SOS by Glory, Girl Writer.pdf - Dawson's Creek Fandom Wiki

Jen swallowed hard. "And you're telling me this as a point of information?"
"I'm telling you this," he blustered ahead, "because it's really kind of remarkable. I mean,
I'm the guy who schedules himself for a flossing. I'm serious. I have a little sheet of
paper at home, like a to-do list, and if you look at it, every day, it says, 'Floss.' I haven't
taken an entire day off from work in more than two years, I don't live here, you're
nineteen, and nevertheless -- I'm going to kiss you!" He stared at her expectantly.
"Hey, you know what you should do, then?" she asked in a cheerful voice.
"What?"
She leaned over until she was inches from his face. "You . . . should . . . kiss . . . me."
Her heart pounded as he moved toward her, and as he pressed his lips against hers,
she felt a familiar warm rush of blood all the way out to her fingers. It was a good kiss,
with just the faint taste of coffee and chocolate. As she pulled back from him, she took
in his dark, deep-set eyes and slightly crooked teeth. "You kissed me," she said with a
slowly growing smile.
"That I did," he replied softly, glancing at a strand of hair hanging on her forehead. "And
now I'm thinking about brushing a piece of hair out of your eyes, but I'm thinking that's
more of a second-date maneuver."
She sat back in her chair and brushed her hair back. "Well, then, I guess we can save
that for next time you're in town."
Mirroring her movements, he sat back too. "Next time I'm in town? Aren't you coming to
this party tomorrow? According to Joey, I'm certainly going, so . . . "
"I don't know," she said with studied nonchalance, "it's awfully short notice. I mean, ask
a girl on Saturday to a party on Sunday . . . you'd think you were taking me for granted a
little." She took another mouthful of ice and sucked on a cube thoughtfully.
"I'm just enjoying the strange circumstances." He shrugged. "We're skipping steps in a
way I like."
She cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know." He sighed. "I get so tired of the whole ridiculous movie-dialogue
thing where I feel like I'm supposed to go out and meet women and dazzle them with
some kind of hilarious back-and-forth repartee, which I'm really not that good at. It's like
everybody's seen so damn many romantic comedies now that you're supposed to meet
people and pretend that you don't like them, and they don't like you, and you certainly
don't give a damn whether you ever see them again or not, and you're certainly not
supposed to tell them what you're actually thinking."
"Which is what?"