[ She's sitting out in yoga pants and a rather large shirt that almost seems like a dress. She's torn at the yoga pants a little, tears with strands going between still. The shirt she's cut off the neck, so it grips one shoulder and hangs off another. It falls midway down her thighs, riding up just a little from how she's perched on a stool in the kitchen.
[ Gansey's heart trips over several beats at the sight of her. Everything about the way Blue dresses appeals to him. The little tears, where he can see skin peeking through. The shoulder that her shirt has exposed. His eyes tick to these places and his stomach does a traitorous flip.
Coming over beside her, he uses a stool to jump up and perch on the counter, and then he snags a juicebox from the fridge. ]
No, I know. You're virtually made of the stuff. Did I get the right kind?
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I'd love to call him, actually, and ask his advice. He'd love all of this.
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I have the worst taste in boys.
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Eventually. He's almost there.
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Poor boy. What does he have to do to get back into your good books, I wonder?
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He could start with yogurt.
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The fruitless kind, and everything.
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Oh, she likes that.
Well. ]
There may be one or two with fruit. Just in case.
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Eating alone is getting overrated.
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Or the boy is. You know what I mean.
[ His neck feels hot. Does it look hot? It probably looks hot. ]
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[ Is she smiling? she shouldn't be smiling. ]
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There's one very operative question left.
Are you hungry?
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Kitchen?
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After he exchanges his t-shirt for a pink polo shirt, obviously. And after he runs his hands through his hair.
Smiling - and still feeling hot under the collar - he joins her in the kitchen. ]
We have to stop meeting like this.
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Yogurt in hand. ]
With yogurt?
Never. [ Try to take her yogurt from her. ]
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Coming over beside her, he uses a stool to jump up and perch on the counter, and then he snags a juicebox from the fridge. ]
No, I know. You're virtually made of the stuff. Did I get the right kind?