Flopping down
onto the sofa for what had to be the hundredth time that day, Lucy groaned,
having realised during her flop that she needed a drink and that this meant
getting back up again for the hundred-and-first time. She looked around, trying
to see who she could convince to bring her a drink. Steve was standing by the
kettle. Perfect.
“Steeeve?” she started, elongating his
name as much as she thought necessary and using her ‘damsel in distress’ voice
(which she had perfected at 16 for use in just this type of situation) to show
him that helping her would make him her knight-in-shining-armour forever.
Steve, knowing full well what she was about to say, simply looked at her. She
batted her eyelashes at him, since she knew that she wouldn’t actually have to
say anything for him to know what she wanted and that he was probably still
feeling guilty enough to do whatever she asked. He went to say something,
probably some joke-sarcastic comment about being Lucy’s slave but Carter,
coming in from the hallway at about 100mph once he had heard Lucy say Steve’s
name, cut him off.
“Baby girl, everything okay?” he asked
Lucy, with a puppy-dog look in his eyes that was probably supposed to be
concern for her wellbeing but in fact just served to irritate her in her tired,
post-hangover, Sunday evening state of mind.
“Fine thanks, I was just going to ask
Steve to make me tea since I only just sat down again and he loves me so very,
very much,” she explained, turning to Steve for the last part and batting her
eyelashes again while reverting to the voice. Steve went to laugh and turn to
the kettle but Carter interrupted again.
“I’ll make you tea, my sweetheart,
because I-“
“Aw thanks, babe,” Lucy interrupted him
before he could try to say the ‘L-word’. Steve looked at her half knowingly,
half amused as Carter spun round like an eager teacher’s pet to make tea. Don’t, Lucy mouthed at Steve, who was
smirking at her reaction. He knew her aversion to that word, and especially to
that word coming from Carter. As the kettle boiled, Lucy tried to ignore Carter
gazing at her. Steve thumped him on the back perhaps less gently than he ought,
partly to stop him gazing and partly to get his attention and ask for a coffee,
since he was boiling the kettle anyway. Carter grimaced. He didn’t like Steve.
He didn’t like the fact that he and Lucy were so close and he definitely didn’t
like the fact that their friends were always making jokes about Lucy and Steve
being together. If Carter had it his way, he and Lucy would just be alone, the
two of them, forever, with nothing to distract them but their love.
Carter kept trying to tell Lucy that he
loved her. She must not realise, he
thought, or she wouldn’t let herself get
distracted. Obviously she loves me back but doesn’t know how to express it.
He looked up from the mugs only to be dismayed by what he saw. Lucy had stretched
out on the sofa but her legs were over Steve, who had stretched out at the
other end, facing her. They were laughing together, either at some joke or at
the T.V. Carter brought the drinks over, resisting the temptation to
‘accidentally’ spill Steve’s on him and inserted himself next to Lucy,
fidgeting until he had his arms around her and she had been forced to remove
her legs from Steve’s.
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