— У меня правильнописание хромает. Оно хорошее, но почему-то хромает...(с) Винни-Пух.
Chapter 19: Thursday
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A/N: Everyone who speaks in this scene was indeed a character on BtVS/Angel at some point. You may not remember some of them, but that's mainly why they're here. Strong personalities don't make for good background noise.
A/N #2: Thanks again for your awesome comments, commenters! I love hearing your thoughts.
"Shot!" Buffy called, and everyone at the table knocked back a kamikaze.
She was a little giddy, and not just from the booze or the hilariously sloppy high fives. For three straight days, she'd let Spike's calls go unreturned, and the ladies' night she'd cooked up as an alibi turned out to be exactly what she didn't know she needed. Even the venue was a surprise hit: Buffy wasn't keen on Sunset Strip hotspots, but this one had great acoustics, un-snobby waiters and mojitos that tasted like sunshine.
She picked hers up. "Sorry, Cordy. You were saying? About the big-time producer guy?"
"Oh, yeah! So he's all 'check out my MySpace', so I do," Cordelia continued, "and there's this video of him doing the Peanut Butter Jelly dance in novelty sunglasses and lemon yellow manties."
Giggling along with the others, Buffy said, "What?!"
"Let me remind you, he is no Adonis. He is a short, balding man with a big, furry beer gut." She addressed the outcry. "Seriously! That's what I meet at work: guys who are great on paper but in real life, mentally fourteen and physically fifty. Compare and contrast with what Buffy meets at work..."
Buffy looked down at her drink.
"A smokin' hot trust fund baby! Who is also nice and thoughtful and head over freakin' heels for her! Could she be any more lucky?"
"I don't know," Buffy said, deftly turning that spotlight to the girl sitting opposite her. "Fred met her Mr. Right in high school. He's a total snack cake, he just won a humanitarian award from the NAACP and he still gives her moon eyes when he thinks nobody's looking."
"That's great," Cordelia sighed through a wide grin. "I feel so much better now about my life."
Fred said, "Honestly? I've been in a relationship so long, I get a little envious of the unattached. It looks like it could be lots of fun."
Buffy peeled her cocktail napkin off of the bottom of her glass and crumpled it up. It's time we had a little less strategy...
"It is." Cordelia scanned the crowd. "When you're twenty."
"I love my freedom," Amy shrugged. "I don't want to answer to anyone but me. Ever."
Caridad said, "Yeah, but in this town? Being alone can be so lonely."
As the other girls weighed in, Buffy thought of Spike, alone in his mansion.
What did he normally do on a night like this? Read Proust by the fireplace? Throw darts at an original Jasper Johns? Backstroke through a pile of gold doubloons? Build an indestructible suit of armor? She couldn't really see him catching the latest must-see TV...
She could, however, imagine him watching porn. The accompanying recall of his O face and his natural scent caused an unbidden body throb.
Buffy crossed her legs and cleared her throat. He could be watching that video of his dead True Love, for all she knew.
Absently, she folded the napkin into smaller and smaller triangles, then let it bloom open before starting over.
It was possible, of course, that he wasn't alone at all. Maybe he'd hired a hooker to fill in for her tonight. Maybe he was fucking Not Her right now, doggy style, pulling her hair, squeezing her neck, showing her who was in control... Come to think of it, nothing would surprise her less. The man was insatiable.
Buffy snapped out of her Maybe spiral. Who cared what he was doing? Let him bang a hooker or cry from loneliness or fly around in his iron supersuit! This was her night, and her husband's birthday, and she was not going to think about Spike!
"What about you, Buffy?"
Also, she should probably stay on top of the convo. "About me...?"
"When do you think the honeymoon ends? Six months? A year? Yours is still going strong, right?"
"Oh. Yeah!" If she were being honest, she'd have to admit that the honeymoon was DOA by the second Spike argument. "Totally."
"Whatever. Those two are an exception to the rule. They'll still be playing footsies at the retirement home."
"No we won't," Buffy blurted, surprising the table and herself. "I mean, I want us to, but you know, marriage isn't all smooth sailing... it's... It can be hard." Everyone was suddenly staring at her in confusion. "There's no guarantees, is all I'm saying. We're fine now, but who knows what the future holds? Ooh -- Waiter?" Mercifully, he stopped, and she tapped her empty glass. "Can I get another one of these?"
Buffy exhaled as the collective focus shifted to ordering the next round.
* * *
"What about that guy?" Caridad said, chin pointed at another patron.
Cordelia gave him a quick once-over. "He's okay, if you like out-of-work actors who love their hair more than you. It's just a matter of time before he begs you for a 'loan' to tow his '96 Elantra out of the impound lot."
"You're good!" Caridad said, awestruck, and turned to Buffy, "Where have you been hiding this girl? She could've warned me about my last no-good scrub."
"We haven't seen Summers since she got hitched," said Katrina. "I think she's been hiding from us."
"I'm not hiding anything!" Buffy laughed, raising her hands in defense, and realized she'd forgotten the word 'from'. Whoa, slow down Mojito Girl. "But I am so glad I got you all in the same room, and I'm not afraid to do it again."
There were toasts to that, followed by suggestions of making it a regular event, a round of agreements, and all was right in Buffy's world again.
"Don't look now," Amy said, leaning in and casting her glance beyond them to the door. "Enormous bodyguard just walked in. Ten bucks says it's Britney."
Cordelia held up her makeup mirror to 'spy and reapply', like she used to at the lunch table. "Twenty that it's some reality show reject. Then again, that's a nice suit for a bodyguard..."
"Maybe it's the governator," Rona said, trying an Austrian accent.
Just as Buffy was about to look, her phone buzzed. While the girls went on speculating, she unlocked it with her new secret code, the one Lindsey didn't know: 6*6*6.
Text message from: Will.
God, it was ten o'clock already, didn't he know when to give up?
"Hel-lo wealthy suaveness," Cordelia purred. "Who are you and how soon will you be mine?"
"He looks familiar," Rona said, but Buffy was staring at Spike's message:
When will you learn that I never give up?
"Oh my god he's coming this way," Cordelia said. "Everybody, make me look good."
Fred said, "Wait, isn't that...?"
"Buffy," Spike said behind her.
"Wh--" There was whiplash and confusion. And a date suit. And sparkly blue eyes. And cologne. And who did he think he was, crashing her party?
"What a pleasant coincidence."
She had just enough presence of mind to put on a fake grin. "Spike! What are you doing," she paused to leave the question mark there, "here."
Resting a hand on the back of her chair, he said ultra-casually, "Came by to see the owner. Been thinking of going into nightlife."
"Wow. That is a coincidence." He'd obviously dotted the cologne on his hips or stomach or something, and with his jacket open and the burgundy dress shirt underneath, and the eyes and the mojitos... it was a lot all at once.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your stunning girlfriends?"
The eyes had moved on to Cordelia, who had seemingly just shuddered in orgasm.
"Um," Buffy said, thrown, "Spike Pratt, Cordelia Chase. Cordelia, this is my father-in-law." She rephrased for maximum impact: "Lindsey's dad."
Cordy's wedding-ring check and subsequent glee was shameless. "It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pratt, I have heard so much about you."
Shyeah. He had to know she was lying through her giant, perfect teeth. Right?
But then he took her hand and insisted she call him Spike, and Cordelia blushed and beamed and chest-heaved, and then he got all Frenchman on her with the Enchanté and the soft kiss on the knuckle and Cordelia full on squealed.
Was he seriously trying to get a rise out of her by leading on one of her friends? Could he possibly sink any lower? And would he please drop the I'm-so-mesmerized act already?
"This is Amy," Buffy said, and snapped her fingers. "Spike?"
Finally letting go of Cordelia's hand, he sent a quick smirk Buffy's way before turning to Amy.
Him and his smirks.
As she powered through the introductions and he somehow managed to melt every woman in her party, lesbian included, the owner of the lounge came up to kiss Spike's ass and invite them all to the VIP area.
"We're fine out here, really," Buffy said, only to be speared in the shin with a Manolo Blahnik heel. "You have business to tend to, Spike. You go ahead."
"And drink all that champagne myself? Someone's got to come with me." His gaze rested on Cordelia.
Oh no he did not.
"On second thought," Buffy amended, standing up, "it is kind of crowded out here. Let's go feel important, girls."
* * *
She was not going to break. Not tonight. Not on Lindsey's birthday, no matter how far he took this Cordelia thing.
This is what she told herself when she saw Spike touch Cordelia's lower back as they walked ahead of her, when he draped his arm behind Cordelia's neck as they were seated in the curtained-off booth, and now, when he kept staring at Cordelia's mouth.
"You must travel a lot," Cordelia said over the trancey drum and bass mix.
He stared at her mouth. "Flew in from São Paulo three hours ago."
"Wow," Buffy said. So that's why he was so bent on seeing her tonight: he wanted welcome home sex. "You don't waste any time at all."
Spike glanced at Buffy's knee, which had started to jerk.
"Yeah, wow." Cordelia got his attention back by caressing her clavicle: a move she and Buffy learned from Cosmo in the seventh grade. "That's so exciting."
"It's an exciting city." He tilted his head, left, then right, as if positioning for a kiss. Buffy began to fidget. "Have you been to Brazil?"
"No," Cordelia said faux-sheepishly, "but I'm a big fan of their waxes."
He looked at Cordelia with the slow-growing wolf grin Buffy had come to believe was reserved for her. "You're a sassy one. I like you."
Then they laughed. Gross.
"Hey, Spike," Buffy said. Hello? Sassy one you came here for? Owner of the home you wrecked? Over here, behind the one you're macking on? "Didn't you come here for a business meeting?"
"In a bit," he said, never taking his eyes off Cordelia. "You must be an actress. Gorgeous girl like you."
"Oh my god, I am!"
This was getting train-wrecky. Buffy knew she should walk away, go sit with the other girls, but ...god help her, she couldn't.
"Well, movie biz secretary by day," Cordelia said, "executive assistant really, but..."
He arched a brow. "Secretary! You don't say."
Buffy rolled her eyes. Next he'd be asking her if she wore pantyhose to work.
Champagne was brought to the table, diverting Spike's attention, and Cordelia clutched Buffy's arm. "I'm in love with him. I'm in love. Would it be wrong and slutty if I went home with him tonight?"
"Yes!"
"You've got your amazing man. Why can't I have mine?"
"Because he's my man's father, for one--"
"So what? I'm not gonna marry him! Unless he asks."
"He's not what he seems, okay? He's--"
"Champagne?" Spike held out a glass, and their eyes met, but not long enough for Buffy to get a good glare in. The revolving rainbow mood lighting wasn't helping either.
"To happy coincidences," he said, toasting mainly with Cordelia who oohed all over that.
"To calculating strategists," Buffy said.
"Huh?"
"You know, Cordelia," Spike said, moving closer to her than ever. "I happen to need an executive assistant of my own. Would you want to come by and ...interview?"
"Spike!" Remembering that she couldn't openly chastise him in mixed company, Buffy spoke through a laugh: "Cordelia has a great job, she doesn't need a new one. You've got to stop trying to recruit all my friends."
His tongue touched the roof of his mouth -- oh, he was enjoying this -- before he said, "I've only ever tried to recruit you. And you said no. Why don't you let your charming friend speak for herself?"
"Yeah, Buffy, speak for yourself!" Cordelia said with a dismissive titter. "Color me intrigued, Spike. What exactly are you looking for?"
"Well," he said. "I'm looking for total dedication. You'd have to move in with me."
Unable to control her scoff, Buffy smacked her glass on the table and stood. "I'm gonna go call my husband. Oh, hey, Spike, you should come wish him a happy birthday." Nothing. "Spike?"
He barely looked up. "Uh, yeah. Tell him I said that."
Wait. What?
Did he not hear the implicit opportunity in her suggestion? She wanted to get him alone. Not to have sex, but that never stopped him from trying.
Was he truly brushing her off for Cordelia? Just because she was handy? This was like high school all over again, only this time it was fucking with her on an entirely new level.
"Okay, then."
* * *
Next booth. Now or I'm gone.
Message sent, Buffy leaned over the top of the C-shaped vinyl couch and peeked through a crease in the curtains.
They were laughing and talking, faces way too close together. And she wasn't even in the room anymore.
As Cordelia kept blithering, he took his phone out of his pocket and gave it a look.
Head down, eyebrows up, he glanced in Buffy's direction ...and slipped it back into his pocket. Went back to listening, laughing, flirting.
Numbly, Buffy closed the curtain and got off the couch.
So. This wasn't a game for him anymore. He was actually into Cordelia. Just like Lindsey said, one month and he was moving right on to the next...
This was what she wanted, wasn't it? For him to finally leave her be, find someone else to harass? It was; but, just... Cordelia?
Reaching out for the curtain, Buffy gasped as it opened on its own.
Face to face with Spike, her heart thumped faster than the music and she forgot every single thing she was angry about.
Staring her down, eyes cold and unreadable, he advanced.
She backpedaled until he had her pinned against the couch.
"Say it," he said.
"Say what?"
Cheek pressed against hers, he said, "I win."
Her eyes fell shut. Suddenly, there was only one thing she wanted.
"I win," Buffy said, and shoved him to the couch.
* * *
Buffy bounced in her husband's lap on their living room couch, fucking him exactly like she did Spike, just one hour earlier in a Sunset Strip VIP booth.
Only with Spike, there was atmospheric lighting and sexy music and her knees were stuck to the vinyl seat and he was touching her so good and panting like a beast and staring at her like she was the hottest woman on the planet.
"Fuck," said Lindsey.
"Fuck," Spike breathed, exposing her jiggling breasts. "Come home with me tonight."
"What? No." Feeling her nipples react to his heavy-lidded gaze, she shut her eyes. "God."
"I need to have you all night again."
She whimpered. He had to stop sounding so achy and desperate. "You know I can't."
Spike snarled, guiding her hips to a faster grind.
She bent forward to whisper in his ear, "Don't take Cordelia home."
"Bloody hell, Buffy." He gathered her hair in his fist and made her look at him. "You are all I want."
"Nyahhuuuh!" She threw her head back and thrashed in Lindsey's arms.
Moments later, Lindsey lay beside her, catching his breath. "Damn, woman. You should have a girl's night out every night." He let out a satisfied hoot. "Happy birthday to me."
Face flushing, she chuckled and kissed his cheek. "Happy birthday, baby."
When he got up to go to the bathroom, she held her head and groaned.
The mojitos were wearing off.
Read on... >>
A NOTE ABOUT PLAGIARISM: Don't do it. Call me crazy, but I don't like finding my hard work pasted into other people's stories. If I find out you've plagiarized me or any other author, I will make sure everyone knows it. If you're not clear on what 'plagiarism' means, the definition is here.
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