guinegreer | inbox for saltburnt;

( That they both ultimately want the same thing might mean it never would have worked and it took getting into the white house of all places to explore that side of himself. He saw a girl he loved, a girl he could take care, but he also saw an equal. A kindred spirit. )

More like, 20/7.

( He'll be able to be off the clock. To sleep - when sleep doesn't elude him.

That said, and is implied, he has the time. And he is more than willing. Why can't he say that. He was so young. So was she. Things happened how they should. Or had to. He's a man of absolutes. )

I'll buy a drink. We've come a long way from $2 beers.

[ When she flings out the suggestion, she's fully anticipating that he'll find a way to politely decline — that he'll come up with a list of all the reasons why they shouldn't. It's more surprising, then, when he doesn't.

It's equally surprising when he makes her laugh — a soft, kind of breathless chuckle, but a laugh nevertheless. ]

We have, haven't we? [ Even if she doesn't voice it as a question.

Suggesting he meet her tonight would come off as too desperate for her liking; besides, they have the black-tie dinner to attend, and he's likely occupied with having to ensure various rooms have been secured on behalf of his newest client. ]

Tomorrow night. Anywhere but the piano bar. [ Because she suspects Ash and Embry have already staked their claim there, and she'd rather not run into them when she wants to enjoy her night for once. ]

I like the piano bar.

( Or, he would. He's looking forward to it. It's not often a house has its' own piano bar. He's a man of the classics, but he can acquiesce. )

Wherever you want, Gwen.

( He'll be there, like that old song.

He drops his head back against the closed door, listening to her breathe. Pushing him to say anything else.

He doesn't miss her. He's far too old for that. But, maybe he misses what was. What they could've been. The ghost of a good thing lost. If it was ever theirs to have in the first place. )

I should go. Finish unpacking. Post up.

( Get to work. Case the grounds. Earn his keep. Run into so many unexpected faces. )

Thanks for calling back.

( He hates himself. Who thanks someone for that? It's fine. )

Then you can case it ahead of time.

[ Just to be sure. She's well aware that Embry is hard at work attempting to find guests for whatever debauchery is being organized on behalf of the president, but that doesn't mean she's eager to find herself in the position of plaything — even if there is one, very small part of her that would fuck Ash, or even Embry, if she was feeling especially self-destructive.

She hums once, softly, at the old nickname; his dangles on her lips, but goes unspoken. ]

I've gotten worse butt dials.

[ And now, if nothing else, she's getting a free drink out of it — even if she's already picturing exactly what to wear, how to look her most devastating, by the time she finally walks into that bar. Selfishly, she wants to see if she can make his jaw drop, like old times. ]

Goodnight, Riley.

Hand.

( Kind of.

And she remembers his. Probably also his butt, and he, hers. )

Goodnight, Gwen.

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