The Squeak
For first dates, it had gone wonderfully well. She had gone on first dates before with long-time acquaintances, and always there was an awkwardness. Not this time. The two fit just as well on a date as they did on the case.
Now somehow they were in her bedroom, which he had been in before, just never looking so dapper as he did now. She studied the image, and decided she liked it very much.
“Now,” she said, all business, trying to walk the thin line between no-nonsense and clinically detatched, “I don’t know how rushed we want to be in terms of third base.” There, that got out rather well. Oh God, how long would she worry about every word out of her mouth around him? This could be exhausting.
He nodded, all thoughtful seriousness. “I know, rushing it could be a very bad idea. Could ruin our partnership, all that sort of thing.”
She laid back on the bed with her arms behind her and looked up at her partner all seriousness. “How,” she said slowly, “would you like to try it right now?”
He could only stare at her for a long minute. Finally spoke in a squeak he probably hadn’t managed since he was five. “Now—“ he coughed to clear his throat. “Now, now is fine.”
She didn’t laugh at The Squeak. She had made it a point to never ever laugh at a man in the bedroom. But the whole time they were rolling in the bed, through the entire experience, a small part of her was playing the moment over and over in her head, replaying the nuances again and again the way she’d trained herself when she didn’t want to forget. Because she never wanted to forget that moment. Ever.
Good job!