Research: Romance

motel

Friday morning, Robin showed up to my apartment bright eyed and bushy tailed. He was wearing a black vest over a green hoodie and jeans, which looked like they had seen easier times. In his hand was a duffle bag, stuffed to the seams, which he gently sat down at the door as he stepped in. His sneakers squeaked as he shuffled to close the door behind him.

"Good morning, Leah." He grinned excitedly before dropping to unzip his duffle bag.

He pulls out the three books he borrowed and walks into the study without another word. When he comes back out, he has three different copies and is tucking them carefully into his bag. Once he's finished his task, Robin crosses the room and meets me at the counter. "Ready to go?"

Well, that was fast. I wonder, looking him up and down before pouring myself a cup of coffee. I silently offer one to him, but he shakes his head. So, I nod, then I respond to his question after taking a sip, "There's something we need to settle first."

This piques his attention, and Robin braces his hands on the counter, leaning forward, "Why does that sound like a bad thing?"

I take a longer drink. Oh, how to broach this subject.

It occurs to me that there are two subjects that should be broached: the one I had planned on talking to him about today and what happened at the studio with the Crawleys'. I decided to put them on the backburner and focus on the project instead. Too many of our days have been centered around gossip. I wanted this trip to belong to the project and, therefore, just to me and Robin. 

 "Well, just remember that you trust me, and everything will be fine."

"Intrigue, mystery, cryptic replies..." He whispers, raising one of his eyebrows, "Your strategy to seduce me is working. Though, like I said, you had me at rose petals." 

"Believe it or not, Robin," I snort into my cup, looking at him matter-of-factly over the rim, "I'm not trying to seduce you."

Robin raises both eyebrows now, leaning on his forearms to inch in closer to me. He's clearly in a great mood, something that seems semi-permanent now that we've cleared the air about the scandal. The Robin Moore I know is back and more mischievous than ever it seems. The effect is both dizzying and contagious. I find myself smiling at him in the same crooked way he's grinning at me. 

Robin hums, "Then I'm in trouble, aren't I?" 

Alright, I'll play along. I know I'm walking right into one of his lines, but it's hard to resist. Turning toward him, I set down my coffee cup, "How so?" 

The hazel in his eyes twinkles, like his soul is dancing at the question. He scans my face, that competitive edge in him sharpening, " Well, if this is you not trying... then that means when you decide to, I'll be powerless to resist you. Spellbound. Hopeless. It's unethical really." 

Just as he expects, the answer stupefies me. My lips hang apart in stunned silence, and I feel the temperature in me rise. My fingers tighten around the handle of my mug, but thankfully he's too busy watching me mentally collapse to notice. 

He read those books quickly... and a little too close for comfort. If I wasn't sharp this weekend, he would use them to get me tongue-tied and flustered just so he could watch me suffer a loss of words. Not to mention, he would never let me live it down if he beat me at my own game.

 After a moment, I clamp my lips shut and clear my throat confidently. "Nice try, but you won't win Lewd-Land with cheesy material like that. Keep studying." 

"Someday." He smirks at me. Then sobers a little but doesn't look completely swayed from his mission. "So, what's up?  Lay it on me." 

"Well," I quip, "That's what we're going to talk about."