Good stuff, Caroline
Mad Dog Lane was being replaced by Fuzzy Kitten Lane or maybe Fluffy Bunny Lane, since everyone knew that bunnies spent all their time thinking about making more bunnies, and Clark Kent pretty much sent her mind racing down that same path. Except without the bunnies, of course.
Of course.
Had she just said that? She didn’t believe in happily-ever-after; she never had. Was she really starting to believe that things might work out? She wasn’t sure, but just saying ‘Clark’ and ‘happily-ever-after’ in the same breath was doing strange things to her insides.
That could be something to consider.
“Of course,” he promised. “I’ll tell him that in my opinion, you would be a wonderful acquisition for any man. You exercise regularly, practice good dental hygiene, and come from healthy breeding stock. I won’t mention your cooking. Hopefully it won’t come up.”
Mitchell doesn’t seem quite like the boring hypochondriac in this incarnation.
“Using Clark as a scratching post, Cat?” Lois enquired sweetly.
“We were just getting to know one another better,” Cat drawled. “Right Clark?”
“Uh, right,” he said. “Getting to know one another. As co-workers. Because we, uh, work at the same place...and it’s good to, um, know the people you work with...at work.”
Isn’t it though.
She had repaired the damage to her face and touched up her coiffure, and once again, that distracting strand of dark hair trailed down one ivory cheek, occasionally brushing against the corner of her mouth. He knew she had arranged it that way deliberately; it was one of those mystifying things women did, and if its purpose was draw men’s attention, it was succeeding admirably. His hand itched to rearrange it, to tuck it back behind her ear just for the pleasure of letting his fingers brush against her smooth skin. He didn’t dare, however. Not in the middle of a ballroom, with half of Metropolis watching.
Beautiful,
more please.
