddenly, there's just space where he just was. There’s a pang in her chest and she drowns the pain with another drink, just waiting for him to return, because she can’t imagine for one second that he wont.
After 40 minutes of waiting, she makes her way around the party and even thinks of apologizing, but she can’t even think what she did wrong. She hates how vulnerable she was, how much she was the real Blair with him and drinks again, trying to numb the pain of falling for her best friend. By the time she circles back to the bar, Serena is there.
“Have you seen Humphrey?” Blair asks, before she can stop herself.
“He just left,” Serena responds, and it’s all too clear that she is also mending a broken heart, drink in hand.
“Oh,” Blair hides how crestfallen she feels. “He stole Nate’s jacket,” Blair points out, changing the topic, lest Serena catches on.
Serena rolls her eyes, flipping her pony tail back as she nurses her drinks, squirming in her hot green dress, that apparently failed to seduce whoever her latest conquest is.
“Nate gave it to him, besides it seemed to work,” Serena pointed out.
“Work? What do you mean?”
“Well, he didn’t leave alone,” Serena points out.
“What? Who was he with!” Blair demands suddenly. “Oh you mean Rufus and Lily, right?” she clarifies, trying to put out the panic fires in her mind.
“Nope,” Serena shakes her head, turning to lean against the bar. It’s a good thing she’s too distracted to pay attention to Blair’s panic attack. As the object of her affection is clearly still at the party. Serena pauses before she continues, and the silence nearly kills Blair.
“Some red head who was in the society pages last week, Christa something, I think,”
Outrage overwhelms Blair and her mouth drops open in shock.
“Oh my god,” she says somberly, biting her tongue so she can keep the tears in. “That bastard!” she says suddenly, trying to redirect her attention, while her mind swims.
Henry Miller was right, she thinks, you’re in a book because Dan Humphrey is over you. He was in love with Serena for half a decade before he made a move, all she got was a damn story and you got a book, you missed your chance.
“Why do you care?” Serena asks, with piqued interest, suddenly paying attention to Blair, rather than seducing the room. She pivots and faces Blair, waiting for a response. Blair has never lied this quickly, but it spirals out of her and she wants to hit her head against the bar counter the second the words rush out.
“For you, S, I know you sporadically love him, and besides it’s got to hurt to see him move on so quickly, and it’s completely thoughtless, I mean, what if you were still pinning over him?” Blair lies. She feels a swell of terror in the silence before Serena’s response. If it’s one thing that stands between her and Dan, it’s Serena. Not Nate, not Chuck, not even her own insane illogically formed schemes, but Serena. Who with a word, can make the thoughts in Blair’s mind get overpowered with guilt. Serena can pull away the fantasy, any chance of being with Humphrey away with one word.
“I’m not,” Serena shrugs, finishing her drink, before she leaves the bar. After that, Blair can breathe again somehow. Though she didn’t know she even could, she falls farther for him in that moment, with the sudden possibility of a romance.
*****
“You ditched me!” she yells over the phone, wondering how she’ll lie about her emotions, but all she cares about right now is making him apologize, is finding out everything about that Christa girl, and claiming Humphrey as her own. Before Serena decides she has feelings for him again.
“Blair, I had to leave, I talked to this agent, she was really interested in trying to get a movie deal for my-”
“Enough excuses Humphrey, you bailed, we were supposed to be each others wingmen,” she fibs quickly, holding the phone close to her. A magazine lies open in her lap, stuck on the same Gucci add and she relaxes in the morning sun, leaning back on her deck chair, as she eats soft raspberry macaroons.
“We were?” he pauses, confused. “Is that why you showed me sonnet girl?”
“Ugh, I’m never going to live that down, am I?” she demands.
“Nope,” she can practically hear the grin in his voice over the line. Dirty, she thinks, he’s probably picturing it right now, she thinks, wondering how she is in his imagination.
Then her own mind takes over and plagues her with a dozen images of his hands all over her, his hair in between her fingers, his .....
“I’m sorry I ditched you,” he responds. She almost curses at him for distracting her hot visions, but she realizes, she can forgive him, he is apologizing after all.
“I guess you’re forgiven,” she replies. “And we both went home without dates, that’s fine,” she continues, poking the issue.
“Well...I did end up going out with that agent,” he admits sheepishly, almost embarrassed. Jealousy rages within her, possessing every inch of her and the macaroon in her hand shatters as she accidently clenches part of it in her fist.
“Oh?” she tries as normally as she can, forced. But a billion questions are going off in her head, she straightens up and holds the phone away from her, steadying her breathing.
“Seeing her again?” she asks, sweetly.
“No...I....I think I’m hung up on someone else,” he responds slowly.
“If they do make your book into a movie,” she rushes over the words, not wanting to dwell on his response, not wanting to imagine for a second him being hung up on anyone at all.
“They better not cast someone like Drew Barrymore as me, I mean that would be abysmal, naturally I could play myself, or you know, if they can find someone with Audrey’s vivacity, purity and range,” she pauses, thinking, Oh god, oh god, who is he hung up on? Is it Serena? But her words do nothing to betray her.
“But realistically, ideally,” she continues, trying to shut up her mind. “Clare is better painted in the imagination,” she offers her opinion suddenly.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he laughs over the line. She prays that he wont pick up on her use of the character’s name and go back to assuming that she loves his book. Just the thought of it brings back the unpleasant memories of their fight. And he subsequent apology, which led to her horrible ( because she can’t get rid of it) realization that she is in love with him.
“Next time, wing woman,” he says a bit somberly, before “Gotta run, family waffles,”
“Bye, Brooklyn,” she responds, trying to distance herself.
She goes back and forth, when they are together she thinks that anything is possible, that he still wants her and all she would have to do is ask. Then another part of her, the insane part, reasons, that if he’s over her, saying something will only create awkwardness, make her loose the only real friend she has ( one she can actually talk literature and politics to) and she can’t bear the thought of that.
**
She cracks by breakfast the next day, and asks Serena for help. It’s taken her a long time to admit she needs help and she dips her finger into the whip cream, licking her finger before a strawberry follows into her mouth. Not the most healthy breakfast, but she’s in love, eating healthy is the last thing on her mind.
“I need your help with something,” Blair admits.
“Yes?” Serena asks, preoccupied with some magazine and she hardly looks up from her waffle.
“I need to sleep with someone” she stutters over the words and tries to salvage it, with a lie, “I mean not anyone in particular, just someone, you know?”
“WHAT?” she’s got Serena’s attention suddenly, who stares her down, leaving the magazine to her side.
“And I figured since you are loose-” Serena protests, her mouth gaping, at the insult. “I hoped that you could help me get a man-”
“Blair!” traces of shock still remain on Serena’s features, so Blair retorts.
“What, it’s true! Don’t make me list your conquests.” Serena rolls her eyes, ignoring the impulse to point out Blair’s indiscretions.
“I’m sure you could have any guy you wanted,” Serena comments, annoyed.
“Yes, well obvious. It’s been a while since Chuck...and...well....a woman has needs!” Serena laughs at her wording, nodding slowly as she dips a strawberry in whip cream and leads it to her mouth.
“And I’ll help you after that comment?” Serena jibs, eating another strawberry.
“Sorry S, but tell me! I’m going insane. I have to have him...I mean...someone, just......what would you do?” Blair fixes her with a gaze, fluttering her eye flashes innocently. Hoping Serena doesn’t pick up on her specificity. If Serena knew, Blair would never live it down, and then perhaps, Dan would be another competition, one that Serena would win, just as she had stolen ever faithful, loving Archibald. She hides her fears, swallowing another bite of strawberry as she begs Serena for advice. If Serena only knew, she muses, that I’m going to use this advice to seduce her ex boyfriend. That I’m in love with her ex boyfriend.
“Be yourself, and I don’t know, go out more.” Serena shrugs.
“No help, as usual,” Blair makes a tsk noise, rolling her eyes.
“Well,” Serena exhales, biting her tongue with annoyance. “What did you do when you wanted Chuck?” she asks, shrugging. “Or how did you get Carter, or-”
“Enough talk about my past indiscretions, you’ve been very helpful!” Blair rushes, the ideas swarming to her mind as she races away from the kitchen.
She visualizes the perfect solution, and what’s even better, is that it’s a theory born out of Dan’s words. She remembers the advice all too perfectly. From a time that seemed more simple, when she was trying desperately to get Chuck in bed, without saying those stupid little words. Become unavoidable. Drive him crazy. Wear him down. She smirks at the memory, letting Dan’s words repeat in her mind until she knows them like a mantra. She repeats them all day, while she shops and plans just how to seduce the impossible Daniel Humphrey.
***
She’s prepared for the next party, and she knows he’s coming. It’s one hosted by Nate, to introduce all his college friends ( mostly Varsity jocks for some reason) to his high school friends, plus assorted newspaper coworkers.
As she paints her nails bright green and climbs into a knee length yellow cocktail dress, she catches herself thinking how much she loves that she and Dan have the same friends. She loves that even though he pretends not to be a part of this world, he comes to the events, and dresses the part. More, that he comes to the Upper West Side to see her and watch Audrey Hepburn with her, when even Dorota tires of it.
Her heels are matching and she knows she looks amazing, and she also hates to admit that it takes two hands to count the hours that it took her to look this good. The fabric of the dress hugs her tightly, ( not indecently so,) but to show off her perfections.
For two hours she tells herself that he’ll show up, that she’s bound to see him any second, but it’s after she gets hit on by the 5th varsity rower, that she gets annoyed and snatches two drinks from the passing server. She approaches Serena and doesn’t bother offering her one of the glasses, drinking both before Serena can even protest. She rolls her eyes, and makes her annoyance obvious before she asks the question that has been burning in her since the evening began.
“Where’s Humphrey?”
“Didn’t he tell you? He can’t make it B, he’s working on his new book,”
“Ugh boring,” Blair rolls her eyes. She catches Serena’s gaze and fibs quickly. “What? This party is boring, I’d rather argue French cinema than hear another one of Nate’s Rowing buddies talk about University,” she reasons, downing her third Scotch of the night.
“Well didn’t you want to find a man?” Serena points out.
“Already got a date,” Blair fibs, waving to a stranger in the party. He waves back, with a goofy grin on his face and Serena swallows the lie, nodding approvingly.
“Like I said, blase” Blair points out.
“I guess it must be a bit painful to hear about University.” Serena pauses, before, “How’s the application to Yale?” Serena tries.
“S, I don’t want to talk about that, I don’t want to think about University right now, ergo why this evening is a total waste, you know, other than the hot rower.” She feels ashamed at herself for tying so hard, for failing to get into Yale immediately, and she hates how crazy Dan is driving her. She leaves the party early and visits a bar, drinking until she looses all sign of reason, and texts him, furious. More angry at herself, for putting in effort, for assuming he would come.
Blair Waldorf: 3:03 You suck
Dan Humphrey: 3:04 What?
Blair Waldorf: 3: 06 You didn’t show
Blair Waldorf: 3: 07 Wing man.
Blair Waldorf: 3: 08 EXCUSE!?
Dan Humphrey: 3:10 I was inspired.
Blair Waldorf: 3: 10 Not good enough
Dan Humphrey: 3:13 I am a writer, remember? You should go to sleep, It’s late!
Blair Waldorf: 3: 15 But this bar is so muc mooooore fun.
Dan Humphrey 3: 20 Your spelling has taken a turn for the worse, go to sleep!
Blair Waldorf: 3: 25 Boring! BLASE! NEVER!
Blair Waldorf: 3: 45 I had to listen to Nat’e varsity boyfriends talk about stuff all night Cant believe you skipped
Dan Humphrey. 3: 46 I’ll make it up to you. Wait. Varsity boyfriends?
Blair Waldorf: 3: 48 Youll make it up to me?!?!?!
Blair Waldorf: 3: 48 Sexual favors? ;)
Dan Humphrey. 3: 48 WHAT?
Dan Humphrey. 3:50 Blair? Are you drunk? Go to bed!
She wakes up to concerned text messages and waits before responding, reveling in the fact that he is worrying about her, at least for an hour, she’s clearly on his mind, and she loves that. She eats it up, and grins at his text messages, making him sweat it out.
Dan Humphrey. 10:14 am Did you get home safe?
Dan Humphrey. 10:30 Blair?
Dan Humphrey. 10:33 > Serena van der Woodsen Is Blair alright?
Dan Humphrey. 10:45 > Serena van der Woodsen What happened last night?
They’re in the middle of breakfast when Serena says it, almost an afterthought,
“Blair, tell Dan you’re ok, he’s texting me, what happened last night?” she asks.
“Nothing,” Blair fibs. I most certainly did not proposition your ex. She smiles and promises that she’ll text him back, loving the concern he shows.
Serena van der Woodsen. 10: 50 Nothing, why?
She loves that he goes so far as to text Serena to ask about her. She goes to her room and sinks into the feeling, dressing to go out. She considers leaving her phone, so that she’ll have the surprise of a dozen text messages when she returns. If she wasn’t expecting a call from Yale, she would, she thinks. Another part of her reasons, you’re not that cruel. In the end she ends up taking the phone along with her, to go shopping.
Dan Humphrey. 11: 15 > Blair Waldorf Are you ok?
She’s in the middle of trying on a skirt ( fantasizing about his mouth watering reaction if he sees it in her) when he texts again. She almost drops her purse in her hurry to check her phone and pulls it out, savoring the words. She grins at the text, resists the urge to jump up and down and tosses it back in her bag. Making him sweat is the most fun she’s had in days. Besides, a part of her just doesn’t know how to explain being drunk last night, and that goddamn text message about sexual favors. Not exactly how she had planned to get him, but if the topic’s already been breached, she has to act on it, quickly. She makes up her mind to go to his place tomorrow and wear him down. She decides to take her new skirt, in that instant.
She hands over her credit card, just as her phone goes off. She doesn’t bother apologizing to the store clerk (she’s Blair Waldorf after all, her mother practically owns fashion on the Upper East Side.) She pulls the phone out of the confines of her bag. She lights up at his face, the fact that he’s calling and presses ignore. She turns back to the store attendant and finishes paying for the skirt.
He calls once more, and again, she presses ignore, loving that he’s worried about her. More than that, she wants to see how long this can go on for. Finally, she decides to put him out of his misery. He has been obsessing about her for an hour already. She wonders if he’ll bring up the sexual favors, and then forces the thought of her head, filled with dread and terror just thinking of a lie for it. She was drunk, she reasons.
Blair Waldorf. 11: 27 > Dan Humphrey Yes. I’m fine! Relax! I can’t shop with your incessant texting!
She thinks he’ll take ages to text, perhaps hours. But it’s only minutes before it happens, and the topic is that exact, daunting subject she’s been trying to avoid.
Dan Humphrey. 11: 35 I think you may have meant to text Chuck yesterday....
She panics and waits before texting, typing out different messages before she chickens out. Then finally, she calms herself down and thinks about this, he hasn’t even brought up the subject yet, so innocently, she texts;
Blair Waldorf. 11: 45 What, why?
Dan Humphrey 11:50 If it was someone else, they might have assumed it was for them or something.
She doesn’t text because she has nothing to say, then she decides to let him sweat it out. He can think about it and obsess about it, there’s no way she’s telling him like this. Not after some drunken text. She wont say anything new, she decides.
Dan Humphrey. 12:45 That text about sexual favors I mean.
Blair Waldorf. 12:46 I know.
Dan Humphrey. 12: 56 It was for Chuck, right?
Dan Humphrey. 1: 12 Or..I mean it was a joke, wasn’t it?
Dan Humphrey 2: 35 Blair?
Then she decides she can’t handle it anymore. Since she’s already made up her mind to seduce him tomorrow, she doesn’t care at this point, and turns the panic onto him, accuses him, changes the topic. She can’t answer, not really, not without lying. Avoiding is better.
Blair Waldorf. 6: 50 GOD! You text more than Serena. What did you Humphreys even do before the invention of the text?
Dan Humphrey. 7: 23 You have texting rules now?
Dan Humphrey. 7: 45 Fine, I won’t text unless it’s dire, crucial, end of the world stuff.
Dan Humphrey. 10:19 This is a text to inform you that On the Waterfront is playing in Brooklyn next week.
She smiles at each one of his late night texts and imagines that he just cannot avoid texting her, but then she thinks, perhaps we’re just friends. We won’t be after tomorrow, she promises herself. Her two step plan will ensure that by this weekend, Dan Humphrey will be hers. She’ll be able to fulfill every fantasy she’s ever had about him, she promises herself.
**
She’s unable to stand letting all the unsaid things in between them fester. She doesn’t want to deal with the lies, or the little things she’s been saying, but she just wants him to hold her and for the world to slip away. She wants to wear him down, and since his mind is already on sexual favors, she reckons it’ll be a piece of cake.
She wears the most delectable tights, the new short skirt and a fantastic to the touch silk (not too low cut, but just enough) top. Her hair she folds perfectly to reveal the curves of her neck, her skin practically glowing ( she stole Serena’s bronzer). It’s late afternoon when she shows up.
“Blair, what are you doing in Brooklyn? Did we have a movie planned, one I forgot about that we arranged weeks ago?” she loves the shock in his voice, but shakes her head. She takes in his look and smirks, white t shirt and jeans, he’s relaxed, and clearly in a pensive state, pen and paper at the kitchen island.
“We should go out,” she pauses, watching his reaction before she adds, “for coffee.”
“We have coffee here,” he stutters over his words and she smirks.
“Brooklyn coffee,” she stresses, half smiling as she strips the jacket off and places it on his couch. She sees his eyes travel up her figure and thinks, this is child’s play. She knows that Dan Humphrey is no match for her, the flawless Blair Waldorf.
She leans against the kitchen island, moving closer to him, her fingers inching to touch any part of him she can reach. It’s only a matter of time, she tells herself. Wondering if she’ll cry when he rejects her. Who will hold her and make the pain go away then? She chickens out before her fingers meet his and shies away, her smile suddenly timid.
He eyes her suspiciously before he moves around to the stove, and mugs.
“Oooh, inspired?” she asks, pointing to the pen and paper just out of her reach.
“Yeah, that’s um, nothing!” he reaches it for it suddenly, but she’s faster and the notebook is in her hands in a second.
“Blair, it’s private!” he practically shrieks at her.
“I’ve read your work before,” she justifies. He stretches out to grab it from her, but the kitchen island gets in his way.
“Give it back.”
She manages to flip to a page in that time and reads aloud:
“There’s a moment when we’re together.
I catch myself thinking,
This could be the beginning of forever
“Blair please!”
“Make me,” she demands, inviting the challenge before she returns her attention to the text.
Then I know I’m falling, and sinki-”
She looses the words as he tries to grab the journal out of her hands, and when she doesn’t release it, he grips her wrists, practically towering over her, as she sits on the chair. She wrestles out of his grasp, nearly elbowing him as she makes an escape. She holds it out in front of her, racing towards the couch as she reads against his protests.
“Blair! STOP!”
“And when we part-” she pauses, looking over at him past the journal. “You’re writing poetry now?”
“Blair,” his voice is angry, desperate, full of a frantic energy she can’t place, but she’s still laughing, holding the journal hostage. He looks at her disapprovingly, tired, as if he hopes she’ll just concede and he won’t have to chase her down. She has another plan in mind, she wants his hands all over her again and smirks as she continues reading.
“The sick reality of our distance floods my min-” her plan works, as he makes a leap at her, his hands land on her waist, then suddenly on her arms, near her face, anywhere and everywhere as he tries to get the notebook. She manages to curl up, bending over, she turns her back into him, hiding the journal, as she clutches it in crossed arms towards her chest.
“Stop it Humphrey,” she shrieks, giggling, as his arms wrap around her, grabbing for the pages. She hopes he won’t stoop so low as to tickle her, yet secretly wishes for it.
She can feel his heat suddenly, and she’s dizzy being this close to him, his hands are wrapped around her waist, holding her against him, and she feels like a kid again. She moves the paper just as his fingers inch up from her abdomen, to the edge of the notebook. She stretches her hands out in front of her, squinting as she makes out the words, practically screaming as she reads them with super speed.
“I can’t ever have your heart
we’re not cut from the same kind”
He manages to snatch it out of her hands just as she finishes the stanza. She turns in his arms, laughing, reveling in his touch. She’s inches away from his face, and somehow his arms are around her. She grins, staring at him, waiting until the moment when his eyes will meet hers, and his hands will gravitate to her waist, and maybe, he’ll be able to kiss her first.
“I was only teasing,” she points out, her elbows bent, ready to be perched on his chest the second he leans in. If he would just lean in already, she thinks. Maybe he needs another hint, she wonders, and she sighs, her eyes meeting his, about to put her hands on his shoulder, grip the white fabric of his shirt, even he can’t fail to see that sign. But he retreats before she has a chance to move.
“It’s not funny,” he isn’t in the mood. He moves away, the heat of his body abandoning her as he retreats into his room, probably to hide the pages under his bed or something idiotic.
She gulps and a sudden shock washes over her, feeding all the evil thoughts inside her mind. Maybe it was about Serena, one says, and then all the others imitate it. She swears under her breath as she adjusts her clothes.
When he comes back, moments later, he tries to smile but she can still see the seriousness underneath his expression. She is poised on her chair, as if the exchange never happened. The wrestling and fighting for the pages, her laughing, his groaning, how his hands pressed against her waist when he held her towards him. It’s worse than if it hadn’t happened, his expression still annoyed, his jaw set, a deep sigh as he makes his way past her to the kitchen. Completely silent, somehow angry. She makes a note not to mock this poem, mostly because she can’t get it out of her head, and how well it almost relates to her.
He says nothing as he fills their mugs up and hands her coffee.
“It’s good,” she offers in lieu of an apology. “The poem, what I read of it at least...”
There’s a pause she would classify as awkward that steps in between them and she looks away from him, embarrassed, guilty. She wants to yell and say It was just a game Humphrey! But whatever is in that notebook is causing all sorts of panic on his features, that much she can tell. She thinks suddenly that its poems and stories about that girl he’s hung up on. Fears pour over her, possess her mind and she has to actively shut them out to listen to him.
“Why are you here?” he asks, exasperated.
“Look, I get it alright? You don’t want what you write to be read before it’s fully baked, or ready, I understand.” she pauses, knowing that’s not a good enough lie. But she knows she can’t honestly say the truth: I just wanted you all over me. I wanted your hands on every inch of me and that seemed to work. She exhales, forcing the truth down and pastes on a smile, trying instead for a nicer explanation.
“And last time I was more harsh than necessary, I thought I could read something this time and give you better criticism, but then you made such a fuss about it, I had to read it,” she replies with her excuse.
“So it’s my fault?” he asks, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back whatever he really wants to shout at her.
“Of course not Humphrey. You’re a writer, you fit the part, you even look like you haven’t left the house in days.” he looks away at that, sighing in annoyance, but she continues, pretending it doesn’t wound her. “Besides I wanted to know what kept you so inspired that you couldn’t join me at Nate’s party,” she explains, shrugging as if it’s an after thought.
His eyes skim over hers, a quality she can’t label reflected back at her. The silence is suffocating and she moves on before he has time to dwell on her words, or even realize that she’s still thinking about that. She hopes too, that their texting won’t be brought up again. Instead she asks what’s really on her mind, before she can stop herself. She’s surprised when she asks the words, unable to believe that she’s being this honest, this vulnerable with him. This hadn’t been part of plan. She was hoping to seduce him, but she didn’t plan to confess to him, or even let on how much she likes him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What?”
“That you were writing about...” she pauses, hating the onrush of thoughts that swirl in her mind, tormenting her, telling her that she's not good enough.
“Serena,”
The silence in between them seems to pull at her heart, yanking it every which way. She hates herself for asking it, she wants to muster her strength and change the topic, but she’s lost her breath, and the ability to speak along with it. A spell that can only be broken with his words.
“Oh...no..that’s not...about Serena...it’s not anything really, left over feelings from the past, its uh-” she arches an eyebrow.
“Uh huh,” she nods, not believing him. “I don’t have to be a writer to know you don’t write like that unless it’s love,” she laughs to cover the pain.
“NO! I...Henry Miller right? Get over a woman by turning her into literature, and besides,“ he sighs, almost smiling. “I didn’t want you reading my work, not after you gave me feedback on Inside,” he explains. She nods accordingly, before she can help that the truth slips out for once.
“It’s beautiful,” she comments, drinking her coffee, locking eyes with him over his cup. A smile floods his features and he lights up, wonder sparkles from his eyes. I did that, she thinks, I made Dan Humphrey smile. What’s more is that his smile is as genuine as her comment was.
“Really?” he asks, as if he’s trying to let it not go to his head.
She doesn’t respond, partly because she hates these moments. They remind her how insufferable and deep the chasm of her love for him is. How she wishes that he would say those words to her, that his hands would be melded to her waist for eternity. That she would be locked in a cage of his arms until she kissed her way free from him, but she wouldn’t ever, not really. She hates these moments because even though there is inches between them, it feels like miles. With things left unsaid, and feelings driving her up the walls, and all the things she wants disappearing in the holes of their conversations.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, after what seems like the longest pause she has ever experienced. She could have read Dostoevsky in that time, completed works even. It’s a calming pause though, suspended in time with happiness, only overshadowed by things left unsaid, and fear for the future. One with him, and even more terrifying, one without him.
“Relax,” she says, honestly. Fear strikes in her for a moment, as she thinks of how honest she is with him about somethings, nearly everything, more so than anyone. She sighs and shrugs, almost abandoning her plan to wear him down. There’s still the party tomorrow that she has to invite him to, she’s set that as another daily goal, but can’t for the life of her bring it up organically yet.
“I don’t want to think about University transfers, or grades, or grad school, or my future, or how Serena’s in the house non stop, and I just can’t escape it, I don’t have any time to just read a book or think,” she exhales. He nods slowly before he considers a course of action.
“Well I have to finish East of Eden, the end tearing away at me, you’re welcome to my library,” he shrugs.
*
The room is a mess, clothes on the floor, books hidden in all crooks and spots of the room, piles near the window, the door, all disorganized. She spots a pile of mostly Russian literature and thinks, Good, at least the piles are organized, but the Canterbury Tales and Moby Dick creep into that pile and make that thought fly out of her head. She’s examining his book shelf, the one above his bed, when she takes a moment to look at his bed, pillow still shaped with the outline of his head, blue covers in disarray. Cologne and aftershave bottles scatter the bookshelf above his bed and she hates how she reads the name before she can help it. Great, she thinks I actually know the name of his cologne now. UGH.
“BLAIR?” she grins at the worry in his voice. “You’re getting a book, right? Not going to Narnia?” he hollers from the living room.
“How can you even find anything in here Humphrey?” she shouts back.
“It’s got a certain charm to it,” he yells back, laughing.
“HOBO is not chic!”
“I’m not homeless! Proven by the very real fact that you are in my house,” he shouts back, and she can hear the annoyance and laughter in his tone.
Poetry: It’s small, bound with a green hardcover casing, gold letters down the side and her fingers flick over it’s spine as she takes it out of the shelf. When she turns back to head into the living room, he’s standing in the door, and he almost looks worried.
“What?” she asks, innocently.
“What were you doing?” he squints.
“Soaking in the essence of Dan Humphrey,” she tells the truth, because she knows he’ll never believe it. She doesn’t let his eyes stray from hers, even as she approaches. Moving until there’s only a foot between them. He laughs before he regards her with suspicion.
“I hid my notebook well,” he comments. “So don’t bother,”
“Please,” she groans, laughing, “I’m Blair Waldorf, I could find it, It’s a good thing I’m not trying,” she points out. He cocks his head to his side, squinting as he regards her features, not trusting.
“What did you get anyway?”
“Why so you can rip it away from me?” she teases.
“No...”
“Or did you just want your hands all over me again?” she asks, wondering if he notices as she inches closer to him.
“I - that...was my private notebook!” he practically trips over the words and she grins, knowing that her plan is working.
“I better run away before you try to steal this book out of my poor unsuspecting grasp,” she says in an overly dramatic flair. “Stay truthful to Steinbeck,” she teases.
“Blair-” he rolls his eyes.
One of the advantages of his house is the width of his doors. It’s wide enough for her to travel through without so much as breathing in his air, but she ignores that and presses her side against him, spinning so her hair twirls in his face, so he’s knocked down with the sheer scent of her coconut grapefruit shampoo and DG perfume. She lingers on the moment as long as she can, allowing herself to take in his shocked expression, and startled gaze, before she settles on his couch. There’s no courtesy to her movement, shoes already left at the door, she lays down on the couch, crossing her legs, propping herself up on one elbow as she flips through the pages of the poetry book she selected.
She doesn’t have to look up to know her plan is working, that his eyes are fixed on her. He clears his throat, and she resists the urge to look up, to admit that she’s read the same sentence ten times already, and grin. She suppresses the feeling and after a moment caves in, glancing up to find him already seated at the counter, croning over Steinbeck. She hates how fascinating the author is, and makes a point of emitting a soft sigh as she moves her position, flipping onto her stomach, kicking her legs in the air, crossing them. Ignoring that this poetry is nothing compared to his.
[CONTINUE]
14A/ Gossip Girl/ DAIR.
Once she reads Inside, Blair cannot get Dan out of her head. She realizes the only way to deal with her feelings is to follow the same advice her gave to her when she wanted chuck: wear him down, become avoidable, and to drive him crazy.
Chapters: 1,
_______________________________________________________
With the sudden realization of feelings, she has to avoid him. She cannot take seeing him and acting like friends, and she shudders at the thought of it. She wants more, now and takes every measure to avoid him. Making excuses when he texts to plan Brooklyn outings, or more movie nights.
She doesn’t expect to see him at one of Lily’s parties, hosted in a local club. She doesn’t even feel pretty, in the floor length black dress, but he approaches her none the less, and the effect is mesmerizing. She can’t look away from him as he comes towards her, and she feels her whole body relax, and tense up at the same time. Nerves speed through her, butterflies take flight in her abdomen, she feels like the luckiest, most beautiful girl, and yet, she can’t help wanting so much more.
“Hey stranger,” he smiles, “How’s your transfer application to Yale going?” he asks, and has clearly been paying attention to her excuses to not hang out.
“If you need someone to look it over,” he offers his editing skills and she drags him to the bar, and she wants to tell him everything, about how stressed she is, how she wishes they could watch movies together, and how she would even stoop so low as to go to Brooklyn coffee shops for distraction, but she can’t make the words leave, he’s silenced her and she can feel her courage leaving, every time his eyes glance over her. In her heart, she knows she has to stop avoiding him, but she can’t bear this moment now, suffocating in his attention.
“I can help you,” he promises, nudging her with his shoulder. She snaps at the immediate touch and needs to have her hands all over him. She turns her attention back to him and evaluates his look. The skinny tie ( she’ll pretend she hates,) his hair sprinkled with gel, three day old writer’s stubble, and a fantastic black blazer with red silk lined lapels. She wonders where he found the fashionable piece, and uses it as yet another reason to touch him.
“Let’s don’t talk about that,” she teases, imitating Daisy, making her voice all 1920s, as if she was just another character in a Fitzgerald novel, and in any second she would transform into a flapper dress, and Dan would be her distraught, terribly disturbed, yet stylish and rich husband. Even that would be greater than reality, for she would have him.
“You know,” she begins, her fingers edging up the side of his lapel, caressing the silk, “Oscar De La Renta introduced this look, the lined lapels, it wasn’t widely successful at first,” her fingertips dance across his chest as she moves her focus to the left side, caressing the silk, she can feel his breath on her face, and doesn’t have to look up to know his eyes are fixed on her.
“But this red is fantastic, what hipster dive did you find this in? Please tell me it’s not vintage, or unwashed from some second hand drab store-,” she meets his gaze, as her palm presses into his chest, still holding onto the silk of the lapel. She looses her breath for a split second and avoids the impulse to pull him in until their lips meet. She knows, that she should have taken her hands off of him when she mentioned the second hand stores. That would be like her, that is what she would do, but she can’t deny that loving him is changing her. She hates how much of a better person she’s becoming.
“I uh...Nate...he...lent.. it to me,” he seems to stutter the words, but she’s sure she’s just nervous and it seems like forever in between his words, the pauses tortuously long. She meets his gaze and smiles, thinks of a billion compliments: it looks fantastic, it looks horrible: you should take it off, it’s so soft, I love the feeling of the silk, you look better in it than Nate ever could, you make me hot, and chooses yet another, more suitable one.
“You clean up nice Humphrey,” she tries, aware of every beat of his heart beneath her hand. She doesn’t care if anyone sees them, and if anyone mentions it, she’ll lie and say she was giving him fashion advice. Nothing can ruin this moment, she realizes, and she catches her self thinking that avoiding him might not be the best plan. Rather, that she won’t be able to avoid him because he’s too irresistible to her. Her eyes gravitate to his lips before she can help herself and she forces herself to keep his gaze, reluctantly avoiding the urge to yank his lapels and catch his mouth in hers.
“Thanks?” he asks. She can’t help but laugh at his reaction, grinning as she slaps his shoulder as if he’s told the best damn joke in the world. Then, she leans her bare shoulder against his at the bar and orders another scotch, and one for him.
They talk Fitzergerald, and Monet, and she can’t really pay attention, because she’s zoned out, just imagining him pressing her against a wall, stripping her. Erotic fantasies blind her, until he makes some ridiculous statement ( Van Gogh, the best Dutch post impressionist? Please!) that she has to argue. Then she slips back into the fantasies and pretends to listen to his dialogue, and she tries, but the fantasies take over, because the images flashing through her mind are all the more fascinating.
When she does tune back into the conversation, it’s only because he’s pulled away and their skin isn’t touching, when she needs desperately to be holding onto at least a piece of him.
“Oh look,” she comments, her hand gravitating to his. He’s already looking where she is, but she can’t help the need to touch him again, and her fingers caress his arm, to draw his attention in, unable to contain how much she wants to touch him. Every inch of their skin should be touching, she thinks, not just her bare shoulder against his, not just fingers on his bare arm. Every inch.
“She,” Blair points to a blonde just entering the party, “once wrote a sonnet to me,” she adds the gossip, and she knows he doesn’t care, and she couldn’t care less about all the gossip in the world right now. At least, she thinks, it’s a reason for our hands to touch.
“Really?” he asks, laughing.
“Yeah, I guess if she wasn’t you know....” Blair rolls her eyes, practically batting her eyelashes, before she meets his gaze.
“A woman?” he asks, inquisitively.
“No..I’ve been with a ..” she leaves it off and sees him turn a deep shade of red. His features betray him and she can tell he’s visualizing it. She can hardly contain her laughter.
“I was going to say, such a bad writer,”
“Oh it’s that she was a writer?” he asks, suddenly with a defeatist tone in his voice.
“No, not just that, she was a bad one, I’ve been with a writer before,” she points out. She can’t tell if it’s a lie or not, and checks her mental list of men, wondering if any of them were writers, but doesn’t care enough to find out, perhaps some of them wrote on the side.
“Ok,” there’s a change in his voice now, and if she was paying attention to something other than the blonde in the last season Marc Jacobs dress, or touching him, she would recognize it as hope.
“So go back to the whole...being with a girl thing,” he grins, his eyebrows arching.
“Well the poem was horrible,” she laughs, resisting the urge to say what she’s really thinking, how badly she wants to flirt and ask him You want to know all the dirty details Humphrey? Mostly because she can’t do that here, not with Chuck, Nate and Serena all hanging around, who in a second could be swarming around them like vultures, sending Blair’s obvious and failed attempts at flirting, to gossip girl.
She cringes at the idea of the blast: Queen B flirting with Lonely Boy? Has she given up the Prince for the Jester?
“Ok,”
“I mean, rhyming? Really?” She recalls some rhymes from the poem, rolling her eyes, “Something like, Blair can’t see how I stare, her perfect majestic hair, something something care in the world, do you know how annoying it is to get your name rhymed with?” she asks.
“I was Dan the Man in middle school,” he says before he can stop himself. She has to turn away from him to laugh, her eyes crinkling up, her nose scrunches before she can help it, and it’s not lovely and lady like and practiced, but real and she comes back into the conversation, quieting her laugh before she realizes her hand is still on his arm, and his eyes are fixated on her.
“But she even rhymed my name with chair!” she tries to continue the conversation, but giggles seep into her words, disrupting her sentence. He grins at her joke, but his smile expands more at her reaction, her inability to stop laughing.
“Oh its funny, need a minute, do you?” he asks, taunting her, eyes squinting as if he’s angry, but she knows him well enough to know he’s teasing.
The blonde seems to have a sixth sense and she looks over to them at the bar to see them giggling. The blonde waves to Blair, which only makes Dan start laughing, and hard.
“She’s coming over here!” Blair complains, hitting him, but he can’t stop laughing. He grins, from ear to ear and tries to keep a straight face.
“Put your arm around me!” she commands.
“What?”
“Humphrey, just do it, she can’t come over here, look in my eyes, pretend we’re together,” she grabs his hand, slipping it around her waist until his face is inches from hers. She smiles, not because the blonde is retreating, but because she hasn’t been this close to him since they kissed. Maybe this will inspire another book, she thinks, moving closer into his touch, his arms to look past him, over his shoulder, to make sure the blonde really has turned away. His breath is on her shoulder, his hand rigid on her waist. An energy vibrating off of him, nervousness almost, but she tells herself she’s imagining it.
“Good, she’s gone,” she mutters, just near his ear.
“I missed you,” she says before she can help herself. That’s when everything changes. He pulls away from her and clears his throat, his laughter forced, his looks filled with a weird sorrow.
“Good,” he forces a smile. It seems like it happens in a moment, but he pauses, thinks of nothing to say, and slowly, decides to leave.
“I should go find my dad,” he says, and before she can stop him, she’s alone at the bar wondering what just happened. To her, it seems sudden, abrupt, in the middle of their laughter and smiles, and suddenly, there's just space where he just was. There’s a pang in her chest and she drowns the pain with another drink, just waiting for him to return, because she can’t imagine for one second that he wont.
After 40 minutes of waiting, she makes her way around the party and even thinks of apologizing, but she can’t even think what she did wrong. She hates how vulnerable she was, how much she was the real Blair with him and drinks again, trying to numb the pain of falling for her best friend. By the time she circles back to the bar, Serena is there.
“Have you seen Humphrey?” Blair asks, before she can stop herself.
“He just left,” Serena responds, and it’s all too clear that she is also mending a broken heart, drink in hand.
“Oh,” Blair hides how crestfallen she feels. “He stole Nate’s jacket,” Blair points out, changing the topic, lest Serena catches on.
Serena rolls her eyes, flipping her pony tail back as she nurses her drinks, squirming in her hot green dress, that apparently failed to seduce whoever her latest conquest is.
“Nate gave it to him, besides it seemed to work,” Serena pointed out.
“Work? What do you mean?”
“Well, he didn’t leave alone,” Serena points out.
“What? Who was he with!” Blair demands suddenly. “Oh you mean Rufus and Lily, right?” she clarifies, trying to put out the panic fires in her mind.
“Nope,” Serena shakes her head, turning to lean against the bar. It’s a good thing she’s too distracted to pay attention to Blair’s panic attack. As the object of her affection is clearly still at the party. Serena pauses before she continues, and the silence nearly kills Blair.
“Some red head who was in the society pages last week, Christa something, I think,”
Outrage overwhelms Blair and her mouth drops open in shock.
“Oh my god,” she says somberly, biting her tongue so she can keep the tears in. “That bastard!” she says suddenly, trying to redirect her attention, while her mind swims.
Henry Miller was right, she thinks, you’re in a book because Dan Humphrey is over you. He was in love with Serena for half a decade before he made a move, all she got was a damn story and you got a book, you missed your chance.
“Why do you care?” Serena asks, with piqued interest, suddenly paying attention to Blair, rather than seducing the room. She pivots and faces Blair, waiting for a response. Blair has never lied this quickly, but it spirals out of her and she wants to hit her head against the bar counter the second the words rush out.
“For you, S, I know you sporadically love him, and besides it’s got to hurt to see him move on so quickly, and it’s completely thoughtless, I mean, what if you were still pinning over him?” Blair lies. She feels a swell of terror in the silence before Serena’s response. If it’s one thing that stands between her and Dan, it’s Serena. Not Nate, not Chuck, not even her own insane illogically formed schemes, but Serena. Who with a word, can make the thoughts in Blair’s mind get overpowered with guilt. Serena can pull away the fantasy, any chance of being with Humphrey away with one word.
“I’m not,” Serena shrugs, finishing her drink, before she leaves the bar. After that, Blair can breathe again somehow. Though she didn’t know she even could, she falls farther for him in that moment, with the sudden possibility of a romance.
*****
“You ditched me!” she yells over the phone, wondering how she’ll lie about her emotions, but all she cares about right now is making him apologize, is finding out everything about that Christa girl, and claiming Humphrey as her own. Before Serena decides she has feelings for him again.
“Blair, I had to leave, I talked to this agent, she was really interested in trying to get a movie deal for my-”
“Enough excuses Humphrey, you bailed, we were supposed to be each others wingmen,” she fibs quickly, holding the phone close to her. A magazine lies open in her lap, stuck on the same Gucci add and she relaxes in the morning sun, leaning back on her deck chair, as she eats soft raspberry macaroons.
“We were?” he pauses, confused. “Is that why you showed me sonnet girl?”
“Ugh, I’m never going to live that down, am I?” she demands.
“Nope,” she can practically hear the grin in his voice over the line. Dirty, she thinks, he’s probably picturing it right now, she thinks, wondering how she is in his imagination.
Then her own mind takes over and plagues her with a dozen images of his hands all over her, his hair in between her fingers, his .....
“I’m sorry I ditched you,” he responds. She almost curses at him for distracting her hot visions, but she realizes, she can forgive him, he is apologizing after all.
“I guess you’re forgiven,” she replies. “And we both went home without dates, that’s fine,” she continues, poking the issue.
“Well...I did end up going out with that agent,” he admits sheepishly, almost embarrassed. Jealousy rages within her, possessing every inch of her and the macaroon in her hand shatters as she accidently clenches part of it in her fist.
“Oh?” she tries as normally as she can, forced. But a billion questions are going off in her head, she straightens up and holds the phone away from her, steadying her breathing.
“Seeing her again?” she asks, sweetly.
“No...I....I think I’m hung up on someone else,” he responds slowly.
“If they do make your book into a movie,” she rushes over the words, not wanting to dwell on his response, not wanting to imagine for a second him being hung up on anyone at all.
“They better not cast someone like Drew Barrymore as me, I mean that would be abysmal, naturally I could play myself, or you know, if they can find someone with Audrey’s vivacity, purity and range,” she pauses, thinking, Oh god, oh god, who is he hung up on? Is it Serena? But her words do nothing to betray her.
“But realistically, ideally,” she continues, trying to shut up her mind. “Clare is better painted in the imagination,” she offers her opinion suddenly.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he laughs over the line. She prays that he wont pick up on her use of the character’s name and go back to assuming that she loves his book. Just the thought of it brings back the unpleasant memories of their fight. And he subsequent apology, which led to her horrible ( because she can’t get rid of it) realization that she is in love with him.
“Next time, wing woman,” he says a bit somberly, before “Gotta run, family waffles,”
“Bye, Brooklyn,” she responds, trying to distance herself.
She goes back and forth, when they are together she thinks that anything is possible, that he still wants her and all she would have to do is ask. Then another part of her, the insane part, reasons, that if he’s over her, saying something will only create awkwardness, make her loose the only real friend she has ( one she can actually talk literature and politics to) and she can’t bear the thought of that.
**
She cracks by breakfast the next day, and asks Serena for help. It’s taken her a long time to admit she needs help and she dips her finger into the whip cream, licking her finger before a strawberry follows into her mouth. Not the most healthy breakfast, but she’s in love, eating healthy is the last thing on her mind.
“I need your help with something,” Blair admits.
“Yes?” Serena asks, preoccupied with some magazine and she hardly looks up from her waffle.
“I need to sleep with someone” she stutters over the words and tries to salvage it, with a lie, “I mean not anyone in particular, just someone, you know?”
“WHAT?” she’s got Serena’s attention suddenly, who stares her down, leaving the magazine to her side.
“And I figured since you are loose-” Serena protests, her mouth gaping, at the insult. “I hoped that you could help me get a man-”
“Blair!” traces of shock still remain on Serena’s features, so Blair retorts.
“What, it’s true! Don’t make me list your conquests.” Serena rolls her eyes, ignoring the impulse to point out Blair’s indiscretions.
“I’m sure you could have any guy you wanted,” Serena comments, annoyed.
“Yes, well obvious. It’s been a while since Chuck...and...well....a woman has needs!” Serena laughs at her wording, nodding slowly as she dips a strawberry in whip cream and leads it to her mouth.
“And I’ll help you after that comment?” Serena jibs, eating another strawberry.
“Sorry S, but tell me! I’m going insane. I have to have him...I mean...someone, just......what would you do?” Blair fixes her with a gaze, fluttering her eye flashes innocently. Hoping Serena doesn’t pick up on her specificity. If Serena knew, Blair would never live it down, and then perhaps, Dan would be another competition, one that Serena would win, just as she had stolen ever faithful, loving Archibald. She hides her fears, swallowing another bite of strawberry as she begs Serena for advice. If Serena only knew, she muses, that I’m going to use this advice to seduce her ex boyfriend. That I’m in love with her ex boyfriend.
“Be yourself, and I don’t know, go out more.” Serena shrugs.
“No help, as usual,” Blair makes a tsk noise, rolling her eyes.
“Well,” Serena exhales, biting her tongue with annoyance. “What did you do when you wanted Chuck?” she asks, shrugging. “Or how did you get Carter, or-”
“Enough talk about my past indiscretions, you’ve been very helpful!” Blair rushes, the ideas swarming to her mind as she races away from the kitchen.
She visualizes the perfect solution, and what’s even better, is that it’s a theory born out of Dan’s words. She remembers the advice all too perfectly. From a time that seemed more simple, when she was trying desperately to get Chuck in bed, without saying those stupid little words. Become unavoidable. Drive him crazy. Wear him down. She smirks at the memory, letting Dan’s words repeat in her mind until she knows them like a mantra. She repeats them all day, while she shops and plans just how to seduce the impossible Daniel Humphrey.
***
She’s prepared for the next party, and she knows he’s coming. It’s one hosted by Nate, to introduce all his college friends ( mostly Varsity jocks for some reason) to his high school friends, plus assorted newspaper coworkers.
As she paints her nails bright green and climbs into a knee length yellow cocktail dress, she catches herself thinking how much she loves that she and Dan have the same friends. She loves that even though he pretends not to be a part of this world, he comes to the events, and dresses the part. More, that he comes to the Upper West Side to see her and watch Audrey Hepburn with her, when even Dorota tires of it.
Her heels are matching and she knows she looks amazing, and she also hates to admit that it takes two hands to count the hours that it took her to look this good. The fabric of the dress hugs her tightly, ( not indecently so,) but to show off her perfections.
For two hours she tells herself that he’ll show up, that she’s bound to see him any second, but it’s after she gets hit on by the 5th varsity rower, that she gets annoyed and snatches two drinks from the passing server. She approaches Serena and doesn’t bother offering her one of the glasses, drinking both before Serena can even protest. She rolls her eyes, and makes her annoyance obvious before she asks the question that has been burning in her since the evening began.
“Where’s Humphrey?”
“Didn’t he tell you? He can’t make it B, he’s working on his new book,”
“Ugh boring,” Blair rolls her eyes. She catches Serena’s gaze and fibs quickly. “What? This party is boring, I’d rather argue French cinema than hear another one of Nate’s Rowing buddies talk about University,” she reasons, downing her third Scotch of the night.
“Well didn’t you want to find a man?” Serena points out.
“Already got a date,” Blair fibs, waving to a stranger in the party. He waves back, with a goofy grin on his face and Serena swallows the lie, nodding approvingly.
“Like I said, blase” Blair points out.
“I guess it must be a bit painful to hear about University.” Serena pauses, before, “How’s the application to Yale?” Serena tries.
“S, I don’t want to talk about that, I don’t want to think about University right now, ergo why this evening is a total waste, you know, other than the hot rower.” She feels ashamed at herself for tying so hard, for failing to get into Yale immediately, and she hates how crazy Dan is driving her. She leaves the party early and visits a bar, drinking until she looses all sign of reason, and texts him, furious. More angry at herself, for putting in effort, for assuming he would come.
Blair Waldorf: 3:03 You suck
Dan Humphrey: 3:04 What?
Blair Waldorf: 3: 06 You didn’t show
Blair Waldorf: 3: 07 Wing man.
Blair Waldorf: 3: 08 EXCUSE!?
Dan Humphrey: 3:10 I was inspired.
Blair Waldorf: 3: 10 Not good enough
Dan Humphrey: 3:13 I am a writer, remember? You should go to sleep, It’s late!
Blair Waldorf: 3: 15 But this bar is so muc mooooore fun.
Dan Humphrey 3: 20 Your spelling has taken a turn for the worse, go to sleep!
Blair Waldorf: 3: 25 Boring! BLASE! NEVER!
Blair Waldorf: 3: 45 I had to listen to Nat’e varsity boyfriends talk about stuff all night Cant believe you skipped
Dan Humphrey. 3: 46 I’ll make it up to you. Wait. Varsity boyfriends?
Blair Waldorf: 3: 48 Youll make it up to me?!?!?!
Blair Waldorf: 3: 48 Sexual favors? ;)
Dan Humphrey. 3: 48 WHAT?
Dan Humphrey. 3:50 Blair? Are you drunk? Go to bed!
She wakes up to concerned text messages and waits before responding, reveling in the fact that he is worrying about her, at least for an hour, she’s clearly on his mind, and she loves that. She eats it up, and grins at his text messages, making him sweat it out.
Dan Humphrey. 10:14 am Did you get home safe?
Dan Humphrey. 10:30 Blair?
Dan Humphrey. 10:33 > Serena van der Woodsen Is Blair alright?
Dan Humphrey. 10:45 > Serena van der Woodsen What happened last night?
They’re in the middle of breakfast when Serena says it, almost an afterthought,
“Blair, tell Dan you’re ok, he’s texting me, what happened last night?” she asks.
“Nothing,” Blair fibs. I most certainly did not proposition your ex. She smiles and promises that she’ll text him back, loving the concern he shows.
Serena van der Woodsen. 10: 50 Nothing, why?
She loves that he goes so far as to text Serena to ask about her. She goes to her room and sinks into the feeling, dressing to go out. She considers leaving her phone, so that she’ll have the surprise of a dozen text messages when she returns. If she wasn’t expecting a call from Yale, she would, she thinks. Another part of her reasons, you’re not that cruel. In the end she ends up taking the phone along with her, to go shopping.
Dan Humphrey. 11: 15 > Blair Waldorf Are you ok?
She’s in the middle of trying on a skirt ( fantasizing about his mouth watering reaction if he sees it in her) when he texts again. She almost drops her purse in her hurry to check her phone and pulls it out, savoring the words. She grins at the text, resists the urge to jump up and down and tosses it back in her bag. Making him sweat is the most fun she’s had in days. Besides, a part of her just doesn’t know how to explain being drunk last night, and that goddamn text message about sexual favors. Not exactly how she had planned to get him, but if the topic’s already been breached, she has to act on it, quickly. She makes up her mind to go to his place tomorrow and wear him down. She decides to take her new skirt, in that instant.
She hands over her credit card, just as her phone goes off. She doesn’t bother apologizing to the store clerk (she’s Blair Waldorf after all, her mother practically owns fashion on the Upper East Side.) She pulls the phone out of the confines of her bag. She lights up at his face, the fact that he’s calling and presses ignore. She turns back to the store attendant and finishes paying for the skirt.
He calls once more, and again, she presses ignore, loving that he’s worried about her. More than that, she wants to see how long this can go on for. Finally, she decides to put him out of his misery. He has been obsessing about her for an hour already. She wonders if he’ll bring up the sexual favors, and then forces the thought of her head, filled with dread and terror just thinking of a lie for it. She was drunk, she reasons.
Blair Waldorf. 11: 27 > Dan Humphrey Yes. I’m fine! Relax! I can’t shop with your incessant texting!
She thinks he’ll take ages to text, perhaps hours. But it’s only minutes before it happens, and the topic is that exact, daunting subject she’s been trying to avoid.
Dan Humphrey. 11: 35 I think you may have meant to text Chuck yesterday....
She panics and waits before texting, typing out different messages before she chickens out. Then finally, she calms herself down and thinks about this, he hasn’t even brought up the subject yet, so innocently, she texts;
Blair Waldorf. 11: 45 What, why?
Dan Humphrey 11:50 If it was someone else, they might have assumed it was for them or something.
She doesn’t text because she has nothing to say, then she decides to let him sweat it out. He can think about it and obsess about it, there’s no way she’s telling him like this. Not after some drunken text. She wont say anything new, she decides.
Dan Humphrey. 12:45 That text about sexual favors I mean.
Blair Waldorf. 12:46 I know.
Dan Humphrey. 12: 56 It was for Chuck, right?
Dan Humphrey. 1: 12 Or..I mean it was a joke, wasn’t it?
Dan Humphrey 2: 35 Blair?
Then she decides she can’t handle it anymore. Since she’s already made up her mind to seduce him tomorrow, she doesn’t care at this point, and turns the panic onto him, accuses him, changes the topic. She can’t answer, not really, not without lying. Avoiding is better.
Blair Waldorf. 6: 50 GOD! You text more than Serena. What did you Humphreys even do before the invention of the text?
Dan Humphrey. 7: 23 You have texting rules now?
Dan Humphrey. 7: 45 Fine, I won’t text unless it’s dire, crucial, end of the world stuff.
Dan Humphrey. 10:19 This is a text to inform you that On the Waterfront is playing in Brooklyn next week.
She smiles at each one of his late night texts and imagines that he just cannot avoid texting her, but then she thinks, perhaps we’re just friends. We won’t be after tomorrow, she promises herself. Her two step plan will ensure that by this weekend, Dan Humphrey will be hers. She’ll be able to fulfill every fantasy she’s ever had about him, she promises herself.
**
She’s unable to stand letting all the unsaid things in between them fester. She doesn’t want to deal with the lies, or the little things she’s been saying, but she just wants him to hold her and for the world to slip away. She wants to wear him down, and since his mind is already on sexual favors, she reckons it’ll be a piece of cake.
She wears the most delectable tights, the new short skirt and a fantastic to the touch silk (not too low cut, but just enough) top. Her hair she folds perfectly to reveal the curves of her neck, her skin practically glowing ( she stole Serena’s bronzer). It’s late afternoon when she shows up.
“Blair, what are you doing in Brooklyn? Did we have a movie planned, one I forgot about that we arranged weeks ago?” she loves the shock in his voice, but shakes her head. She takes in his look and smirks, white t shirt and jeans, he’s relaxed, and clearly in a pensive state, pen and paper at the kitchen island.
“We should go out,” she pauses, watching his reaction before she adds, “for coffee.”
“We have coffee here,” he stutters over his words and she smirks.
“Brooklyn coffee,” she stresses, half smiling as she strips the jacket off and places it on his couch. She sees his eyes travel up her figure and thinks, this is child’s play. She knows that Dan Humphrey is no match for her, the flawless Blair Waldorf.
She leans against the kitchen island, moving closer to him, her fingers inching to touch any part of him she can reach. It’s only a matter of time, she tells herself. Wondering if she’ll cry when he rejects her. Who will hold her and make the pain go away then? She chickens out before her fingers meet his and shies away, her smile suddenly timid.
He eyes her suspiciously before he moves around to the stove, and mugs.
“Oooh, inspired?” she asks, pointing to the pen and paper just out of her reach.
“Yeah, that’s um, nothing!” he reaches it for it suddenly, but she’s faster and the notebook is in her hands in a second.
“Blair, it’s private!” he practically shrieks at her.
“I’ve read your work before,” she justifies. He stretches out to grab it from her, but the kitchen island gets in his way.
“Give it back.”
She manages to flip to a page in that time and reads aloud:
“There’s a moment when we’re together.
I catch myself thinking,
This could be the beginning of forever
“Blair please!”
“Make me,” she demands, inviting the challenge before she returns her attention to the text.
Then I know I’m falling, and sinki-”
She looses the words as he tries to grab the journal out of her hands, and when she doesn’t release it, he grips her wrists, practically towering over her, as she sits on the chair. She wrestles out of his grasp, nearly elbowing him as she makes an escape. She holds it out in front of her, racing towards the couch as she reads against his protests.
“Blair! STOP!”
“And when we part-” she pauses, looking over at him past the journal. “You’re writing poetry now?”
“Blair,” his voice is angry, desperate, full of a frantic energy she can’t place, but she’s still laughing, holding the journal hostage. He looks at her disapprovingly, tired, as if he hopes she’ll just concede and he won’t have to chase her down. She has another plan in mind, she wants his hands all over her again and smirks as she continues reading.
“The sick reality of our distance floods my min-” her plan works, as he makes a leap at her, his hands land on her waist, then suddenly on her arms, near her face, anywhere and everywhere as he tries to get the notebook. She manages to curl up, bending over, she turns her back into him, hiding the journal, as she clutches it in crossed arms towards her chest.
“Stop it Humphrey,” she shrieks, giggling, as his arms wrap around her, grabbing for the pages. She hopes he won’t stoop so low as to tickle her, yet secretly wishes for it.
She can feel his heat suddenly, and she’s dizzy being this close to him, his hands are wrapped around her waist, holding her against him, and she feels like a kid again. She moves the paper just as his fingers inch up from her abdomen, to the edge of the notebook. She stretches her hands out in front of her, squinting as she makes out the words, practically screaming as she reads them with super speed.
“I can’t ever have your heart
we’re not cut from the same kind”
He manages to snatch it out of her hands just as she finishes the stanza. She turns in his arms, laughing, reveling in his touch. She’s inches away from his face, and somehow his arms are around her. She grins, staring at him, waiting until the moment when his eyes will meet hers, and his hands will gravitate to her waist, and maybe, he’ll be able to kiss her first.
“I was only teasing,” she points out, her elbows bent, ready to be perched on his chest the second he leans in. If he would just lean in already, she thinks. Maybe he needs another hint, she wonders, and she sighs, her eyes meeting his, about to put her hands on his shoulder, grip the white fabric of his shirt, even he can’t fail to see that sign. But he retreats before she has a chance to move.
“It’s not funny,” he isn’t in the mood. He moves away, the heat of his body abandoning her as he retreats into his room, probably to hide the pages under his bed or something idiotic.
She gulps and a sudden shock washes over her, feeding all the evil thoughts inside her mind. Maybe it was about Serena, one says, and then all the others imitate it. She swears under her breath as she adjusts her clothes.
When he comes back, moments later, he tries to smile but she can still see the seriousness underneath his expression. She is poised on her chair, as if the exchange never happened. The wrestling and fighting for the pages, her laughing, his groaning, how his hands pressed against her waist when he held her towards him. It’s worse than if it hadn’t happened, his expression still annoyed, his jaw set, a deep sigh as he makes his way past her to the kitchen. Completely silent, somehow angry. She makes a note not to mock this poem, mostly because she can’t get it out of her head, and how well it almost relates to her.
He says nothing as he fills their mugs up and hands her coffee.
“It’s good,” she offers in lieu of an apology. “The poem, what I read of it at least...”
There’s a pause she would classify as awkward that steps in between them and she looks away from him, embarrassed, guilty. She wants to yell and say It was just a game Humphrey! But whatever is in that notebook is causing all sorts of panic on his features, that much she can tell. She thinks suddenly that its poems and stories about that girl he’s hung up on. Fears pour over her, possess her mind and she has to actively shut them out to listen to him.
“Why are you here?” he asks, exasperated.
“Look, I get it alright? You don’t want what you write to be read before it’s fully baked, or ready, I understand.” she pauses, knowing that’s not a good enough lie. But she knows she can’t honestly say the truth: I just wanted you all over me. I wanted your hands on every inch of me and that seemed to work. She exhales, forcing the truth down and pastes on a smile, trying instead for a nicer explanation.
“And last time I was more harsh than necessary, I thought I could read something this time and give you better criticism, but then you made such a fuss about it, I had to read it,” she replies with her excuse.
“So it’s my fault?” he asks, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back whatever he really wants to shout at her.
“Of course not Humphrey. You’re a writer, you fit the part, you even look like you haven’t left the house in days.” he looks away at that, sighing in annoyance, but she continues, pretending it doesn’t wound her. “Besides I wanted to know what kept you so inspired that you couldn’t join me at Nate’s party,” she explains, shrugging as if it’s an after thought.
His eyes skim over hers, a quality she can’t label reflected back at her. The silence is suffocating and she moves on before he has time to dwell on her words, or even realize that she’s still thinking about that. She hopes too, that their texting won’t be brought up again. Instead she asks what’s really on her mind, before she can stop herself. She’s surprised when she asks the words, unable to believe that she’s being this honest, this vulnerable with him. This hadn’t been part of plan. She was hoping to seduce him, but she didn’t plan to confess to him, or even let on how much she likes him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What?”
“That you were writing about...” she pauses, hating the onrush of thoughts that swirl in her mind, tormenting her, telling her that she's not good enough.
“Serena,”
The silence in between them seems to pull at her heart, yanking it every which way. She hates herself for asking it, she wants to muster her strength and change the topic, but she’s lost her breath, and the ability to speak along with it. A spell that can only be broken with his words.
“Oh...no..that’s not...about Serena...it’s not anything really, left over feelings from the past, its uh-” she arches an eyebrow.
“Uh huh,” she nods, not believing him. “I don’t have to be a writer to know you don’t write like that unless it’s love,” she laughs to cover the pain.
“NO! I...Henry Miller right? Get over a woman by turning her into literature, and besides,“ he sighs, almost smiling. “I didn’t want you reading my work, not after you gave me feedback on Inside,” he explains. She nods accordingly, before she can help that the truth slips out for once.
“It’s beautiful,” she comments, drinking her coffee, locking eyes with him over his cup. A smile floods his features and he lights up, wonder sparkles from his eyes. I did that, she thinks, I made Dan Humphrey smile. What’s more is that his smile is as genuine as her comment was.
“Really?” he asks, as if he’s trying to let it not go to his head.
She doesn’t respond, partly because she hates these moments. They remind her how insufferable and deep the chasm of her love for him is. How she wishes that he would say those words to her, that his hands would be melded to her waist for eternity. That she would be locked in a cage of his arms until she kissed her way free from him, but she wouldn’t ever, not really. She hates these moments because even though there is inches between them, it feels like miles. With things left unsaid, and feelings driving her up the walls, and all the things she wants disappearing in the holes of their conversations.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, after what seems like the longest pause she has ever experienced. She could have read Dostoevsky in that time, completed works even. It’s a calming pause though, suspended in time with happiness, only overshadowed by things left unsaid, and fear for the future. One with him, and even more terrifying, one without him.
“Relax,” she says, honestly. Fear strikes in her for a moment, as she thinks of how honest she is with him about somethings, nearly everything, more so than anyone. She sighs and shrugs, almost abandoning her plan to wear him down. There’s still the party tomorrow that she has to invite him to, she’s set that as another daily goal, but can’t for the life of her bring it up organically yet.
“I don’t want to think about University transfers, or grades, or grad school, or my future, or how Serena’s in the house non stop, and I just can’t escape it, I don’t have any time to just read a book or think,” she exhales. He nods slowly before he considers a course of action.
“Well I have to finish East of Eden, the end tearing away at me, you’re welcome to my library,” he shrugs.
*
The room is a mess, clothes on the floor, books hidden in all crooks and spots of the room, piles near the window, the door, all disorganized. She spots a pile of mostly Russian literature and thinks, Good, at least the piles are organized, but the Canterbury Tales and Moby Dick creep into that pile and make that thought fly out of her head. She’s examining his book shelf, the one above his bed, when she takes a moment to look at his bed, pillow still shaped with the outline of his head, blue covers in disarray. Cologne and aftershave bottles scatter the bookshelf above his bed and she hates how she reads the name before she can help it. Great, she thinks I actually know the name of his cologne now. UGH.
“BLAIR?” she grins at the worry in his voice. “You’re getting a book, right? Not going to Narnia?” he hollers from the living room.
“How can you even find anything in here Humphrey?” she shouts back.
“It’s got a certain charm to it,” he yells back, laughing.
“HOBO is not chic!”
“I’m not homeless! Proven by the very real fact that you are in my house,” he shouts back, and she can hear the annoyance and laughter in his tone.
Poetry: It’s small, bound with a green hardcover casing, gold letters down the side and her fingers flick over it’s spine as she takes it out of the shelf. When she turns back to head into the living room, he’s standing in the door, and he almost looks worried.
“What?” she asks, innocently.
“What were you doing?” he squints.
“Soaking in the essence of Dan Humphrey,” she tells the truth, because she knows he’ll never believe it. She doesn’t let his eyes stray from hers, even as she approaches. Moving until there’s only a foot between them. He laughs before he regards her with suspicion.
“I hid my notebook well,” he comments. “So don’t bother,”
“Please,” she groans, laughing, “I’m Blair Waldorf, I could find it, It’s a good thing I’m not trying,” she points out. He cocks his head to his side, squinting as he regards her features, not trusting.
“What did you get anyway?”
“Why so you can rip it away from me?” she teases.
“No...”
“Or did you just want your hands all over me again?” she asks, wondering if he notices as she inches closer to him.
“I - that...was my private notebook!” he practically trips over the words and she grins, knowing that her plan is working.
“I better run away before you try to steal this book out of my poor unsuspecting grasp,” she says in an overly dramatic flair. “Stay truthful to Steinbeck,” she teases.
“Blair-” he rolls his eyes.
One of the advantages of his house is the width of his doors. It’s wide enough for her to travel through without so much as breathing in his air, but she ignores that and presses her side against him, spinning so her hair twirls in his face, so he’s knocked down with the sheer scent of her coconut grapefruit shampoo and DG perfume. She lingers on the moment as long as she can, allowing herself to take in his shocked expression, and startled gaze, before she settles on his couch. There’s no courtesy to her movement, shoes already left at the door, she lays down on the couch, crossing her legs, propping herself up on one elbow as she flips through the pages of the poetry book she selected.
She doesn’t have to look up to know her plan is working, that his eyes are fixed on her. He clears his throat, and she resists the urge to look up, to admit that she’s read the same sentence ten times already, and grin. She suppresses the feeling and after a moment caves in, glancing up to find him already seated at the counter, croning over Steinbeck. She hates how fascinating the author is, and makes a point of emitting a soft sigh as she moves her position, flipping onto her stomach, kicking her legs in the air, crossing them. Ignoring that this poetry is nothing compared to his.
[CONTINUE]