Eric took her hand at once, but he was so pleased right now he'd probably follow her to hell's gates without a second thought. Might even be thinking that she was doing that, what with her making him experiment with new acts like public sex and bondage. Whatever was running through his mind, Amber squeezed his hand back and within a couple of steps they fell into a rhythm, their paces matching easily. Probably had something to do with their equal heights, but Amber was tempted to think it was because they were well-suited for one another-- though that was as solid an argument as one based on astrological signs.
On their way out of the gym (in which no one noticed them, damn it-- what was the point of fucking in public if they didn’t get credit for it?) and to the café they didn't really talk. More after-effects of their orgasms? It wasn't bad, just different. Amber didn't know how other couples did it. She'd seen plenty of silent ones at the hospital, but those were extenuating circumstances. People acted different around the sick and the dying, she knew. Wasn't a good yardstick with which to measure her own relationship. Amber was okay with observing, following; Eric knew more about couple stuff than she did. He seemed okay enough with keeping quiet, focusing on the road. And this silence certainly wasn't suffocating like the one on the way over.
Maybe she should start taking notes on proper relationship behavior, her own and other people's (who weren't in the hospital). It was how she’d learned many a thing.
Half-wondering if she should type up said notes or write them by hand, Eric interrupted her thoughts with a question. "Sure, Alexandro's," Amber said. There wasn't a café in the region that she hadn't tried over the years. She couldn't afford to eat out all the time, what with low salaries and lingering med school debts, but even at her worst she went out at least once or twice or month. Often enough she could swing a discount or a free meal, and not always because of her stunning looks. "I think I've only had their sandwiches, though."
A bell on the door chimed as they came in and a blast of heated air greeted them. Scents of coffee and onion and tomato excited Amber’s stomach all the more; if Eric presented her with his omelet now, she'd eat it up in seconds.
It was when Eric touched her hip so casually, tugging her in close, that Amber felt a pang of not belonging. They'd gone from fucking in a public shower to-- this. It was the simplest place they'd been to together. Homey, informal. Really not the kind of place she'd go to with her flings. Strangely shy, Amber let herself be pulled in, stepping with him into the line.
The bell rang again but Amber paid it no attention, too busy scoping out what other people were eating at their tables. A cream-colored soup was all over the place. No wonder, on a cold day like this soup was comforting. But she couldn't ignore the "Oh wow, Eric, is that you?" that piped up from behind them. Amber turned. A black woman with far too satisfied a smirk was eyeing her Eric like he was some kind of ride open to the public; Amber’s immediate reaction was to raise her arm, mirroring the way Eric’s had circled her waist, even if her hold was far more rigid.
no subject
On their way out of the gym (in which no one noticed them, damn it-- what was the point of fucking in public if they didn’t get credit for it?) and to the café they didn't really talk. More after-effects of their orgasms? It wasn't bad, just different. Amber didn't know how other couples did it. She'd seen plenty of silent ones at the hospital, but those were extenuating circumstances. People acted different around the sick and the dying, she knew. Wasn't a good yardstick with which to measure her own relationship. Amber was okay with observing, following; Eric knew more about couple stuff than she did. He seemed okay enough with keeping quiet, focusing on the road. And this silence certainly wasn't suffocating like the one on the way over.
Maybe she should start taking notes on proper relationship behavior, her own and other people's (who weren't in the hospital). It was how she’d learned many a thing.
Half-wondering if she should type up said notes or write them by hand, Eric interrupted her thoughts with a question. "Sure, Alexandro's," Amber said. There wasn't a café in the region that she hadn't tried over the years. She couldn't afford to eat out all the time, what with low salaries and lingering med school debts, but even at her worst she went out at least once or twice or month. Often enough she could swing a discount or a free meal, and not always because of her stunning looks. "I think I've only had their sandwiches, though."
A bell on the door chimed as they came in and a blast of heated air greeted them. Scents of coffee and onion and tomato excited Amber’s stomach all the more; if Eric presented her with his omelet now, she'd eat it up in seconds.
It was when Eric touched her hip so casually, tugging her in close, that Amber felt a pang of not belonging. They'd gone from fucking in a public shower to-- this. It was the simplest place they'd been to together. Homey, informal. Really not the kind of place she'd go to with her flings. Strangely shy, Amber let herself be pulled in, stepping with him into the line.
The bell rang again but Amber paid it no attention, too busy scoping out what other people were eating at their tables. A cream-colored soup was all over the place. No wonder, on a cold day like this soup was comforting. But she couldn't ignore the "Oh wow, Eric, is that you?" that piped up from behind them. Amber turned. A black woman with far too satisfied a smirk was eyeing her Eric like he was some kind of ride open to the public; Amber’s immediate reaction was to raise her arm, mirroring the way Eric’s had circled her waist, even if her hold was far more rigid.