Predictable, Like Hell
"Honestly, Cuddy. Could you be more predictable?" He smirks at her, leans more solidly on his cane.
She smiles sardonically back and shifts her hands slightly on her hips.
"I mean, really. What were you thinking? Did you expect me not to realise what you were up to?" He narrows his eyes at her when she barely reacts.
"I was counting on it actually."
"You were? You wanted me to know you're dating that moron?"
She just smiles.
Instead of answering his question, she takes a few steps closer to him so that she can feel his breath on her face and he can feel her breath on his. "Are you jealous?" she says slyly. "Because I think you are."
He frowns down at her. Doesn't say anything.
He pauses. Swallows. "No, I – "
"Ha! You so are. You took long enough to respond!" She challenges him with her eyes to disagree. "Not quite so predictable now, huh?"
Silence. Cold, deathly silence.
"I'm sure you and that…guy…will be very happy together," he settles on. "Your children will be spawn of the devil for sure and they'll still be picked on by everyone else's much cooler kids, but you'll be happy and that's what matters." Sarcastic.
"Right," she says. "I take it that's your way of saying 'yes'?"
He grunts something at her incoherently – a few choice swear words, she's certain – and then lumbers off.
She smiles softly at his retreating back. "Predictable, like hell."