Word count: 300
Timeline: early season 3
Summary: It didn't require more than basic social skills to know that for a man to openly attribute a woman's irritation with him to PMS is a monumental faux pas in this day in age.
I make it sound as clipped and decisive as possible.
If he thinks he can snap his fingers and order me to fly across the country to Alaska with him tonight, he's got another thing coming.
I close the distance to the car in big, angry paces, Booth hot on my heels. Seems like we're always chasing each other.
"What do you mean 'no'?" It's phrased as a question, but it doesn't sound like one.
He expects me to drop everything with just a two-hour notice, as if nothing I do is important enough compared to my consulting for some jerk from the Federal Bureau of Irritating? Who the hell does he think he is?
"I'm not your girl Friday you can drag off to anywhere you like."
He roughly grabs my arm and whips me around.
My eyes shoot icy daggers at him.
He puts his hands on his hips and frowns. "Are you PMS-ing on me?"
I shoot him a look that would have caused a lesser man to edge away.
Even I know it doesn't require more than basic social skills to understand that for a man to openly attribute a woman's irritation with him to PMS is a monumental faux pas in this day in age.
Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I challenge, "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave my menstrual cycle out of this. I don't think we're at that stage in our relationship yet."
Yet? he questions with one eyebrow.
More icy daggers.
I exhale with force and want nothing more than to end this ridiculous conversation.
Booth holds his hands up in a mock defensive pose and gives me a lop-sided grin.
That will be fine.
"Your place or mine?" he grins cheekily. Time to pack.