Disclaimer: Women's Murder Club is based on books by James Patterson. The series produced by Brett Ratner and company. Not me.

Author's Notes: Oh, nice. A WMC section, finally. If you didn't read the summary, then I'll tell you now. Femslash. Don't like it, then don't read it.

Summary: Cindy talks too much.

Hypothetically Speaking

by e-dog

"You know? If I didn't love you so much, I'd find you rather pretentious. And annoying."

God, did I seriously just say that? Yeah, I just did. If that look she's giving me means anything, I just said that.

Inspector Lindsay Boxer can only stare at me, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted in disbelief. She begins to sputter, I'm sure looking for some witty response to just materialize out of somewhere. She has none. All she has is this: "You're calling me annoying? Did you seriously just call me annoying?"

Leave it to Lindsay to completely ignore my confession of love and go straight for the insult to her ego. Not that I expected anything less. Lindsay definitely has this "me" complex going on. Which is why I would find her pretentious and annoying, only I love her too much to really care.

Realizing I haven't said anything, I shake my head in the negative (at first), then hastily confirm, "Uh, yeah. I just. . .I said that. No, no, I said I would find you annoying. Not that you are. You kind of . . .are annoying. Um. . ."

I let my words trail off into nothingness, once again finding myself uttering words before actually thinking what implications those words can have. God, I can't believe I said I love her! Out loud! I usually remember to leave things like that locked up inside my head.

"I'm annoying," Lindsay repeats, pointing at herself. With her other hand, she gestures wildly as she speaks. "Look at where we are! You followed me here, to the one parking garage I use on a daily basis. No, wait. You stalked me, like you always do. Were we separated at birth or something? Are you the little, annoying sister I never had? It's like we're joined to the hip! It's you that. . .that. . ."

I had braced myself for the verbal scolding, but find it rather curious that Lindsey has abruptly ceased her berating. Usually, once Lindsay is on a roll, there's nothing you can do to stop her.

"Did you just say you love me?" Lindsay asks, now standing straighter. Okay, maybe saying something like 'I love you' would stop anyone. She crosses her arms, tilts her head off to the side in an inquisitive fashion. Suddenly, she seems less threatening, almost vulnerable. She seems vaguely. . .interested.

I press my lips together tightly, wondering how I'm going to backpeddle my way out of this one. Then again, now that I have said it, I want to push the envelope a little bit. I want to take advantage, because for once, Lindsay Boxer is caught off guard. So I shrug, "I don't know, did I?"

Lindsay seems thoroughly confused, but not the least bit irritated. . .yet. "I don't know. I asked you first."

"And if I did?" I quip, then add promptly. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Hypothetically?" Lindsay repeats, her mouth twitching up into a small grin.

Grinning. That's a good sign, maybe. So I forge on, "What do you think I said?"

Lindsay's grin seems to widen some, then she ducks her head as if she's the one who should be embarrassed. Before I can ask again, she looks up and repeats my words, "You said, 'If I didn't love you so much, I would find you pretentious. And annoying."

Her stoic, detective facade has returned and I can't read her. I have no visual clues, nothing telling me that this conversation is entering dangerous territory. Maybe I'm not entering dangerous territory.

I've come this far, right? No sense in backing out now. I bravely step forward, closing the distance between us. "That sounds like something I would say."

Lindsay adds for me, "Hypothetically."

"Of course," I nod. "Which leads us back to my original question."

"Which was?"

"And if I did? If I did say 'I love you', so what?" I say.

"Hypothetically?" Lindsay asks again, raising an eyebrow. I nod again and for this, I'm rewarded with a step forward from her. Her close proximity leaves little to misinterpret and the way she eyes my mouth sends an absolutely delicious tingle down my spine. She licks her lips before saying, "If you did say 'I love you', which we're not saying you did, I might do this."

Before I realize it, her lips are on mine, her tongue in my mouth. Am I dreaming?

Uh, nope. No, I'm not. She's in total control, probably has been this entire time. Here I thought proposing this 'hypothetical scenario' was all a part of my genius plan to seduce her. You see, Lindsay has this 'me' complex. Somehow, she manages to make any given situation about her. She owns it, uses it, discards it. Like I said, I would find that pretentious, but. . .

Her lips release mine, thereby relinquishing my consciousness back to me. I'm aware of other sensations now. Her hand wormed into my hair, holding the back of my head. Her breath against my cheek. Her eyes boring into mine. She smiles at me again, then asks, "And if I did that?"

"Then I might do this," I smile back, pulling her in for another kiss.

She tastes like an after dinner mint. A mix of forbidden sweet, with a dash of nectarous passion. All too soon, though, she pulls back again and lets me go. Another chaste kiss against my neck, which leads to a hot trail up to my ear, she speaks softly, her voice huskier, darker. Her words literally melt my insides.

Then she backs away completely, after having said what she wanted. She winks, "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

She glides past me, confidently. She's sure I'll follow.

So I do. I always do.

The End