Author's Note: I don't know how well the last line fits. I don't really like it that much, but I didn't know how to end this. Also, I apologize for the sucky title. Let me know what you think!
His desire for efficiency is what first drew her to him. Being an architect, first and foremost, made efficiency a cardinal rule in her book. Sure, some would call her an artist or a creator, but buildings and cities, even dreams, were nothing if they weren't efficient.
Soon, she noticed that his desire for efficiency did not extend to cars. He liked his cars like he liked his women, fast and dangerous. It was so unexpected that those two things in his life were the most foolish. They were frivolous things, cars and women, but it explained a lot about him. He was so uptight and tied down to the job, that he needed a release of some sort. She, of all people, understood. Dom had Mal and the thought of his children, which consumed his life. Eames had his lies, his gambling and his thievery. Yusuf had his drinking. And she had him.
It made a sick sort of sense to her that when they weren't on the job, he was the adrenaline junkie of the group, not to mention the most promiscuous. As far as she knew, he didn't have a family, a home, anyone to share his life with outside the team. None of them did, really. But she could tell that of all of them, that fact hurt him the most. She understood that through his promiscuity and his danger, he was trying to feel something. Mostly she wished he was feeling it with her.
She would go home at night and try not to think of him with those other women. She would pretend he was with her, eating, drinking, laughing. She would shower and pretend that she was the experienced, sensual woman he was with for the night. She would go to sleep with thoughts of only him.
After their brief kiss on the Fischer job, she knew she was hooked. She couldn't stop thinking of the soft touch of his lips on her own and soon her mind was filling in the blanks for her. When she thought of it, she could feel his hands roaming, her own hands on his lean chest. She wished, more than anything, to be his.
She knew she wasn't his type. She wasn't sexy or experienced or dangerous. She was safe. She was the kind of girl you could take home to your mother. She wasn't anything he wanted.
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts of him, all the time, that she didn't realize the shifts that he made. His eyes began to linger on her a little longer. He didn't visit with those faceless women that she hates as often as he once did. His lips turned up into a smirk when he noticed her looking at him.
That's why, the day it happens, she is caught completely off guard. She supposes she really should have seen it coming, with all the staring she does. But she doesn't and that makes it so much better.
That night, she doesn't have to pretend she's with him. She doesn't have to feel the burning hatred for faceless women that she does most nights. She makes it good for him, allowing her frustration to take hold, her nails digging in to his back, her teeth against the skin of his neck. She knows that's how he likes it, rough and dangerous. She knows that after this, she might not get another chance. She takes her time, memorizing everything about him, so she can remember him when he's done with her and she's alone.
She likes her dreams like she likes her men, calculated, efficient and clean.