I'm baaaaack (:
Did you miss me?
Duh, of course you did.
Wait, what did you say?
I wasn't even gone for 24 hours?
No one asked you, really.
I love you (:
Anyways, this is a one-shot I wrote. This was literally my night at work the other night, except it didn't end nearly as well as this one does.
But on my ride home (as I was still in the process of writing Nightmares), I started thinking about how hilarious it would have been if Sam, of all the cynical, sarcastic people I know, went through something as horrendous as my job. Thus, the idea for this one-shot was born.
And this is what I came up with (:
Most of this was just me blowing off steam from the very hellish evening I endured. Pardon my language.
I call Sam "spoiled" near the beginning. Chill, I don't really think she's spoiled. I call her that because the paragraph after that goes into detail about exactly how un-spoiled our dear Samantha is.
I don't own Danny Phantom. And the dialogue you read, minus when Sam and Danny are talking, is word-for-word from my Thursday night at work. Literally.
Bold is the computer text. Italicized are thoughts. Bold italicized are your thoughts. Uh-oh. Now I'm a mind reader.
July 28, 2011
Sam Manson was an extremely wealthy girl. Not that you'd know it just by looking at her. She opted to cover her surface with dark clothing, a gothic persona, light make-up, lethal combat boots. She was quite an intimidating sight, one that many at her high school feared. No, her true wealth was within; the depth of her personality never ceased to amaze those who took the time to get past her hard, sarcastic appearance. Of course, only two souls had ever been brave enough to venture past the dark clothing and makeup, the knee-high combat boots, to this depth: Danny Fenton and Tucker Foley. Her best (albiet only) friends.
Well, she was also filthy rich, monetarily speaking. Ah, the luxury of being an heiress to a fortune. But did that stop her from getting a job?
Not at all.
She had been excited, ecstatic, at the chance to work for her money, to really earn something, instead of getting it handed to her on a silver platter. This excitement lasted precicely one week, before Sam discovered that she had gotten into something she had not been prepared to fiddle with:
Not to take from that new movie that's just recently come out. But they were really terrible. They terrorized her and her co-workers, screaming and yelling, constantly breathing down their necks, threatening to fire all of them.
What kind of job does she have?
She was a server. In a retirement home.
Now, I know what you're thinking. That's odd, what exactly does a server do in a retirement home? Ew, do they have to touch bed pans?
It's quite similar to being a waitress, actually.
She discovered that her bosses were horrible within the first week. The managers and the co-managers. Two of each. Each couple married (as in the managers were married and the co-managers were married. Creepy). Each as bad as the other.
Well, not entirely. The co-managers were much, much worse.
She discovered within the second week that the chef behind the counter on Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays was flirtacious to the point of toeing the pedophile line. He was well into his fifties, grotesquely overweight, boasting two kids. And yet, he shamelessly flirted with Sam, seeking any excuse to touch her, hold her hand, plant a strange, whiskery kiss on the back of her hand.
And Sam wanted to punch him for it.
She discovered within the first day that the residents were snippy and rude. Most of them were bitter and angry with the way their lives turned out, and took it upon themselves to piss Sam off as much as possible in the hopes that their lives would somehow be improved by darkening her evening just a shade. Of course, there were a few shining gems among those angry seniors who would compliment Sam, smiling wanly up at her and telling her how much they appreciated her. It was those residents who kept Sam going.
Her shift lasted exactly two hours. Not a minute more, because that would mean she was dilly-dallying, and she would be fired. Not a minute less, because that would mean she hadn't done a thorough job, and she would be fired. Two hours of laborous torture in a confined kitchen, ovens blasting and coffee pots boiling, completely lacking air conditioning. Forced to wear the ridiculous uniform of long black pants, a white tuxedo shirt that was two sizes too big for her small frame (but she wasn't allowed to roll the sleeves up, even though she could barely peek her fingers out of the cuffs), a black apron that looked like it had been dropped in a vat of soup multiple times, and giant, thick, rubber-soled shoes that pinched at her toes and heels. All for $7.25 an hour.
Less than minimum wage.
Sam would crawl into her car after her shift, utterly exhausted and drenched in sweat, and would barely make it home, up to her room, and in her bed before she collapsed right there in her uniform. In the back of her mind, she knew she really had no right to be so exhausted, considering her best friend was the town super hero and often would go days without sleep, but she couldn't help it.
Despite her hardened exterior, Sam really was quite spoiled.
I know. Shocking.
It was one of the many aspects she hated about herself. Often times, she would find herself whining (all internally, of course) about such simple things as her computer being slow or her book having a page dog eared.
Such a brat, she would think with a grimace. There are children out there who don't even have books to be dog eared. They can't even read. They don't have the luxery of a computer, regardless of whether it runs fast or slow. They don't have food, clothing, or shelter, and yet, here I am complaining about those things. Ugh. Paulina would be proud.
But this is off-topic.
After one particularly strenuous Wednesday evening at work, Sam dropped ungracefully onto her bed. She kicked her special "No-Slip Grip!" shoes off of her aching feet and groaned with pleasure, feeling her muscles relaxing as a wave of exhaustion swept over her.
This feeling of pleasure was quickly replaced by annoyance when her laptop beeped and binged at her. She split her eyes open my a millimeter, cursing whoever was requesting a video chat with her to the darkest, hottest depths of hell (or the kitchen in the retirement home, either one, she thought wryly). Rolling out of bed with a pitiful moan, Sam trudged to her computer and read the small pop-up window flashing on her screen:
Ghostboy is requesting a video chat.
With a roll of her tired violet eyes, Sam clicked the 'accept' button. Danny's face appeared on her screen, his blue eyes sparkling behind his jet-black hair as he grinned.
"Hey Sam! How was work?"
"Freakin' terrible," She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "The stupid co-manager kept following me around everywhere I went! He yelled at me for using the bathroom!"
"Ouch. What'd you say back?"
"I couldn't say anything," She said, rolling her eyes again. "But I swear I was thinking, 'What, you don't want me to use the bathroom? Okay, that's cool, next time I'll just pee in your lemonade!'"
Danny chuckled. "Man, you really don't like him, do you?"
"You don't understand, Danny," She said, waving her hand over her head. "You're not there, you don't see it! They treat me like I'm some little kid who doesn't know how to do anything! I swear, sometimes I just really want to quit,"
"So why don't you?" He asked, leaning back in his chair and arching an eyebrow, giving her a quizzical gaze.
"It's the principle of the thing," Sam sighed. "I took this job and I'm gonna try to ride it out. Even if I do have to resist killing something. But, hey, that's what the Box Ghost is for, right?"
Danny laughed appreciatively. "Exactly." The smile began to fade as he looked closer at the image of Sam on his computer screen. "Um, Sam? I know goths aren't supposed to sweat, but...are you...sweating right now?"
Sam flushed. "There's no air conditioning in the kitchen at the home," She said, quickly wiping the remnants of sweat from her brow.
"That's not safe!" Danny said. Sam bit back the urge to grill him with a sarcastic comment about his overprotectiveness; at this point, she didn't really care. "You guys could seriously dehydrate back there!"
"I'm only there for two hours, Danny. Relax, I'm not gonna pass out from heat exhaustion after just two hours," a guilty blush began winding down Sam's face and neck; she already sort of did pass out from heat exhaustion when she got home, but he didn't really need to know that.
"I still don't like you being back there for that long without any air. It's August, the average temperature is around 110 every day. You shouldn't have to go through that, it's not safe." Danny paused, watching her closely. "I'm going with you tomorrow,"
"What?" Sam said, utterly confused. "How will that help?"
"Ghosts lower temperatures in the room, remember? I'll just follow you around, invisible, and help you cool off. Okay?" He paused breifly again, before adding: "You're not really getting a choice in this, I'm just letting you know what's gonna happen,"
Sam rolled her eyes, her resolve crumbling. Darn him and his stupid adorable puppy dog eyes, she thought. "Fine, you can come. But you'll be invisible the whole time, and you can't interfere with anything that happens while I'm on shift. Got it?"
Danny smiled. "Got it!"
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
"'Night, Sam. Sweet dreams!" His glorious smile was the last thing she saw before the video disconnected.
She sat at her computer for a moment longer, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat when he said 'sweet dreams,' and the butterflies that entered her stomach when he smiled. No, he's my best friend. That's it.
He's only coming with me tomorrow night to help me not die of heat exhaustion.
If only he knew what he was getting himself into, she thought as she rose to slip back into her bed.
The next day passed in a blur. Sam was extremely nervous, not looking forward to her shift that night at all. It was a Thursday, meaning the creepy pedophile chef, Jordan, was working. Oh, hearing Danny's reaction to that would be good.
And, of course, the co-managers were on duty. Sam despised Thursdays with ever fiber of her being; the one night when her least-favorite chef and her least-favorite managers worked together to make her life a living hell. Great.
At least the other servers suffered as much as she did. Yes, being the only female server did have its' advantages. The boys often took it upon themselves to take the brunt of the yelling from the managers. Their protectiveness of Sam was something only rivaled by Danny's. Sam felt guilty for it, though; the boys, Christian and Devon, would often turn away from the screaming managers, red-faced, and glance at Sam. They'd shoot her a grim nod before taking cover in the kitchen, beckoning for her to follow them. They had been there much longer than she had, so often Sam would feel like a lost puppy in a pack of wolves. It was quite annoying.
But being the so-called "sister" of the two boys brought some comfort in the irritating position she was in. At least she wasn't suffering alone.
She'd never told Danny or Tucker about anything that went on in the kitchen. She would burst, of course, after particularly rough treatment from the managerial staff, but she never mentioned the mistreatment from the chef. No, that was carefully kept under wraps.
Until tonight, she realized with a shudder. She buttoned her tuxedo shirt up and tucked the edges into her black slacks. As she draped her apron over her head and tied the draw-strings around her waist, a semi-transparent figure of Danny's head poked through her window. She smirked up at him as he fully entered her room, his green eyes bulging at the sight of her in her uniform.
"Not a word to Tucker," She growled, slipping her feet into her work shoes. Neither of the boys had ever seen her wearing it, and she wanted to make sure that Tucker, who had a bad habit of photographing instances like this and posting them on the internet, stayed oblivious to this addition to her wardrobe.
"You...you look..." Danny stammered, dropping heavily to his feet. He brushed his snow-white hair impatiently away from his face, trying to see her better. "Beautiful," he whispered, flushing a deep shade of crimson as he said it.
"Oh, shut up," Sam said, pulling her hair up out of her face into a bun, ignoring the way her heart leapt into her throat at the compliment. Silently, she thanked the managers for getting rid of the rule that girls had to wear hairnets; she would have died if she had to slip one of those things on in front of Danny. "Let's just get this over with,"
Danny nodded, obviously still embarrassed by his comment.
They arrived in the parking lot of the retirement home a few minutes later. Sam sat in the driver's seat for a minute after pulling the keys out of the ignition, attempting to brace herself for the worst night of the week.
"You okay?" Danny asked. Sweat was already beading on her forehead.
"Yep. Let's go," Sam said, twisting away from him to fling the car door open. He faded into invisibility and followed her through the parking lot and inside the building, smiling slightly when she shivered at his closeness. He was inches away from her, the smell of her perfume drifting back and tickling his nose. His eyes roved over the dining room; four columns filled with God knows how many rows of tables stretched across the rectangular room, four chairs circled around each table. Most of the chairs were filled with grumpy-looking senior citizens. He was so busy studying the room that he nearly ran smack into Sam, who had stopped dead. He gazed over her shoulder and saw the reason for her sudden halt.
A tall, lumbering man was towering over her, glaring angrily down at her. His hands were on his hips, which were barely discernable beneath a large, Lancer-ish belly. His grey eyes flashed dangerously at her. He was really quite intimidating.
"Do you know what time it is?" He said loudly, causing several residents to redirect their gazes to them. "It's 5:27." He snapped before Sam could respond. "You're supposed to be clocked in at 5:25 so that we can have the soup cart and the drink carts rolling by 5:30 on the dot."
"Sorry," Sam mumbled, glancing at the residents apologetically. They merely glared at her.
"Just clock in and get back there, now." The man growled, stalking away from her. Sam stared after him, blinking rather rapidly, before turning on her heel and storming into an office. She was muttering under her breath as she slid her card through the scanner, clocking herself in.
"Two friggin' minutes, call the freakin' police on me...act like I showed up an hour late..." she growled, walking in the same direction as the manager had gone. Danny followed silently. Man, she wasn't kidding when she said they were harsh...
She led him to a door at the other end of the dining room. She shoved the door open roughly, allowing it to swing open wide enough for Danny to slip in behind her. He could feel the heat in the room pressing against his skin, but the coolness at his core was able to keep the heat out. Sam smiled appreciatively; Danny assumed it was because of the coolness he was able to provide for her.
"What's good, Sammy!" A voice called from the other end of the kitchen. An extremely tall African American boy appeared, waving frantically at Sam. She smiled widely back at him.
"Hey Chris!" She waved back.
"Ew, gross," A much shorter African-American boy appeared beside Chris, snarling and rolling his eyes at Sam. "Stop suckin' up all the oxygen, fatty."
Danny gritted his teeth, glancing down at Sam, expecting her to lunge across the kitchen and strangle the boy. But he was shocked when she smiled, rolled her eyes, and called, "Well someone's a little ray of sunshine today, huh, Devon?"
Devon rolled his eyes and bit back a smile. "Shut up," He spat, turning to face the opposite direction. Sam grinned. Oh, Devon. What an idiot.
"Hello, Sam," A thick Spanish accent drifted from somewhere to her left. Danny turned and saw an extremely pudgy man ambling from around a corner, smiling alluringly at Sam, lust sparkling in his beady eyes. Danny could see her tensing as she spotted him.
"Hi, Jordan," She said quickly, before hurrying to join Chris and Devon. They accepted her into their ranks without hesitation, eyeing Jordan carefully.
"Okay, folks, let the carts roll!" The manager's voice rang from the doorway. He stood and stared at them expectantly, not leaving until the three teens were pushing carts out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Danny stuck close by Sam's side as she directed a cart covered in pitchers and bowls to the back of the room. She stopped the cart and stood at a table between two chairs, smiling at the people occupying the seats. Four old ladies, Danny thought. How hard can it be?
"Would you like something to drink?" Sam asked. Her voice dripped with a sugary sweetness, something that Danny had never heard before from her.
"Oh, no thanks, nothing for me," A brown-haired lady to Sam's left said.
"Lemonade, no sugar," The woman beside her to the left said, shoving an empty glass at Sam.
"Ice, two lemons," The woman on Sam's right whispered daintily.
"Ice," The woman to her right grunted.
Sam returned to the drink cart and began filling the drink orders. When she carefully carried the full glasses back, the first woman handed her a glass.
"On second thought, I think I'll have a little iced tea," She smiled up at Sam. Sam nodded once, returned to her cart, and filled the glass with iced tea. "Actually, I want lemonade, only half a glass," the lady said before Sam could even return the glass. Oddly calm, Sam recovered an empty glass from an unoccupied table and filled the drink order. "Oh, no ice..." the woman smirked, watching Sam closely. Sam kept her face completely blank as she filled the order. "Actually, I've just remembered, my doctor wants me to drink skim milk." Again, Sam refilled the woman's drink order while the other three occupants of the table watched with distinct amusment. Danny was amazed; if it had been him, he would have dumped a pitcher of lemonade over the woman's head a long time ago. And yet, Sam was so calm as she poured skim milk into yet another glass. Incredible.
She placed the cup of skim milk before the woman, who immediately seized the glass and took a giant swig. She gagged and shoved the glass into Sam's hands, sloshing half its' contents down the front of her apron. "This is sour," the woman whined, wiping her mouth off with a napkin.
She really isn't making this easy on me, is she? Sam thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "What would you like to drink, ma'am?" Sam asked with as much force as she dared.
"I'll just drink water," Danny stared, open-mouthed and flabbergasted. Water was served in small jugs on each table. The woman had literally just wasted five minutes of Sam's life forcing her to pour drink after stupid drink, apparently for her and her tablemate's amusment. The other drink cart, manned by Devon, was already half-way down his half of the dining room, while Sam had only just finished her first table.
"Want me to blast her with a snowbeam?" Danny whispered, bending toward Sam so that his lips were inches away from her ear. She grinned, shaking her head 'no' slightly, before stopping at her next table.
Filling the rest of the drink orders was easy. Or, at least, easier than the first table had been. She actually managed to catch up to Devon, much to his dismay. When she reached the manager's table, however, Devon appeared to be completely at ease. If anything, he silently gloated at her while he slipped back into the confines of the over-heated kitchen.
"Would you like something to drink?" Danny noticed her the sugar in her voice had been replaced by a hard, gritty edge. Instead of smiling at the couple, she merely stared.
"Two lemonades, no ice." The man said, shoving the glasses into her hands. She turned back to her cart, poured the lemonades, and returned them to the man's place. His wife was watching Sam closely though narrowed eyes.
"Rob says you were late today," She said. Sam merely stood, staring, not confirming or denying that she was late. "Sam, this is the third time since you've started working here. If you're late one more time, I'm going to fire you. There are people lined up out the door to get your job. So don't think that replacing you will be difficult."
"She was two minutes late," Chris appeared beside her, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. Danny saw her gaze up at Chris gratefully. "Y'all are acting like she's late all the time. She's been working since March, Miss Laurie, and this is only the third time she's been late."
Danny decided that he liked Chris very much. He was sticking up for Sam, defending her. Had he been visible and allowed to intervene, Danny would have done the same thing.
"Don't do it again," Laurie said, eyes flashing dangerously at Sam. "Milk with a little ice."
"I hate them!" Sam said when she was safely back in the kitchen. Danny floated above her, wanting nothing more than to hug her at the sight of her frustrated face.
"What's a'matter, Sam?" Jordan asked, his face filled with concern.
Danny saw her jaw clench. "Nothing," She muttered, pushing the cart to the opposite side of the kitchen where Devon was standing. She stopped it beside a giant roll of saran wrap, which she began covering the tops of the pitchers with.
"You keep suckin' up all my air!" Devon shouted, throwing a lemon at her. She laughed.
"It's not like you need all that much, shrimpy," She grinned, placing the lemon back on his cart with ease.
Danny drifted to float in front of Sam, opting to keep his eyes on Jordan while she argued with Devon. The man was shamelessly staring at Sam, watching the way her hips swished when she walked greedily, licking his lips and clenching his fists. It took everything Danny had not to punch him into the wall for undressing Sam with his eyes. The pig.
This was Danny's usual reaction to any male taking an interest in her, including Tucker. Fury pounded through his veins at the thought of anyone laying a hand on her. He felt an odd sense of possessiveness when it came to Sam; sometimes he just wanted to grab her and lock her away from the rest of the world, keeping her all to himself.
The first half of Sam's evening passed in a similar fashion to the drinks. Dealing with the snide comments from some residents, carefully avoiding eye-contact with Jordan, casually throwing insults at Devon, etc. However, Danny did see a legitimate smile flash across Sam's face when one of the female residents confined to a wheelchair reached out and gently grabbed her wrist, pulling her face close and whispering, "You are so beautiful,"
"She reminds me of my nana," Sam whispered quietly to Danny as they walked away from the table.
Danny wished with all his might that the smile on Sam's face would stay. But, of course, it didn't.
The second half of Sam's night was much, much worse.
Although, she could at least say she wasn't dripping sweat. Danny's presence had been incredibly useful. Sam was amazed that he hadn't ditched out on her ten minutes in; she grinned when he would whisper something in her ear, feeling as if she knew the most wonderful secret in the world. Her best friend was floating around behind her while she worked.
Regardless, the second half of her night was much worse than the first.
"Tell me, Sam," Jordan said. He had cornered her, much to her - and Danny's - dismay. Jordan seized her hand and tucked it into the bend of his elbow, so that they were walking arm-in-arm through the kitchen. "Do you have the boyfriend?"
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
"Yes," She said quickly, desperately praying that her extreme discomfort didn't show on her face. Jordan's eyes widened in shock for a minute; obviously he wasn't expecting that answer.
"What's his name?" Jordan purred, stroking her hand. Danny glared, invisible, from Sam's other side, his hands outstretched, hovering centimeters over Sam's arm, ready to yank her to safety if needed. A low, quiet growl escaped Danny's chest; luckily, only Sam heard it.
"D-Danny," She said. It was actually directed at Danny, a warning to stay quiet, but it served as an answer to Jordan's question as well.
"His name is Danny?" Jordan asked, stopping short to survey her.
"Uh...yes. Danny is my boyfriend."
"Why you date him?"
"Because...he...he's sweet. Protective. Funny, charming, loyal..." Sam's voice drifted. She could still feel Danny beside her, his coolness radiating on her skin. It was making her feel hypersensitive to the murky heat radiating from Jordan.
"And he is strong? He have the muscles?"
"Yes. He works out every day." It wasn't entirely a lie. He did fight ghosts practically every day, which did make him strong. Strong enough to send this creep crashing through the tile walls of this kitchen with one punch, Danny thought fiercely.
"How long you date him?"
"A year," Sam gently squirmed out of his grasp. "I have to go do my job now," She quickly walked away, feeling Jordan's eyes on her as she retreated. She could feel Danny behind her, as the air had dropped from cool to absolutely frigid in his anger with Jordan.
"I'll kill him, I swear to God..." Danny whispered, clenching his invisible fists as he glared fiercely at the chef. The man's eyes had rested on Sam's butt, causing an entirely new swell of anger to pass through Danny. It made his heart pound, blood raging through his veins.
"Relax," Sam hissed. "Nothing was gonna happen. Chill," She paused, her eyes raking over his invisible form, before she turned her attention to a rack of plates she was currently unloading onto a cart. "Sorry I used you..."
"Used me for what?" Danny asked, drifting closer to her. He couldn't help but grin at her when she shivered, her eyes darting to where he floated.
"Well...you know...I lied and told him you were my boyfriend..."
Danny stared at her for a moment, trying with all his might to get the courage up to say what he knew he needed to say. But as he opened his mouth, the kitchen door banged open, revealing Rob, who looked completely infuriated.
"What is taking so long?" He shouted, lumbering toward Sam. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened to answer his rude demand, but he cut her off again. "Sam, you're back here messing around, while you should be out there putting dishes on the tables! You do know that it's 6:45, right? You have 45 minutes to finish setting up the dining room!"
"I'm sorry! It's not my fault, Jordan was talking to me -"
"I don't care! You need to be out there doing your job!" Jordan smirked at her from the other end of the kitchen.
Suddenly, Danny had an idea. He grinned and flitted out of the kitchen. Sam felt him leave; her heart sank when the heat began assaulting her, tears stinging her eyes.
Great. Jordan's creeping harder than usual. Chris and Devon are probably distracted by getting screamed at by Laurie, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Rob and Jordan. I scared Danny off.
Worst Thursday ever.
Sam stormed out of the kitchen, pushing a cart full of plates out before her. She gritted her teeth, glancing at Chris and Devon. The boys were both gazing apologetically at her, completely ignoring Laurie, who was screaming at them as Sam guessed.
This is hell. Taking this job was the worst choice I've ever made.
As she slammed the plates down on the table, she distantly heart the automatic whir of the front doors sliding open. She did not look up, as people usually filtered in and out of the home around this time. No, it was not until she heard the voice that she finally looked up.
"Sam!" Danny called. He smiled and waved. Sam stared, shocked. Danny was back in his human form, standing there in the doorway of the retirement home while the elderly residents skirted around him, utterly bemused at the appearance of such an attractive, youthful person who was not serving food to them. He appeared to be completely unaware of them, his sparkling ice-blue eyes on Sam. He bounded across the dining room, pulling her against his chest and into a tight hug.
"What are you doing?" She whispered in his ear.
"Saving you," He muttered. He spotted Jordan standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He smirked at the overweight man, pulled away from Sam, and kissed her full on the mouth. He broke the kiss moments later, grinning at the small smacking noise she made when she gasped.
"Best fake-out-make-out ever," She mumbled.
"Miss Manson, what exactly do you think you're doing?" Laurie demanded. "Who is that?"
"I'm Danny! I'm her boyfriend," He grinned, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist. She gasped, placing her hands on his chest and staring at him in amazement. "Today's our anniversary, I'm here to pick Sam up early from work."
"I see," Laurie pursed her lips, looking Danny up and down. "I don't think that's possible, Sam still has a lot of work to do around here -"
"Nah, we got it," Chris said loudly, winking at Sam and Danny. "Let her go, Miss Laurie."
"Well...alright," Laurie sighed, her gaze softening at the couple. Danny grinned and thanked her, grabbing Sam by the hand. He shot one last glare at Jordan and led Sam out the door toward her car.
"I can't believe you did that!" Sam gasped when she was in her car. She had been laughing hysterically all the way out the door, wiping tears away as she chortled. "That was awesome! You're the best fake boyfriend ever!"
"Fake?" Danny asked quietly from the passanger's seat. Sam quite literally felt her heart freeze. "Who said I was faking?"
"Wh-what?" She stammered, all traces of laughter gone.
"I...wasn't faking in there," He said, face flushing. "I mean...that wasn't a fake-out-make-out to me."
Sam wasn't sure which was more shocking: the fact that he had actually said that to her, or that he leaned in and tentatively pressed his lips to hers again. Either way, her brain melted to mush. She was left breathless, knocked senseless by his kiss. He pulled away all too soon, eyeing her carefully, gauging her reaction.
"Wow," She breathed. "Maybe Thursdays aren't so bad afterall,"
Danny grinned from ear to ear and kissed her again.
And that is the last thing I'm going to post.
I'm getting really into my novel at this point, it's really starting to shape up. But I had to get this out of my head and off my chest. All names have been changed, FYI. (:
Yeah...I wish my Thursday had really ended like that. That would have been amazing. But, no, I just drove home by myself, seething about how much I hate my stupid co-managers.
Sorry about the POV jumping around so sporadically. I was just eager to get everything out on paper. I sorry.
Thanks for reading (:
PS - If you guys have any DxS romance plot ideas that you'd like me to write, PM them to me! I'd give YOU the credit up at the top in my commentary, I'd love to take a stab at them in my free time (: