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Post by Samantha on Jan 31, 2013 1:27:36 GMT
{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell moved to the ledge and hoisted himself out of the pool; from his trunks fell a downpour of water, smacking against the tile around the pool's edge. Marina sat half-facing away from him on a lounge chair, towel-drying her hair. She looked as if she had something more that she wanted to say to him—her mouth opened and closed like that of a fish—but she ultimately looked to him, waiting for him to say something.
He felt badly. It was so easy for him to be blunt and callous that he often forgot just how hurtful he could be. It was one thing for him to be this way with his grandfather—his grandfather who understood, who had to forgive him—but when he acted so terrible to strangers, it became clear why he didn't have any friends. No, he didn't want her to be his dog. He didn't want to be followed just as much as he didn't want to follow. That wasn't what he had meant.
"I'm going to change," he said because he didn't know what else to say. He walked over to the locker where he had left his clothing and slipped off his suit. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll let you look. I'll objectify myself for you."
He didn't know why he continued to joke with her, not when his sense of humor seemed to go right over her head. But he had seen her checking him out—the way her eyes had skipped down to his stomach, just quickly, just for a slight moment—and part of him did enjoy teasing her. Not in a bad way, not menacingly, but in a good-natured, friendly sort of way.
He waited a moment for her to say something, but when she didn't, he sighed heavily and finished getting dressed in silence. He closed the locker door and, stuffing his feet into his dress shoes, walked over to the bank of lounge chairs. "I'm sorry," he said, standing over her. "I didn't mean it like that. I just..." His voice trailed off, and he drew his lower lip into his mouth, glancing at the water. "I'm sorry."
He sat down next to her on the lounge chair, the leg of his pants brushing against her bare, wet thigh. "We can go to dinner," he said with a nod, looking at her. He leaned back on one arm, gently tracing the curve of her back with his free hand. "But I want to treat you. Remember when I asked you to hang out with me? I said that this date was on me, 'cause I'd gotten a nice tip from a very pretty woman. I guess she had found me outrageously charming or something—although I can't fathom why exactly."
He looked down at his lap, smiling gently, hoping that she would, too.
"I'll need to stop by my apartment and change first," he continued, "but what do you say? We can go anywhere you'd like."
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Post by Cayla on Jan 31, 2013 2:44:36 GMT
{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3}"I'll let you look. I'll objectify myself for you." he said.
Marina froze. She wasn't that kind of girl, but the her head twitched. She slightly had the nerve of looking. She never really saw a grown man fully naked before. She took the towel from her head and placed it in her lap. She didn't speak. She was afraid to make things awkward. Marina heard him step over near her and sit down.
Marina felt a warm finger touch her back, stroking her. She shivered. It felt calming, but made the hair on her arms stand up on end. He agreed to dinner, but of course, he insisted on buying. He needed to be the man. Then he called her pretty. It was like a dream or something. An attractive man who liked her for herself and not for her money. Or she hoped. Marina smiled. She saw Russel smile, then look down. She picked up his chin with her forefinger and thumb.
"Your smile needs work. If I pick where we'd go, you may end up broke. I want to experience your lifestyle first," she said. Then Marina leaned in for a kiss. She gently bit his bottom lip and stroked Russell's hair. She slowly pulled away. Her lips tingled. She hoped he felt the same. Marina wrapped a towel back around her bare body.
"I... 'm gonna go change," Marina shuttered. She stepped out into the hall and into the elevator and Russell came with. They got back into her penthouse and Marina started untying the halter of her bikini top, but instantly realized someone was behind her.
"I won't be long!" she called. She closed her bedroom door where she could see a crack of light into the living room and continued changing quickly. She slipped into a lavender and mint sundress after putting on her undergarments. She walked barefoot into the carpeted living room where she had left her hairbrush. She picked it up and pulled it through her hair to remove it. She parted her hair in two pieces and within five minutes she had created a messy fishtail braid.
Maina moved over to her house phone and dialed the maid service to bring up her belongings she had left at the pool. Marina walked into her room and pulled out a white pair of wedge heels. She put them on and walked out to Russell.
"How long did I take?" she asked. "I'm ready to go to your apartment. We can take any car you'd like," Marina gestured over to her key rack with an array of about ten cars.
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Post by Samantha on Jan 31, 2013 4:47:58 GMT
{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Marina was disjointed; she had a way of going about things that surprised Russell, simply because there was very little lead-up. Like the kiss. She had been talking, and then suddenly she had been kissing him, biting on the very same lip that he had been but moments ago chewing on nervously. He felt her place a hand on the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. He brought his own hand up to her neck, gently pulling her further into him—but suddenly she broke away, ending it just as quickly as she had started it.
And he sat there, breathing hard, as she got up from the lounge chair, muttering something about needing to get changed.
Upstairs, as she got dressed, he sat on the couch and thought about the kiss. All day long he'd been telling himself that he didn't have feelings for her—he'd said it even as he'd asked her out, even as he'd helped her shoot pool, even as he'd gotten into the water for her—but he couldn't deny it any longer: he did like her. She was different than any girl that he'd ever previously dated, and because of that, she terrified him. He'd have to move slower with this one; he'd have to be more careful. He didn't want to hurt her.
He knew that he might.
And he also knew that she might, too. Might hurt him, that is. Because he'd never cared for another girl he did for Marina; because he'd never seriously considered dating anybody until she'd gotten off the broken elevator and threw her arms around him. What if he screwed up? What if she wanted more than he could possibly give her?
She came out into the living room, asking if she'd taken too long and something about cars. Russell looked in the direction that she was gesturing, vaguely taking in the numerous sets of keys that hung on the rack by the door, and stood up.
"I think," he said, tilting his head to the side, "that I may have liked the bikini better, but you look very nice." He stepped toward her, and then immediately thought better of it. "My shirt's still wet," he explained. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys. "We'll have to take my car. I can't leave it in the lot overnight. And besides"—he turned toward the door, glancing back at her over his shoulder—"you said that you wanted to see how I lived, right? It's my show now, babe."
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Post by Cayla on Jan 31, 2013 23:11:35 GMT
{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3}Marina crossed her arms. She was satisfied with Russell's choice to take his car and invite her into his home. Then she went back over his choice of words. He had mentioned her looking nice, but better in the bikini. She put two and two together. He had been checking her out and he had been hitting on her. He was crushing on Marina.
By the time she had realized this, they were both on the way down to the parking lot. She kept her hand on Russell's back and followed him with each step. Marina looked down at her dress and smoothed out her dress. After getting into the lobby Marina noticed she was missing her purse. She told Russell she would be back and not to wait up.
"It would be nice if you pulled your car up to the front," she said. "It's only five and you've got my attention on you until midnight."
Marina spun around and ran up the stairs as fast as she could without tripping over her heels. Once she was back in her room, Marina grabbed a silvery clutch with a black wristband. She made sure she had a credit card handy. She counted through her purse items.
"Lipstick, nail file, half empty pack of spearmint chewing gum, hair clip, and..." Marina glanced down at the coffee table where she had left her phone. She picked it up out of its furry pink case so it easily slipped into her clutch. She walked back down the stairs like a model on the runway, just to see if anyone noticed.
Marina lightly pinched her cheeks on the way down to give them some color. She skipped putting on endless amounts of makeup for once. Marina made her way out to the main entrance where she was waiting for Russell to pull up in his car. She didn't know what to expect this nice. She only wanted some excitement.
She tried to picture what Russell's home and family were like.
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Post by Samantha on Feb 1, 2013 4:48:14 GMT
{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell drove an old '93 Civic hatchback that was only seven years his junior. It was red, and he kept a little jar of paint in the glove compartment for quick touch-ups whenever the paint flaked or rusted off. The car had originally belonged to his mother, but it had fallen into his grandfather's possession after her death and then been given to Russell on his sixteenth birthday. The car, at twenty years of age, was nearing the end of its life, and his grandfather had on more than one occasion suggested that Russell look into buying something a bit newer, but Russell just couldn't part with the thing. He loved that old red car.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, one hand on the stick-shift, and his eyes parting from the road every few seconds to check on Marina, who sat quietly in the passenger seat. When they pulled into the lot of his apartment building, he got out and rounded the car to open her door.
"I'm sorry," was all he said, gesturing to the building. It was nothing spectacular, perhaps even a bit shabby, and never without a constant flow of college-age students—forever coming and going, and forever doing it loudly. However, this everyday barrage of white noise was nothing in comparison to the cacophony of the weekends—of the parties. Russell spent many a Friday and Saturday night lying awake in bed, listening to the thumping of a nearby baseline and wishing that he were anywhere else in the world but Lake Owensway.
He apologized again as they began to climb the first of six flights of stairs that would take them up to his apartment. There was no elevator, he explained. "But it's good for the gluteus," he continued, and he left it at that.
They arrived at apartment number 627, and he pictured the small living room and kitchen—separated only by a laminate-top kitchen island—that awaited them behind the closed door. In her company, he was embarrassed by his apartment—and in turn he was embarrassed for feeling that way about his home. It was small, yes: two bedrooms and a shared bathroom. But there were things that he really did like about the apartment, too, like the balcony off of the living room that overlooked the street. He liked to go out there to sit or read or think. That was where he and his grandfather avoided each other, where they went when the apartment was feeling a bit too small.
He slid his key into the lock and opened the door, gesturing for her to step inside.
"Welcome to mi casa," he said, voice unenthused. "I'm sorry it's such a mess." He moved quickly past her to the couch and began to gather up strewn newspapers and castaway clothing, heaving them onto the nearby armchair. "I rarely have company, and my grandfather's not much of a domestic, either, so..." He kicked at one of the cardboard boxes that sat against the wall. "Try not to trip. I'm just, uh, in the process of building a bookshelf, and the boxes are just temporary."
That was true. A few years ago he had bought all of the wood needed to build a bookshelf, but something had gotten in the way—probably common sense, or else drunkenness—and he'd never gotten around to it. Suddenly it seemed very obvious—from the heap of shoes by the door to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink—that he never should have invited her over.
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Post by Cayla on Feb 2, 2013 2:27:22 GMT
{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3}Marina got into Russell's car and adjusted herself in the passenger's seat. It sure wasn't a heated, punk furry covered seat, but it had an attractive driver. She fiddled with her thumbs for a bit and glanced at Russell every once in awhile.
She looked up and found herself in a parking lot of Berma Apartments. She began walking up the first flight of stairs when Russell began to apologize for the walk. She wasn't bothered by it. After the incident, Marina was still a bit shaken. She hardly minded walking.
They finally made there way to the sixth floor, apartment 627. Marina watched Russell jam the key into the door lock and break open the door. Marina peered inside and saw boxes lying everywhere. She couldn't tell if Russell was a hoarder or moving in. The room was small and smelled faintly of cigarettes and cat litter. She was certain many dirty human beings lived here before.
She heard Russell apologize again for his mess. Marina then hit her foot against a box and tripped, just as Russell warned her not to trip. She grabbed hold of Russell's arm to regain her balance. She looked at him and she could tell by his eyes he was discontent with something. Marina's eyes drifted to the back of the room where she saw a sliding door to open to the balcony and fresh air. She stepped over boxes to reach it.
"Mind if I step outside? I love balconies." She said. Marina watched Russell set his keys down and make his way toward the sliding door.
Marina peeled the door open and stepped out into the crisp air. She rested her hands on the hand rail. She felt Russell brush past and scoot next to her. It wasn't very big, but the space felt larger than the cramped apartment.
"Ever come out here to think?" she asked. Marina placed her hand on top of Russell's and waited for his reaction. Marina wanted to tell if Russell actually had feelings and had enough courage to make a move.
She geared her head toward the road where there was very little traffic and could hear the bass sounds of party music going on somewhere in the building. Russell's life was much more stressful then Marina's. She could tell by the environment and began to understand Russell's first sense of hostility.
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Post by Samantha on Feb 2, 2013 22:24:08 GMT
{name:Russell McBrde#|#picture:2}Russell stepped out onto the balcony, pulling the sliding door to a close behind himself. The space was large enough for the two of them to stand side by side, but did not allow for much movement. He turned his hand over and pushed his fingers through hers, squeezing softly. As he stared down at their intertwined fingers, he said, "All of the time. I've been living here with my grandfather since I was fifteen years old. I love him, I do, but neither of us has very much personal space, you know? Sometimes I need a break, and this is where I come. It's actually the quietest place in the apartment, believe it or not. At least out here the wind and the car traffic drowns out all of the partying."
Russell spread his arms out along the railing and leaned forward, ducking his head to look down at the ground beneath his feet. "God, I hate this place," he said with a sigh, more to himself than to Marina. He looked at her. "You probably do, too. You're probably thinking about how pathetic this all is. We don't have to do this, Marina—I can take you home, if you want. We can just be friends."
He couldn't look at her any more. It was decided, he thought as pulled his hand away from hers and shoved each of them deep into his pockets. He couldn't do this. He couldn't hang out with her if he was in a constant state of insecurity, always worrying that she'd come to resent him for his inability to support her lifestyle. Maybe she didn't have a problem with it now, but they'd only known each other for a few hours; as far as Russell was concerned, they were still complete strangers. Between his grandfather's medical expenses, the monthly rent, and his drinking habit, he often had to live from paycheck to paycheck. And it had never been a concern of his, not until he had met Marina.
The rational thing to do would have been to drive her home and forget that this entire day had never happened. But as much logical sense as that made, his heart and his body seemed not to care much about logic at the moment; they were screaming, "Screw sensibility!" and urging him to go in for the kiss that he so desired. Life would have been so much easier, so much more fun, if only he didn't over-think everything.
Screw it, he thought.
"We can just be friends," he said again, voice low but firm. He paused, turned to her, and said, "But I'm not sure that I want to be just friends with you."
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Post by Cayla on Feb 3, 2013 0:21:13 GMT
{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3}Marina felt Russell's hand close over hers and pull away. He really did do a lot of thinking. Much more than Marina normally would have. She truly didn't mind being here in a small cramped apartment. It was a new experience.
She heard Russell apologize again for his lack of space. He wasn't sure where to go. Suggested just being friends. It was a start. Russell began to open up. Whether he was a friend or something more, Marina felt comfortable with him. She wasn't sure exactly what he meant by only being friends, but she knew she could see him more and help him along. She couldn't completely tell if he was struggling or just needed a little nudge. She didn't want to be his charity. Russell didn't want that. Marina still had a desire to help somehow.
She heard him repeat about being just friends and said, "But I'm not sure that I want to be just friends with you."
Marina was no longer surprised. He had a thing for her. It just felt wrong or unreal to him. Marina didn't know which. She didn't know if he felt guilty and didn't deserve a relationship or just didn't want a rich girlfriend. Marina smiled and grabbed Russell's hand once again.
"I will be whatever you need me to be," she said and placed her head on his shoulder, "I still would like to go to dinner if you don't mind. A girl's got to eat. If money is a problem I truly don't mind paying for any of the expenses. And don't try to be 'the bigger person' and not take it. Especially if you and your Grandpa need it." Marina rubbed his shoulder.
"I can wait in your main area while you go get changed," she said and walked inside. Marina watched Russell go into a room and close the door. Marina was nosy. She opened a few boxes. A few were filled with wood and others with books. A smaller but wider box was already halfway open. She bent over by it and picked up a book. It was a family scrapbook. She flipped through a few pages. She recognized Russell as a child in a few of the photos. He seemed fairly happy, but there was always a woman in the rear of the photo holding an alcoholic beverage and looking depressed.
"Well, thanks to you, you've turned Russell into a mix breed of your personality," Marina said mumbling to herself. She flipped to a few of the back pages that were empty, but had a few templates started. One was labeled: 'Russell's Graduation' and another labeled 'Russell's Marriage', both pages contained no pictures.
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Post by Samantha on Feb 3, 2013 1:19:53 GMT
{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell walked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind himself with a loud bang. He collapsed onto his bed—which was nothing more than a mattress on the floor—and pressed his balled fists into his eye sockets, groaning. Now Marina really did see him as a sad, pathetic charity case. Even worse, he was convinced that she didn't care for him in the way that he was quickly finding himself to care for her. He tried to remind himself that she had been the one to instigate the first kiss—that quick tease of a kiss—but it didn't help.
I will be whatever you need me to be.
He'd never felt more emasculated in his life.
He rolled over, onto his stomach, and reached for the wristwatch that was on top of his dresser. He managed to knock over a few knickknacks, sending them to the floor with the rest of his clothing and other personal belongings. He didn't even care. His room was a mess, his apartment was a mess, his life was a mess.
He got up and stripped down to his boxers, rolling the dress pants and still-damp oxford into a ball and pitching them into the corner of the room. He had no idea where he was going to find the time to wash his uniform before work the following day. Too bad. He'd just have to wear them dirty—it wasn't as if he had any girl to impress at the hotel anyway.
He found a pair of jeans on the floor and, in the back of a dresser drawer, a clean henley. This one was dark blue, a bit faded because of its age, but overall his favorite shirt. He pulled it on and then examined his appearance in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of his closet door. He knew that he was probably a bit underdressed as compared to Marina, but he'd be damned if he was going to stress himself out over it. Before exiting his room, he put on a bit of cologne to hopefully mask the scent of chlorine that still lingered on his skin.
"Let's go," he said, entering the living room. "Marina?"
He pivoted on the heel of his shoe and caught Marina standing over an open cardboard box, holding one of his old family photo albums. "What are you doing?" he asked in a clipped voice, his eyes fixed on the album. He was just about to demand that she to put it down when a door from down the hallway opened and closed, and his grandfather appeared in the entryway of the living room.
"Well, hello there," the old man said, his eyes falling first on Marina. He lifted his chin to look at his grandson. "I thought I heard voices out here. Who's your new friend?"
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Post by Cayla on Feb 4, 2013 1:59:16 GMT
{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3} She looked up at Russell who looked a bit frustrated. Russell looked good with a nice fitting tee shirt and jeans.
She looked to her left where she saw on old man in the doorway. She assumed it was Russell's grandfather. He had white hair, wrinkles sculpted his face, and had the same eyes as Russell. Marina assumed he was nearing his 80's or older. She saw his slight glow of happiness as he saw a young woman visitor with Russell.
She glanced back down at the empty page.
"I'm sorry," she said and closed the book. She packed it up back into the box. "I'm Marina, " she said and handed out a manicured hand out to Russell's grandfather.
"Russell and I were going to go out to dinner," she said, "He is very sweet." Marina glanced back over to Russell hoping he would relax.
What could he be frustrated about?
Marina wasn't sure what to do. She never had a relationship with someone like Russell. Whatever relationship that was. She made her way by the door and leaned on the handle.
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Post by Samantha on Feb 4, 2013 20:17:42 GMT
{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell picked up his keys and wallet from the coffee table, slipping them both into his back pocket. Behind him, his grandfather was smiling and saying pleasantly, "Of course he's a sweet boy—that's how I raised him."
Russell discreetly rolled his eyes. His grandfather was a natural talker—he'd talk to a tree if only he was certain that it would stand still for long enough. Well, Russell liked to talk, too, but there was a difference between his oratory skills and his grandfather's: his grandfather was a buddy, a pal, and seemed to make friends wherever he went. Russell, on the other hand, made acquaintances and, more often than not, enemies.
"It's nice to meet you, Marina," his grandfather continued. He always chatted up the girls that Russell dated, only to later berate Russell in private: this one wore clothing that was too revealing, that one smoked like a damn chimney. "You let me know if my grandson misbehaves tonight, you hear me?"
"All right, Grandpa," Russell said, ushering Marina out the front door. He called back over his shoulder. "I'll be home later tonight. Don't wait up, okay?"
The door closed behind them, and he lead Marina down the six flights of stairs to the parking lot, where they climbed into his car once again. He hadn't given much thought to dinner, but now that he was in the car, driving on an open road with enough silence between them to qualify as a wall, he began to think about where he was going to take her. He knew plenty of cheap little dives—good food, good company, but cheap. Dirty, too. And he didn't want to take her anywhere cheap or dirty. Despite his confliction of emotions—one minute he was completely attracted to this girl, the next he couldn't stand the sight of her—he still found himself wanting desperately to impress her.
And so he drove east, out toward the beaches. He realized that he had made things awkward between them out on the balcony, when he'd fluctuated in the way that he had, followed by his subsequent temper tantrum. He wished that he had never opened his mouth in the first place. He didn't know where they stood anymore. He had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. Was this still a date?
He pulled into a parking lot off of the boardwalk, cutting the engine and getting out of the car to open her door. "I've never been here before," he said as they crossed the lot. He was gesturing with his chin to the sign that read Katie's Dining. "I've only ever seen it from down on the beach, so I apologize in advance if the food isn't anything great. Have you ever been?"
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Post by Cayla on Feb 4, 2013 22:55:36 GMT
{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3}"I'm sure he will be good. Nice to meet you!" Marina said frankly.
Marina waved goodbye to his Grandfather as she was pushed out the door. Russell had a very unique personality. He was fairly terse and Marina couldn't tell if the was a good or bad thing yet. He still hadn't said anything about dinner, but she assumed he was still taking her.
A few minutes later, Russell pulled up to a brightly lit and aesthetic building. It was on a sandy beach. The waves crashed against the shore. It was peaceful. Marina was so busy watching the waves she hadn't notice Russell had opened the car door. She stepped out and her her heels click on the cement. She followed Russell inside the tiny restaurant.
The place seemed oddly familiar. It had twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling along with fish netting and sea shells. Paintings of fish and sea life covered the floor. The walls looked as if the wood was rotting from water damage, but Marina noticed it had been painted that way on purpose. Most of the windows were portholes.
She could smell the seafood in the kitchen. Friday fish fry.
Russell and Marina were escorted to a small table that was dimly lit by candles and the light coming from outside the window.
"Do you like seafood?" Marina asked. "It's my favorite," she said.
Marina opened her menu and directly looked at the seafood selection.
"You know, I don't know if I've ever been here before, but it sure seems awfully familiar," she said.
Once Marina made her choice on the lemon glaze rainbow trout, she put down her menu to look at Russell. He still had his nose in the menu. Marina was slightly pulled down the menu from his face.
"I know this still may seem strange to ask....but I must. Is this a date?" Marina asked. She stared blankly into Russell's eyes waiting for a response.
She decided to change the topic as well. "I don't mean to be nosey, or rude, but did you graduate high school and who was the woman in almost all of your photos?" Marina asked but still knew he probably won't answer.
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Post by Samantha on Feb 5, 2013 1:22:35 GMT
{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell studied the menu. Sure, he loved seafood—he loved a nice, juicy three-pound lobster. And steak. Oh, how he loved steak. But there was no way in hell that he was ordering a thirty-dollar steak dinner (and he didn't even dare look at the price of the lobster). His eyes settled instead on a pasta dish. It even had some shrimp in it—a little more expensive therefore, though not completely out of his price range. Expensive enough still, he knew, that it wouldn't appear to Marina as though he were skimping out.
He did see her fingers on the corner of his menu, pulling it down from his face. He heard her pose her succession of questions. After a long moment of thought, he folded his menu and set it down beside his wine glass.
"Okay," he said carefully. "You're very direct, aren't you? You're very straight-to-the-point. You've got purpose, and I suppose that I have no choice but to admire you for that. I do, in fact. I admire a girl who can speak her mind." He wished that the waiter would bring them a round of waters, for his mouth was very dry. "See, I, too, had planned to touch upon that topic myself, but I'd have eased into it—you know me and how coy I can be—so perhaps I'd have asked, 'So what did you see?' And you would have responded, 'What did I see where?' to which I would have then said, 'In the photo album. What did you see?' Because you had been going through my personal belongings, though I'm sure you're already aware of that so I won't even bother mentioning it."
What was he doing, rambling on like that? He was doing what he did best, of course: he was talking his way out of a sticky situation, out of having to answer the questions at hand—both the one about the date and the one about his mother. He could ramble for hours if he had to.
"That," he said with a smile, leaning in toward her, "was some paralepsis for you. I'd always excelled in my English classes in high school—which, by the way, I did graduate from."
The waiter stopped by the table to take drink orders. "I'll have a water, thank you," Russell said, "and a Manhattan, please."
The waiter took Marina's drink order and left; Russell watched him retreat to the kitchen before looking back at Marina—although he didn't look at her so much as he looked out the window behind her. "I don't usually open car doors for my friends," he said. "Nor do I help them shoot pool. And they certainly don't kiss me like you kissed me—they're terrible kissers, really." That was a joke, and he smiled to prove it. "So, yeah, I'd say that we're on a date right now."
He added quietly, for now he was being completely serious: "The woman in those pictures was my mother. The reason there's not one of my graduation is because there aren't many pictures of me after the age of fifteen. My grandfather didn't learn how to use a camera until about a year ago, and to this day he still can't figure out how to take a picture without it coming out black. He needs to take the lens cap off, I tell him."
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Post by Cayla on Feb 6, 2013 0:53:10 GMT
{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3}Marina batted her eyelashes. "Yes, I'm quite frank, " she said. Russell explained that he was going to ask what she was doing, and he figured Marina would use the 'what are you talking about' card. Maria frowned and crossed her arms. He always tried to predict Marina's next move. Or so she thought.
Marina took a sip of her water. After quite a bit of explaining, Russell finally got to the point of Marina's questions. She made a mental note in head: graduated high school, liked English class, and had an alcoholic mother, and a very far from technology savvy grandfather. She back tracked his sentences again.
He slipped in the fact that they were on a date and he had acknowledged their lips meeting. Marina raised an eyebrow, "Terrible kisses, eh? How many girls have you kissed?" Marina said flatly.
It was more of a personal question than she intended; Marina elbowed her way into his inner life. She pressed her lips together and awaited his response.
Before he could respond, the waiter came over to take their order. Marina sat back. "I'll have the lemon glazed rainbow trout with a side or rice pilaf and the vegetable of the day," Marina said.
Marina listened to Russell's order of shrimp and pasta. It was her favorite dish as a child. She grinned. "Nice choice," she heard the waiter say, "It will be here in about ten minutes."
She watched the waiter take away the menus and she waited until he was out of earshot. "So....?" Marina persisted.
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Post by Samantha on Feb 6, 2013 22:39:01 GMT
{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Before answering, Russell took a quick sip of his Manhattan, feeling the slight burn of the whiskey at the back of his throat. He sighed in contentment; the day had been a long one, and he already felt himself beginning to unwind.
"You want to know about my dating history?" he asked, almost facetiously, grinning slightly. "My, my, Marina—jealous, are we? For the record, those friends of mine that I was talking about are all males, and you'll be happy to know that I've never actually kissed any of them. As for the members of the opposite sex..."
He looked down into his drink, arching his shoulders into a haphazard sort of shrug. He had to smile, just to himself, at her question: how many women has he kissed? She didn't ask how many women he's dated, how many he's slept with, but how many he's kissed. It sounded juvenile—like they were in high school or something—and he briefly wondered just how many men that she'd been with, and just how far (if she'd gone anywhere at all) that she'd been with each of them.
By its stem, he picked the maraschino cherry out of his drink and held it out to Marina. "Would you like this?" he asked, filibustering in that way that he did best. He did, in fact, like the cherries—he wasn't one of those men who refused a drink based on its garnish or sugar content; alcohol was alcohol and, if determined enough, one could get drunk on anything—but he offered it to her anyway, just to be kind.
He recalled the conversation that they'd had about her dating history—about the men that her parents had set her up with—but he couldn't remember if they had at all talked about him. He had absolutely no idea how many women he'd kissed in the course of his lifetime. If he thought about it, he could probably figure out how many women he'd slept with, but he wasn't about to volunteer that information so freely (certainly it was a huge no-no on date numero uno). "You really want to know about the women that I've dated?" he asked, settling his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his laced fingers. "I'm not sure that you do, to tell you the truth, Marina. But I will tell you one thing: there's never been any woman in my life whom I've been very serious about. I've never been married. And for formality's sake, I also don't have any children."
He finished off his drink with a throaty ahh. " I don't that suppose you'd like to tell me how many men you've been with?"
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