Chapter 2Clark’s pulse skittered wildly as Lois’ sputtered laugh ended with her face buried in his shoulder. “But why a giant stuffed ear of corn? It’s ridiculous!”
His heart skipped a beat when she pulled back to gasp for breath, almost doubled over with laughter now. God, she was beautiful. He couldn’t help but join in her amusement. “I don’t know!” he laughed.
“And it’s angry, Clark! Angry!” Lois, her eyes tearing from laughter, held up the almost two-foot stuffed, anthropomorphic ear of corn, its face glaring hotly at him. “Here, farmboy, maybe you know some tricks for cheering up the corn.” She thrust it toward him and nudged his arm to get him to hold her hard-won carnival prize.
They both roared with laughter, and she fell into him again, her hands clutching at his free arm to help hold herself up. Her breath was warm against his chest, easier to feel through the single thin layer of cotton he was wearing.
This. This was what he wanted. Lois carefree and laughing and in his arms, his heart so light he thought it alone might float them right up in the air.
After blissful minutes, they’d finally recovered, and she stood back a little, swiping at her tear-stained face and then fussing at the hem of his t-shirt to straighten it out for him. His stomach muscles tensed at her touch and his breath caught, and when she looked up at him, she held still for a moment, her eyes sparkling but tentative.
And then her gaze dipped back down as she tucked a stray lock behind her ear.
“Beautiful...” he breathed, the word slipping out before he could stop it. He cleared his throat. “Beautiful weather today, isn’t it?” he attempted poorly.
“Clark, it’s well over 85 degrees!” she exclaimed, though her voice was slightly tremulous, clearly unsettled by his slip. Her eyes found his again for just a second before they settled on the stuffed corn cob tucked under his arm instead. “And the humidity is terrible.”
There was a slight flush to her cheeks and he was having trouble not staring, especially since he couldn’t help but tune into the sound of her heartbeat fluttering wildly. “Let’s, uh, go get some lemonade and a bite to eat before our dunk times,” he said.
She nodded, appearing grateful for the reprieve, and they walked side by side toward the food stands. The silence between them was awkward, but far from the kind of silences they’d dealt with four months ago. No, this time, the space between them was filled with almost an electrifying energy and indeterminate tension that was leading Clark down a dangerous path he’d told himself he wasn’t going to venture down again. This morning’s outing at the carnival between partners and friends was feeling more and more like a date.
That wasn’t what she’d wanted last Spring. She hadn’t wanted him. Not like that. And he’d spent more time than he wanted to admit licking his wounds—his poor, fragile heart, broken twice over.
Friends. Partners. Forever.
It was easier that way. Safer. Safer than putting his heart on the line again. Besides, there was no way he would ever risk their precious friendship a second time. That had been the story he’d told himself, consoling his heart that at least he could have partners and friends.
And now that very same heart was changing the story, throwing caution to the wind and trying to fly freely as if there wasn’t the risk of losing
everything. This energy between them just had to mean something, though. Didn’t it? The way her heart raced when he looked at her, the way she kept adorably blushing and getting flustered, and the way it had felt so incredibly dizzying and right and wonderful when they’d held hands...something was definitely different.
When they reached the food stands, Clark offered to wait in line for them while she excused herself to the restroom. She’d given him a smile as she’d left, but he could tell she was still a little on edge. Frankly, so was he.
Her words from the top of the Ferris wheel echoed in his mind, the words he’d heard even when he couldn’t really be sure that she’d wanted him to hear. She’d wished she could take it all back, her apology and regret written plainly on her face. Given how it’d all turned out, it wasn’t a surprising revelation, but actually hearing it had struck a chord with him.
More than that, though, was the sting of his own realization. It had ached, watching her be so unsure and fretful over just the thought that she might have upset him with any lingering feelings for Superman. They’d always been just a fact—her feelings for the Man of Steel—a horribly inconvenient, irresistible fact. But she’d rushed to reassure him that it wasn’t the case, that she would have preferred to see the skyline with the ordinary man.
The full dawning of awareness had hit him—not only was it likely that she had feelings for him beyond friendship after all, but he was also being monumentally unfair to her. He needed to tell her. If he trusted her at all, wanted to consider her his best friend, ever hoped to have a romantic relationship with her, then he needed to tell her.
Soon, he told himself. For today, he would enjoy the rest of this outing—whether it felt like kind of a date or not. It wasn’t long before Lois was back and they’d purchased an assortment of snacks as well as two lemonades.
They walked a little further to the edge of the carnival so they could find an area to eat that wasn’t so crowded. Choosing a picnic table not too far from where the main stage was set up, they spread out their bounty and dug in. Clark was relieved to find they’d settled easily back into their usual banter even though there was still an underlying current of...something more.
“So you’re not going to gloat, Lois?”
“Gloat? What’s there to gloat about?” she asked with mock-innocence.
Clark hooked a thumb in the direction of the stuffed corn that was resting on the table, currently laying on its side and giving the tree behind Lois its angry stare.
Lois grinned at him from around a bite of funnel cake, the specks of powdered sugar lingering on her lips driving him to distraction. She shrugged lightly as she chewed, then swallowed and peeking her tongue out to clean her lips. “I’m good at carnival games.”
“Specifically the throwing ones, I happened to notice.” Clark raised an eyebrow at her.
“Jealous, farmboy?” Her grin widened and her eyes seemed to twinkle at him. “You didn’t do too badly on those, but I’m starting to think that I might be rather safe from being dunked by you.”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” He knew competitive Lois had been in there somewhere.
She nodded. “You seem pretty distracted today, and that combined with my prowess for throwing games, well...seems like a slam...dunk...that I could outlast you in the hot seat, so to speak.”
“What are you suggesting?” he asked, feeling a bit trepidatious about the trap he’d managed to not only help set up but also walk headlong into without resistance. But oh, there was something sexy about competitive Lois.
“I’m suggesting a little bet,” she said, then sipped at her lemonade.
He waited for her terms, his heart beating just a bit faster.
“If I can dunk you in fewer throws than you can dunk me, then I win!” She looked pretty sure of herself, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of her self-satisfied smile.
“And vice versa.”
“Of course,” she agreed, though her smile seemed pretty self-assured.
“...okay, but what’s the prize?”
“Winner gets a home cooked meal at the loser's apartment!”
Clark’s breath caught and his mind flashed to one of his dearest fantasies—a date night at his apartment, making her a delicious meal, dining by candlelight and surrounded by soft decor that held a delicate suggestion of romance. But he was probably reading too much into it. Way too much into it.
It took him a moment to shake himself mentally and realize he hadn’t responded to her yet. Though he was suddenly very inclined to lose this contest, there was still a glaring omission in her plan that he couldn't resist mentioning. “Lois, what happens if I win? You can’t cook. How is that a prize for me when I’ll end up cooking either way?”
She raised an eyebrow and a corner of her mouth quirked up—and he found he was struggling not to find her dubious look adorably sexy. Then she gave him a little smirk and waved a hand in his direction. “Okay, okay. I’ll order us takeout if you win.”
“Okay, sure. Deal,” he said, reaching his hand out over the table to shake on it before his mind could warn him—warn them—out of this, this contest that seemed like it would culminate in an intimate date night no matter the outcome.
Feeling the smooth warmth of her hand in his again sent his heart racing again. That dangerous path he’d been intent on avoiding was now rolling out the welcome mat. But that was...okay, wasn’t it? Because when he looked up into her eyes, her gaze locked with his own and he’d swear that they both lost their breath for a moment...well, it sure felt like she might want that dangerous path just as much as he did this time.
The rest of their small picnic passed in a whirlwind of friendly conversation, jittery anticipation, and banter that could only be considered flirty. Had they really been flirting this whole morning? It certainly seemed like it.
As they cleared the table and gathered their belongings, including the giant stuffed corn that Lois had insisted on naming Chompy, Clark’s mind was distracted with all the possible outcomes of this bet they’d made. He wanted desperately to lose, to have an excuse to make her dinner and...well, he’d have to find a way to ask her if they could consider it a date. Or at least some sort of...almost-first date or something. On the other hand, it was honestly hard to let go of the idea of being able to watch Lois eat her own words when she lost—because surely with an entire youth full of playing sports and a little super ability...how could he lose?
When they got to the grassy area that held the dunk tank event just a few minutes before 1pm, Clark was a bit surprised to find that there was already a line of people waiting to dunk him. It wasn’t super long, granted, but...well, he’d overheard some of the chatter this morning about how most people were using the dunk tank for some sort of safe but cathartic office revenge, and he was pretty certain he was well-liked and conflict free at work.
It wasn’t until he saw Lois stride intently over there and exchange some heated words with the ladies at the front of the line, that he realized the line was comprised entirely of women. As he set his things down at the volunteer table and took off his shoes and socks, he couldn’t help but listen in with his super hearing.
“Back off, ladies. He’s mine.”“Says who? Come off it, Lois? Since when?...”The questions were fired at her hotly from both coworkers who were single and those who were married, and he could see a good number of them staring at him like he was...a piece of meat, exactly how many women and a few men ogled Superman in public. Oh god...
He tuned out, not sure he wanted to hear the rest, and quite unable to get the sound of her possessive, assertive
He’s mine out of his head. It didn’t take Lois long to very smugly take her place at the apparently coveted spot at the front of the line. Clark swallowed nervously as he climbed the ladder to get settled on the small platform that would serve as his seat for the dunk tank.
He stared through the plexiglass wall of the tank at the line of mostly women. At least he would be earning more money for charity. He just had to focus on that. That and his upcoming dinner with Lois...and whether or not it would be wise to call it a date.
He’s mine, her voice echoed in his head again and a thrill ran down his spine. He wondered if he should super-aid her throws in some way, but he dismissed it out of hand. It wasn’t worth the effort nor risk of exposure when he could just as easily perform a little worse when it was his turn to throw. That is, if he decided to lose on purpose. Which he hadn’t yet. Decided, that is.
“You ready to get wet, Kent?” Lois hollered at him from the throw line twenty feet away.
“Bring it on, Lane!” he yelled back at her.
There were a few cheers and whistles from the crowd at large as Lois set up her stance and readied herself to make her first throw. The look of determination on her face and the way she bit at her bottom lip in concentration was more than distracting, which was why, even with his super senses and reflexes...he was surprised to suddenly find himself in the water, staring through the plexiglass of the tank at her, a look of gleeful victory on her face.
He scrambled a bit to grab for his glasses, as they’d been knocked loose when he splashed down into the tank. When he resurfaced, he shook the water from his hair and ran a hand through it to get it out of his eyes and put his glasses back on. There was a brief moment of panic when he realized that he’d literally just slicked back his wet hair, so he ran his hand through again, tousling it a bit.
The attendant was resetting the platform as Clark climbed up the short ladder and got resettled on it, this time sopping wet. A spattering of cheers had erupted when he’d hit the water, but they had died down now that it was time for the next in line. Well, once Lois was out of the way, that was. He looked up to find Lois had come closer, likely to rub in her victory in his face, heedless of the impatient ladies in line behind her. The smile on Lois’ face stretched ear to ear and the sight of it was nothing less than intoxicating.
“Pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he asked, his legs swinging above the water.
She nodded. “Piece of cake. No winning for you now—only losing,” she said, and then she walked off toward the sidelines.
“Or a tie,” he called after her.
“In your dreams, Kent,” she yelled back, laughing, and he watched as she found her way to an empty seat at a table a few yards away on the sidelines of the dunk tank.
The whack of a ball against the heavy yellow tarp behind the target startled Clark, and he reluctantly tore his eyes from Lois and focused on his next...opponent, for lack of better term. Not that it mattered whether or not he was watching, but after Lois had knocked him squarely off balance and off the platform in one go, he thought it’d at least be nice to know when or if he was getting wet again.
As the line progressed, several women and a few men got their three chances to dunk him in exchange for their donation amount. Only one or two people had missed dunking him altogether, and increasingly, he was finding it irritating to be dripping wet constantly. At least the spandex of the suit dried quickly enough when wet, especially when he was able to fly faster. Even as invulnerable as he was, it was just downright uncomfortable to sit in a sopping wet shirt.
He worried a little about taking his shirt off when he already felt...on display. But he supposed it was no different, really, than going to the beach or the pool—he didn’t exactly swim with a shirt on. So as he settled back on the platform once again, he reached to strip off his shirt, and then he tossed it off to the side on the grass, where it landed with a squishy plop. He sighed and once again faced the line—that was finally getting shorter—and then...
“Oh god,” he heard Lois gasp, followed by her sharp intake of breath. He whipped his head around to the sidelines where she was watching from a few yards away. Nothing seemed wrong with her, though her eyes were wide and she coughed a few times before waving at him. He waved back, his mind working overtime and his hearing tuning into the triphammering of her heart.
But then he heard the cheering start again—and it was painfully loud in his ears since he’d been focused on Lois’ heartbeat. He shook his head and looked forward again, wholly unsure of how to handle this information that Lois was...well, she wasn’t unaffected at the sight of him with no shirt on. This shouldn’t be news to him. Wasn’t news to him, really. And yet...
His thoughts were interrupted as Mary from the art department stepped up to the throw line. He tried to force a smile; after all, Mary was someone he’d always found great to chat to. But now she seemed to be looking at him with some sort of hunger, her eyes shamelessly wandering over his bare chest, and he was feeling more than a little exposed.
Mary managed to dunk him on her second throw, and as he rose to standing in the tank again, he went through his little routine of fixing his hair and then putting his glasses back on. He inhaled sharply when he looked up and found Lois staring intently at him as though she was watching the twitch of every single muscle as he moved.
Clark let out a nervous chuckle and gave her a thumbs up as he finished climbing the ladder and settled himself back on the platform once more. She smiled wryly at him and shrugged as she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight in her seat.
He looked ahead again so he knew what to expect from the next thrower, but he watched Lois from the corner of his eye, her gaze unabashedly wandering hungrily over his chest just as Mary’s had. Though now, he was feeling...uncomfortable in an entirely different way.
After yet another dunk, this time from Sally from advertising, he fumbled for his glasses a few seconds longer than usual, but still managed to run his hand through his hair, tousle it a bit as some of the water sluiced off, and put his glasses back on. He heard another gasp from Lois and fought the strong urge to look over at her again. Seeing her expression, listening to her heart beat, and watching the slight flush of her cheeks was torturous. A pleasant torture, to be sure, but not one that he really cared to experience any more than necessary while he was still so very much on display. So he kept his eyes straight ahead.
Finally, everyone in line had gotten their turn—Mary and Sally even taking an extra turn each—and he was excused from the last five minutes of his time slot. As he headed toward the makeshift changing stall they’d set up for dunkees, he noticed that the line for dunking Lois was already forming. It was longer than his had been. He felt a pang of sympathy for her and a different sort of protectiveness than he was used to—not just for her physical safety.
He gave himself a zap of heat vision to get the damp off his skin, and then changed into his spare clothing. He wished more people could know her like he did, see how passionate and dedicated and caring she was about her work instead of seeing Mad Dog Lane. But Clark knew part of that was almost a persona of hers, the byproduct of what it had taken for to climb to the top of their field in such a short time. He could only imagine how much harder it had been as a woman in a male-dominated field...and how lonely it’d been.
As he put his wet clothes in the plastic bag they’d provided, part of him wondered if that was why she’d stopped fighting so hard against having him for a partner. He knew he was a good writer, but being assigned as a rookie journalist to work alongside the award-winning Lois Lane had felt like a massive stroke of luck...dare he say fate? Regardless of how they’d started, there was no doubt now how well they worked together, how well their styles complemented one another. Falling into friendship with her had been even easier than their work relationship, though no doubt helped by it.
And now, now that he had a foolish amount of hope that there was something even more for them to gain? He was feeling—
“Clark!” Lois whispered hotly outside the changing tent. Shoot, she needed time to change if she’d planned to and here he was daydreaming.
“Sorry!” he said as he pulled back the curtain and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He stepped out of the tent and gestured for her to enter, but instead, she grabbed his wrist and started dragging him in the opposite direction of the dunk tank.
“We need to leave. Now,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Wait, what? Lois, what about your—”
“I’m not doing it. C’mon.” She continued dragging him by the arm.
“Lois, wait...” He stopped moving and let his hand slide into hers as she kept moving, but then tugged gently to stop her when he had her hand.
When she turned to face him, he saw tears threatening in red-rimmed eyes, and he could hear her heart racing almost erratically.
“Oh, Lois. I know...I’m sorry the line is so long. It’s not that they don’t respect you. They think you’re the best damn reporter in the country.”
He heard the hitch in her breath, and she just stared at him for a moment, searching his eyes. “It-it’s not that,” she said quietly.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “What is it?”
At first she didn’t say anything; she just looked at him, her eyes darting down to his now-covered chest and back up to his eyes. She opened her mouth and closed it again as if the words had escaped her.
And now he was worried—what had happened to make Lois Lane speechless and close to tears? He released her hand so that he could bring both of his hands up to her shoulders, holding her gently. “Lois, talk to me...please.”
“I-I...need to...not be here,” she said. Her eyes darted again, this time to survey the crowds around them—over near the tank and then the people milling around the main stage, waiting for the band that was supposed to play later. And then her eyes were back on his, searching again for something. “Your apartment. My apartment. Doesn’t matter. Just not here.”
“Okay, okay,” he soothed. “We can go. Did you want me to talk to Perry about changing your time or even canc—”
“I already did. Let’s go,” she said brusquely, and his heart sank a little as she turned to edge somewhat awkwardly out of his grasp.
He let his hands fall back to his sides, and he moved to follow after her, but then she turned suddenly to face him. Her eyes, a bit wild, found his and then dropped to his hand. Impulsively, she clasped it and pulled him along with her. “C’mon. My place is closer.”
to be continued…Comments
