"Do you always answer the door dressed like that, kitten?"
Sarah flushed, pulling the thin cotton robe tighter around her. "I knew it was you. That's why there's a peephole."
"And here I thought it was a clever device to be used in some half-wit's demise." Abel pushed the door at its hinges, forcing it open wider. "Were you planning to invite me in, kitten, or do I have to stand on your doorstep all night?"
"Do you really expect me to believe that you'd stand there all night?" Sarah stepped aside, her gaze settling on the dress bag Abel had folded over one arm. Shutting the door behind him, she rebolted it, and turned to find him grinning at her. "What?"
"You're right, I wouldn't stand there all night. You'd let me in before I had to get loud and dramatic." Abel turned a circle in the tiny foyer, looking for something. After a moment, he pivoted to face Sarah. "Where's the rest of it?"
"The rest of what?" It was awkward, in an awkward way, having him in her apartment. In the two weeks since they'd met, he'd been as far as the lobby, with her insisting that she could manage to find her own way upstairs. He seemed out of place, completely foreign in a way that he never did anywhere else.
"The rest of the apartment, kitten. This is barely the size of my sleeping area. It's probably not even half of my loft." Abel turned another half circle, bumping into a coat rack. "Why the hell do you have a coat rack?"
"Because I like the idea of having one, even if I don't have a coat. And my apartment is small because my paycheck was small." Sarah squeezed past him to stalk into the living room, dropping onto the loveseat. Crossing her arms over her chest, she scowled at him. "Actually, my paycheck is nonexistent. Which means it's really small compared to yours."
"If your paycheck is nonexistent, is it even possible to make an accurate comparison?" Abel ducked, barely missing the pillow Sarah threw at him. Laying the dress bag on the hall table, he picked up the pillow, using it as a shield when she threw another one. "Have you noticed that you've gotten more violent in the past week?"
"Throwing a pillow is not violent. Throwing a knife would be violent. Throwing a pillow is just..." Sarah trailed off into giggles as the small neck roll pillow she launched at Abel hit him square in the face. "Fun. I thought your reflexes were a little better than that."
"Forgive me, it's been more than a few years since I was involved in slumber party antics." Abel looked at the pillow in his hand, and the pillow in hers. Instead of throwing it, he dropped it to the floor. And took a flying leap over the coffee table, landing on top of her.
Sarah shrieked, then giggled helplessly when Abel winced at the sound. Before she could squirm away, his fingers were digging into her ribs, making her breathless with laughter. Her own hands were trapped between them, so that even if she could have managed to breathe, she had no offensive weapon. It was only a matter of minutes before she gave up.
"Uncle, uncle, uncle! Abel, stop." She could barely get the words out for laughing, and tears were streaming down her face. She used the little bit of leverage she had to push against him, hoping he'd get the message. "Please. Oh, God, I can't breathe."
Halting the motion of his fingers, Abel leaned over, capturing her mouth with his, cutting off the giggles. His tongue was smooth and slick against hers, and they danced playfully back and forth for long minutes before he drew back, kissing the tip of her nose. Tucking her against him, he maneuvered around on the small loveseat until his legs were hanging off one end while his head rested on the arm of the other, with Sarah sprawled over him.
Sarah concentrated on getting her breathing to even back out, even while the random giggle or snicker still snuck through. Abel stroked his hand up and down her back, both of them sighing contentedly when she snuggled closer. Sarah felt his lips graze the top of her head and closed her eyes. When she spoke a few minutes later, her voice was low and slightly slurred with sleep. "What's in the bag?"
"What bag?" Instead of his fingertips, now it was his nails running up and down her back, and Sarah wiggled her toes at the tingles the minute contact gave her.
"The bag you brought over. Before you started in on how small my apartment is."
"Your apartment is small."
"It's cozy."
"Kitten, cozy is just another way of saying small. Like calling short people petite. It just sounds better, but if you have half a brain, you know what's really being said." Abel twisted his head absently one direction, then the next. "What time is it?"
"Look at the clock." Sarah curled one arm over his chest, her head rising and falling with each of his breaths. "It's over the television."
"You mean the small, square box that transmits pictures, probably in black and white?" Before Sarah could think of a response, Abel was cursing and pushing to a sitting position. "Shit, we're gong to be late. Joseph's going to have an aneurysm."
"Late for what?" Sarah would have tumbled to the floor if Abel hadn't held her as he rolled off the couch, pulling them both to their feet. "And what's in the bag?"
"We're going to be late for Joseph's show, which you're a major part of--and I am, too, apparently. And what's in the bag is a little something for you. So you don't have to wear the spinster clothes."
"His show is tonight? When?" She shot a look at the clock. Already six-thirty.
"In thirty minutes." When Sarah spun on her heel, her mouth agape, Abel shrugged his shoulders. "Move fast, kitten. And no arguments about what's in the bag. Although one request."
