"There are no pictures, because it never happened!" Maybe. Amber was pretty sure she'd never been humiliated by a pair of pigtails-- one for each brother to pull, how delightfully convenient-- but she'd have to pour through the family photo albums to be sure. Fortunately Eric wouldn't be joining her for Thanksgiving. He might never visit her parents, home to her childhood photos, but better safe than sorry.
Amber smirked at his question. Oh, how little he knew of her. "Don't hump my leg," she said, wagging her finger as she might to a misbehaving dog. A really cute one, too. "And not at work. Other than that, I’m always open to suggestion of fucking." To say the least. She mirrored his eyebrow-raise as if the grin that'd overtaken her face wouldn't be enough to let him know just how serious she was. Maybe their complications were more of a hassle than picking up strangers, but being with him meant sex on a regular basis-- good sex, at that.
That ball was one of the most ancient things Amber had ever seen. At home, she and her brothers had played with glossy, new balls with that one-of-a-kind basketball smell. It wasn't that they were constantly sinking dollars buying things they already had, because her parents had been rigid about teaching them the value of money. She and her brothers had earned their possessions. They’d just liked things nice. Getting a new ball every now and then wasn't too big a price to pay. "That a childhood relic?" she asked. Amber had no idea how long it'd take for the leather to wear down that much.
The music was louder in the corridor; a handful of people passed them by, in groups or pairs, talking animatedly. The ones coming from the courts had pit-stains, a muscle-loosened swagger. It pumped Amber up, increasing the spring in her steps. She was going to beat Eric.
The courts were filled with the sound of squeaking sneakers, balls smacking against hard floors; that, and the odor of wax and sweat, hidden beneath cleaning product, made Amber even more excited. And the sight of Eric bounding through the court, jumping with such ease-- it got her excited in a different way.
It was also a reminder. Right. Strategy. Amber could win every and anything, it was just a question of how. Eric had the advantage in experience and power; she'd have to beat him through speed and tactics. The first and last time they'd played, he'd been casual at the beginning of the game. Like now. Better to score as much as possible at the start.
"I'll show you," Amber taunted. Or, actually, she'd deliberately not show him. She fumbled a couple of attempts to grab the ball from him, cursed as if frustrated, then pawed wildly enough to get it. Amber awkwardly bounced the ball up as close to the basket without leaving the boundaries and jumped. She let shoot fall through; didn't want to fake her ineptness too much. "See?" she said, then, ball under her arm, travelled back to the key without dribbling. Turned to face the basket. "I get to start because I'm prettier."
no subject
Amber smirked at his question. Oh, how little he knew of her. "Don't hump my leg," she said, wagging her finger as she might to a misbehaving dog. A really cute one, too. "And not at work. Other than that, I’m always open to suggestion of fucking." To say the least. She mirrored his eyebrow-raise as if the grin that'd overtaken her face wouldn't be enough to let him know just how serious she was. Maybe their complications were more of a hassle than picking up strangers, but being with him meant sex on a regular basis-- good sex, at that.
That ball was one of the most ancient things Amber had ever seen. At home, she and her brothers had played with glossy, new balls with that one-of-a-kind basketball smell. It wasn't that they were constantly sinking dollars buying things they already had, because her parents had been rigid about teaching them the value of money. She and her brothers had earned their possessions. They’d just liked things nice. Getting a new ball every now and then wasn't too big a price to pay. "That a childhood relic?" she asked. Amber had no idea how long it'd take for the leather to wear down that much.
The music was louder in the corridor; a handful of people passed them by, in groups or pairs, talking animatedly. The ones coming from the courts had pit-stains, a muscle-loosened swagger. It pumped Amber up, increasing the spring in her steps. She was going to beat Eric.
The courts were filled with the sound of squeaking sneakers, balls smacking against hard floors; that, and the odor of wax and sweat, hidden beneath cleaning product, made Amber even more excited. And the sight of Eric bounding through the court, jumping with such ease-- it got her excited in a different way.
It was also a reminder. Right. Strategy. Amber could win every and anything, it was just a question of how. Eric had the advantage in experience and power; she'd have to beat him through speed and tactics. The first and last time they'd played, he'd been casual at the beginning of the game. Like now. Better to score as much as possible at the start.
"I'll show you," Amber taunted. Or, actually, she'd deliberately not show him. She fumbled a couple of attempts to grab the ball from him, cursed as if frustrated, then pawed wildly enough to get it. Amber awkwardly bounced the ball up as close to the basket without leaving the boundaries and jumped. She let shoot fall through; didn't want to fake her ineptness too much. "See?" she said, then, ball under her arm, travelled back to the key without dribbling. Turned to face the basket. "I get to start because I'm prettier."