"Don't you ever sit still?" It comes out more as a growl.
I've never been particularly good at being patient, and the endless drumming of Hal's fingers on the table was beginning to drive me nuts. I swear, the man is a living twitch. He couldn't stop moving if his life depended on it it; if he's not fidgeting with something on his desk, he's tapping on it like a deranged woodpecker who's just overdosed on sugar.
I say it's all that damn caffeine.
He stops for maybe a thousandth of a second before continuing where he left off, face drawn in thought as his eyes flicker across the computer screen.
"You wouldn't last a second on the field." This gets his attention. He tucks a strand of his unruly hair behind his ear and pushes the chair to where he can meet my eyes.
"Well," He begins, grinning from ear to ear. "Maybe that's why you're the one off doing all the dirty work while I get to be the brains of the operation."
I sit up from my lounging position on the couch and take aim at his smirking face with a pillow.
His shout is muffled as I get up and saunter towards the bedroom. At least it'll be quiet in there. Before I make it through the door, however, a soft projectile hits me on the back of the neck. The pillow. I turn around to look at Hal, but he's staring at the screen again with a look of practiced innocence.
He always has to get the last word in...
I can't help but grin in spite of myself. After all, when all is said and done, he's actually not that bad a shot.
Another quick throw and a muffled yelp similar to the first one escapes his mouth. I shut the door before he can retaliate. I hear a dim yell about not playing fair, but I ignore him as I settle back on my bed and reach for a magazine.
There's no fairness in war.
And I count pillow fights in that category...