Chapter 6
The first few minutes of the cab ride had been quiet so far. Clark was trying to wrack his brain for something to say. Why couldn't he think of anything to say? He'd had no trouble while outside waiting for their ride to arrive.
He'd called her incredible looking. And sexy. And she'd let him. Not only that, but the sound of her heartbeat fluttering wildly in his ears told him she liked it.
It was Lois. They literally talked all the time. Every day. About everything.
Something had changed from the moment she'd swung open the door tonight—no, since he'd asked her out yesterday. Something had changed and it was wonderful and thrilling and a little scary all at once.
Was that it, why he couldn't think of anything to say? No...it was because the close quarters of the back of the taxi cab had somehow seemed to capture all their combined nerves and excitement, and the energy swirling around them was both intoxicating and paralysing.
And so was the fact that she was sitting so very near to him, much closer than she normally sat next to him whenever they'd take a cab instead of driving her Jeep. Much closer. Like the half-bare skin of her thigh was practically touching his denim-encased thigh. He had to fight back the strong urge to put his hand on her knee, but even the thought of doing it set his nerves afire.
He could smell her perfume. Her shampoo. That distinct scent that was just Lois...all of it was so much more intense than it normally was. Everything was more intense.
It was as if someone had flipped a switch when she'd opened the door, and they'd officially gone from partners and best friends to dating and something more. Honestly, he'd thought it would be more of a slow build...some sort of trickling stream of flirting and dating and romance that would gradually fill up a lake—no, the entire ocean that was their future together. That's how it had gone in all his fantasies.
But instead...someone had flung the flood gates wide open and everything from his heart to his libido was powerfully alive and flowing. Was she feeling all of this too? Was it the same for her?
He risked a glance in her direction, almost afraid that if he caught her gaze right now he'd lose all coherent thought in addition to his already absent ability to talk. She was looking at him, and when she caught his gaze, and her smile was somehow awkward and sexy all at once. One of those breathy, nervous chuckles escaped her, and his pulse quickened even more.
When she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, her bare arm brushed against his shoulder. Heat and tingling flooded the spot she'd touched as though both their arms had been bare, as if she hadn't touched him a million times before in little ways, both accidental and not.
"So," she said, breaking the silence, "I saw Moist is the opener tonight. I'll bet you're pretty excited to see them in person?"
"Uh, yeah...yeah. Pretty excited." His grinned at her, and God help him, he knew it must look at least half as awkward as his words sounded. He wasn't sure why she thought he might be excited to see them—they were just some opening act, he assumed—but to be honest, he was still trying to rein his attention back from the pleasant sensation in his shoulder where she'd touched him.
"You know..." She laughed lightly. "I heard a rumour that Cat might have slept with David Usher."
He chuckled cluelessly. "Knowing Cat, that doesn't surprise me."
Maybe he should have invited Jimmy over for a few beers this afternoon and gotten more of a crash course on Pearl Jam and grunge bands. He suddenly felt very much like this was a test he was sorely underprepared for, and Clark Kent had never shown up unprepared for a test.
"I hear they're trying to break into the U.S. market," she said.
Clearly, Lois was enough of a fan of Pearl Jam and the genre that she knew of the gossip surrounding the man who was ostensibly the lead singer of the warm-up band. Not to mention the band's aspirations.
Suddenly, Clark's heart was in his throat instead of giddily bouncing around his chest. "Yeah," he replied, even more lost than with the last bit of trivia. "Well, landing a gig with Pearl Jam is certainly the way to do it."
But it was fine. It would be fine. He was with Lois. She was visibly happy to be with him. Heck, she'd even been a bit flirty with him, using that smooth and slightly seductive tone she only used with—
No, actually, this wasn't the tone she used with Superman—that was far more dreamy and high-pitched sounding. This...this was something new. Something only for Clark. Something that sounded warmer and more intimate while still being flirtatious. And his heart thrilled at the thought, resuming its jaunty skittering.
And he realised he'd missed part of what she'd said. He needed to focus!
"...almost hard to believe Eddie Vedder just turned 30 and is so wildly successful. Can you imagine? It's pretty impressive if you stop and think about it."
"Lois?" he said, his tone adoring as he smiled wryly at her.
"What?" She tilted her head at him adorably.
"You're a brilliant, passionate award-winning journalist—multiple awards—and are undoubtedly the best reporter at a world-renowned newspaper, have been for years. And you're 27."
She ducked her head and blushed furiously. "Clark..." she said softly, and he barely heard her breath catch. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were sparkling and her smile lit up her face. "Keep flirting like that and I might even kiss you goodnight."
His throat went dry and he had to consciously purse his lips to ensure that his mouth wasn't hanging open. Her boldness seemed to quickly fade into bashfulness, but he could tell she wasn't sorry to have said it all the same.
He swallowed. "Count on it," he managed to croak out. It wasn't until he followed her gaze back down that he realised he'd put his hand on her knee, a kind of touch not unfamiliar to them as a gesture of friendly affection and encouragement. But this was...different. The wild fluttering of her heart in his ears returned in full effect. And he found himself short of breath at the thought that his hand was not unwelcome on her bare skin.
Still, this was only their first date. He pulled his hand away gently, setting it on his own knee, but his eyes were on her face now, lost in the depth of beauty staring back at him. "Did I mention you're sexy as well?"
"I think you did, yeah...but you can say it again," she said, letting out a breathy giggle.
The intensity of her stare and the triphammering of her heartbeat almost made him lose his nerve, but he braced himself with the exhilarating thrill of the knowledge that he could say it now, unfiltered and unrestrained. And she wanted him to say it.
He took a breath and looked deep into her eyes. "You, Lois Lane, are incredibly sexy," he said, his voice husky with desire.
Her breath whooshed out of her and he might have heard her heart skip a beat. Unconsciously, he found his gaze flitting from her lips to her eyes and back again. And her eyes were doing the same. He was barely breathing as he felt himself leaning, impossibly slow, ever closer toward her mouth.
"We're here!" the cabbie shouted from the front seat.
They both startled at the interruption, and though Clark still desperately wanted to kiss her, he was rather glad their first real kiss hadn't been in the back of a cab on their way to a Pearl Jam concert.
Still working at catching his breath, Clark paid the driver and then exited the cab. He held the door open for her, and his hand was on the small of her back as she slid out and came to stand next to him on the sidewalk.
He felt her shiver lightly and wondered if it was from the chill in the early February evening air or from his touch. If he was lucky, it was both?
"We're here," he said lamely, gesturing to the impressively large arena in front of them.
Metropolis Square Garden stood tall before them, the vertical columns of light a sparkling gold that alternated with the shadowed parts of the building's rounded exterior, the colours matching the album cover. He'd seen the blue and orange of the Marvels and the red and blue of the Comets, but this was a clever use of the lighting.
"Wow," she said as she took in the scene they'd just become a part of. "It definitely looks like a sold out concert! Look at all these people."
"Fellow fans, right?" he said. It was more of a statement than a question, but part of him desperately wished she'd say she wasn't, that this was all some big misunderstanding and that they should go to dinner instead. But that was not the case, and he knew he needed to make the best of this. It was, after all, a date with Lois!
Hundreds of people, it seemed, milling about, socialising in groups...large swaths of flannel and ripped jeans and black and so much eyeliner. This was so not his crowd, and he wondered how on Earth it was Lois' crowd. Well, he supposed being a fan of the band didn't automatically make one part of the crowd. It wasn't like she'd made it sound like she'd be meeting any friends here.
His hand was still on her back—they hadn't moved—and she shivered again. "Are you cold?" he asked, wishing he'd thought to bring a coat for himself so he could give it to her.
She looked over at him and smiled shyly. "A little."
In a move that felt oddly sensual, he tugged at the flannel around her waist, letting loose the simple knot it'd been in. "Here," he said softly. "Let's put this on."
He held it up for her and she slid her arms in, her hands only half peeking out of the sleeves. Once she'd turned back to face him, he suddenly found his hands on her shoulders, rubbing gently up and down her arms in an effort to warm her. Or at least that's what he told himself. Really, the flannel had probably taken care of things, but he'd really wanted another excuse to touch her.
"Thanks, Clark," she said. When his hands made a final downward stroke and started to fall back to his sides, she made a move to catch one of his hands to hold. "Shall we?"
All he could do was nod and try to focus on walking forward and not the decidedly wonderful tingling in his hand as her fingers threaded to intertwine with his. He was no stranger to walking arm in arm with Lois, her elbow hooked with his or her hands resting in the crook of his elbow as they walked home from a movie or to a work lunch. But hand holding...that seemed to be reserved for the something more aspect of their relationship. And he was giddy at the feel of it, her small hand so perfectly fitting within his.
The usher at the entrance checked their tickets, ripping the stubs off, and handed the remainder back to Clark. Once inside, she'd suggested they head for the snack bar to get some refreshments. Clark smacked himself mentally. He'd forgotten entirely about food. Dinner. Picking her up at 6pm and getting her home God knows when...how had he not planned for food somewhere in there?
Thankfully, she didn't seem to mind at all the prospect of dining on snack bar food and sodas. Maybe that's what she'd done at other concerts she'd gone to.
In any case, he was happy to be familiar with the layout of Metropolis Square Garden. The seating, restrooms and snack bar ought to all be the same as when the Marvels and the Comets were playing. They queued up at the second snack bar window they'd come across, it having a much shorter line than the first.
Much more aware of indie bands and rock performers who liked to frequent smaller, more intimate venues, Clark had always been baffled by the idea of holding a concert in an arena. Though maybe that was because he was from a small town and most of his travels had taken him to small, out-of-the-way locations that didn't have large venues. Or because having played sports all the way throughout college, he was more used to seeing arenas and stadiums used for athletic games.
As they approached the register to give their order, Clark reluctantly let go of Lois' hand. He grabbed for his wallet and gave her a small nod, indicating she should go ahead and order first. Instead, she placed her hand on his, causing his entire body to pause momentarily.
“I’ll get this,” she offered. “After all, you got the tickets.” He knew that she was being genuine, and in any other circumstance he might agree. After all, she’d bought him the occasional coffee or takeout at the Planet. But that was a ‘just friends’ thing. Like a group ordering pizza. They were on a date, and he wanted to treat her. But he also didn’t want to offend her.
“No, it’s okay,” he said after a moment’s pause. Her hand was still on his arm and it felt so very good. “I don’t mind. I asked you, after all.”
There. That was a reasonable enough reason. The person who asks, should pay. She couldn’t argue with that, surely.
“Fair enough,” she replied, running her hand absently up and down his arm. Was she doing this on purpose? “But dinner’s on me for our next date.”
Our next date. She’d said that. He’d heard it. She was already thinking of their next date. Clearly he must have done the exact right thing in getting these concert tickets. The show hadn’t even started and she wanted to go out with him again.
“Deal,” he replied. “What would you like?”
After getting a small armful of hot dogs—two for her and three for him—and two sodas, they headed to the condiment bar to dress up their dinner.
Lois kept glancing out of the corner of her eye at him. "What?" he asked, a hint of humour but also self-consciousness seeping into his voice.
"You're doing it wrong."
"Oh, am I?" He laughed and raised his eyebrows at her. Of course that's what she'd been staring for.
"Yes, onions and relish are a must. Then one thick line of mustard down the middle."
He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Nope. Everyone knows that ballpark dogs only need one line of mustard, one of ketchup, and you're done. Simple, delicious and classic."
They both re-wrapped their hot dogs for easier transportation, and she continued her argument as they walked to their seats with their hands full. "We're not at a ballgame, Clark!"
"But they have the same exact food," he countered. "Same snack bar. Same food. That doesn't change what condiments work best with the hot dogs."
"Well, ballgame or concert, you're still wrong." She stuck her tongue out at him.
He tried desperately not to find it sexy, but somehow everything she did tonight seemed to be sexy. "We'll just have to agree to disagree on that."
"Okay, fine. We'll agree that you're wrong."
"Hey!" He laughed. "I'll agree to no such thing."
They settled in their seats, trying to juggle what food they had and where to put the drinks when there were no cup holders. Thankfully, most of the crowd for the floor seats hadn't filtered in yet, and they found that putting their drinks on the ground between their feet to be the best option.
"Here, let me hold your other hot dog while you unwrap your first," Clark said, taking the other wrapped dog from her.
"Thanks," she said smiling, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You don't know what you're missing with the relish and the onions." She took a large bite and chewed happily.
"I'll be perfectly happy with my properly dressed hot dogs. Don't you worry." It was both heartwarming and exhilarating to know that their typical friendly banter was not a casualty of moving from friends to something more. He unwrapped and started on his first hot dog, balancing the others carefully in his lap.
"You know," she said around the last of the hot dog in her mouth. "I don't know why they couldn't be bothered to put lids on our drinks. Do you think they ran out?"
He grimaced at her. "It's a conscious business decision on their part."
"What?" she asked, incredulous. "Does it really save that much in the budget to not buy lids? Maybe we should do a story on the high cost of ticket prices versus the amenities you get once you're trapped inside with no other options for food or beverages. It's a racket! No lids." She scoffed.
While he loved listening to her rants—when he wasn't the target, that was—he figured he ought to tell her what he knew before she knocked her drink over in excitement.
"It's actually to keep people from throwing them at the teams, or the band in this case."
"Are you serious? Why would they expect people to throw things at the band they paid good money to see? How does that make any sense?"
"Lois, you've thrown your remote at the TV for plenty of reasons that didn't make sense." Oh, good grief. Why had he said that?
"I'll have you know that every single one of those times was justified." She balled up her empty hot dog wrapper and threw it at him.
He caught it handlily...maybe too handily because she gave him a surprised look. But he knew she was still wound up about the lids, so she didn't mention his speed or dexterity.
"Still," she continued as she took her second hot dog from its carefully perched spot on his knee, "I don't see why they can't expect perfectly responsible people to act like civilised adults at venues."
"You're right, Lois. I don't see why they can't either."
She grinned widely at him, her mouth full. She finished chewing her latest bite, and then said, "See? I knew you'd come around to your senses. I'm right."
"Wait...what? Lois, that wasn't even the same argument!"
"Doesn't matter. Date rules. I'm always right."
"Is that so?"
"Yep."
"Are there consequences if I disagree?"
"Hmm...Maybe."
And then the silence grew between them, not uncomfortable but for the electricity and energy that seemed to spark, a magnetism that pulled them ever closer by some unknown force. His eyes darted to her deep burgundy lips, and he felt his lips part of their own volition and he leaned in. She was leaning in as well, and it seemed like there was magic in the air.
Suddenly, she sat upright in her chair and cleared her throat. "We, uh, should probably finish our food before the show starts."
Clark wasn't sure what, if anything, he'd done wrong. His heart was racing from their near kiss, and he could hear her heart hammering away as well. "Of course. You're right!" It was a good thing he was sitting because he was definitely having a hard time keeping his balance.
