Strutting in to a smug and pleased Eric sitting at House's desk, déjà-vu struck Amber; hadn't this exact same thing happened on Friday when she'd swung by to pick him up for their night together? They'd barely managed to contain themselves, and not an hour later they'd fucked without a condom.
The memory was enough to sober Amber up. She should know by now: they tended to get carried away by their excitement, only to regret their hastiness once reason set in. Jesus, and they still hadn’t checked for STDs.
From Eric's expression, lit up like July fireworks, it really could've been a time warp back to last Friday, before so many fights and mistakes. He was a good guy and Amber had decided to trust him more. Maybe she was the one who needed to be more careful. She could start now, setting herself some basic guidelines. First rule: no matter how well their lunch date went, she couldn't take Eric home tonight. Or go to his. Or fuck him in the rest room. They had to take it slow, for now. No real fun stuff until... who knew when? Until it seemed like they would stop blowing up at each other.
Amber went up to the desk and let the folders fall; they thumped heavily. "Oh, so you want to go home?" Amber asked, all sugar and honey like some secretary out of a nightmare movie about women before they demanded decent jobs. “Have a nice time—I’m afraid I can’t give you any personal touches there, though.”
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The memory was enough to sober Amber up. She should know by now: they tended to get carried away by their excitement, only to regret their hastiness once reason set in. Jesus, and they still hadn’t checked for STDs.
From Eric's expression, lit up like July fireworks, it really could've been a time warp back to last Friday, before so many fights and mistakes. He was a good guy and Amber had decided to trust him more. Maybe she was the one who needed to be more careful. She could start now, setting herself some basic guidelines. First rule: no matter how well their lunch date went, she couldn't take Eric home tonight. Or go to his. Or fuck him in the rest room. They had to take it slow, for now. No real fun stuff until... who knew when? Until it seemed like they would stop blowing up at each other.
Amber went up to the desk and let the folders fall; they thumped heavily. "Oh, so you want to go home?" Amber asked, all sugar and honey like some secretary out of a nightmare movie about women before they demanded decent jobs. “Have a nice time—I’m afraid I can’t give you any personal touches there, though.”