Shit's been good for them recently. He'd made mad bank working overtime on Christmas Day a few days earlier - one of the perks of being a Jew, and he'd told his Serge that he'd be happy to work whatever they needed on Christmas as long as he could have the last night of Hannukah off for sure. It was a weekday and it hadn't been a problem, and it had freed up the day for the other guys to spend with their families, and it was holiday pay for him without having to sacrifice any special time with Rachel or Beth. It was a win-win. He and Rachel would be getting married on the 30th, which was just about the benefits but they both knew [and refused to admit] that, like their relationship in Lima, it was probably more than that. He and Rachel were amazing. Most days, it felt as though Beth was living with them instead of Shelby, even going so far as to call Rachel Mommy.
But Beth isn't here now, and he kicks back fairly late on the afternoon of the 28th, watching the Knicks kick a little Heat ass, drinking a beer. [Yeah, he's 20. He's also a rookie cop. Whatever.] He's supposed to be gearing up for a night of something with Rachel, 'cause they'll cook if they have time or they feel like it and they'll get take-out if they don't, but she'll be leaving for Coco's in the morning and he won't see her until they're getting married, and he is going to fucking miss her sweet little Jewish ass. She's in the bedroom packing, and he's killing time watching some ball, and he figures that she's done when she slides onto his lap and wraps her arms around his neck.
His slide automatically around her waist, and the remote falls to the floor. Fuck the Knicks; Anthony's kicking ass and taking names, and they got this game in the bag. He's more interested in doing a little scoring of his own, and his fingertips slide into the waistband of her pants as he searches for the cute little dimple of her ass. [He can't explain why, but he loves it, and it makes her squeal when he touches it.] "Mmmm?" he murmurs in distracted curiously, focused more on his own actions and the texture of her skin than on her words. "Not cheating on you, I swear."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-02-04 10:41 pm (UTC)But Beth isn't here now, and he kicks back fairly late on the afternoon of the 28th, watching the Knicks kick a little Heat ass, drinking a beer. [Yeah, he's 20. He's also a rookie cop. Whatever.] He's supposed to be gearing up for a night of something with Rachel, 'cause they'll cook if they have time or they feel like it and they'll get take-out if they don't, but she'll be leaving for Coco's in the morning and he won't see her until they're getting married, and he is going to fucking miss her sweet little Jewish ass. She's in the bedroom packing, and he's killing time watching some ball, and he figures that she's done when she slides onto his lap and wraps her arms around his neck.
His slide automatically around her waist, and the remote falls to the floor. Fuck the Knicks; Anthony's kicking ass and taking names, and they got this game in the bag. He's more interested in doing a little scoring of his own, and his fingertips slide into the waistband of her pants as he searches for the cute little dimple of her ass. [He can't explain why, but he loves it, and it makes her squeal when he touches it.] "Mmmm?" he murmurs in distracted curiously, focused more on his own actions and the texture of her skin than on her words. "Not cheating on you, I swear."