Disclaimer: I don't own this, don't profit from this nor seek any kind of monetary gains from this work. The creative content however, is mine! :)
Also, they so would have hooked up. Why, oh, why would anyone ever cancel it if not for that very reason?
Summary: Sam and Brooke meet for coffee.
Author's note: Another spur of the moment thing standing in the way of me doing my homework. Say what you will, I'm sure it could use some work. It won't get any, but hey :)
They met outside a chique coffeehouse in the middle of bustling Manhattan. Of all places in the world this was probably the place where both of them would be recognized and ignored, it was all too fashionable for such blatant display as social contacts. This is where the higher ups come to grab a cup of coffee and not be stained by the everyday of it. Then of course, they had booths as well.
"It's nice to see you, Sam."
There was kissing, cheek to cheek in fashionably polite manner. A careless waiter stepped up and didn't even bother to right down their orders. Part of the charm, here, apparently.
"Got your call."
"Any particular reason you didn't come home to me right away? We do dates now?"
"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Hesitantly treading through a period of awkward silence, both of them studied the surroundings before sharing yet another brief glance into each others eyes. Most of the time they shared looks like that were in bed, wrapped around each other.
"It's... hard for me to say this."
"Don't beat around, then. Get to it."
"Why do you always have to be like that?" Came a more fierce reply, "Why is it always smack to the issue, or into bed? Is that all you care about?"
"Hey, I wasn't the one who started this..."
"And so just because of that, I'm guilty? I seem to recall you walking into my room from time to time, you know. High school was perfect for you like that, wasn't it? Sex on demand and..."
"Isn't that what it is, what it's always been? God, now you want to have that talk? It's been eight years."
"Yes! Eight years, and I'm sick of it!"
"You didn't complain last week..."
"Like I had the time for that, you..."
Their orders came in. A different waiter this time, more cheerful contrary to official policy. She put their tray down delicately and then overstayed her welcome by several moments.
"Yes?" Brooke wondered impatiently, "Can we help you?"
"Ehm... I'm sorry, it's just..." She was holding a picture. A cutout from a magazine.
"Right." Both girls realised what this was about.
"I'm really sorry, I'm just a huge fan and it's not alwa..."
"Give that here." A pen was produced and the magazine cutout signed, the waiters name was Tiffany and everything was glorious and happy for a moment. For the two customers this was a nuisance, but neither cared to make a scene out of it. Wasn't exactly a good way to stay out of notice.
When the waiter had left; "That's what I'm talking about. Everytime I want to talk, or just have a moment alone with you it's work work work, don't you ever stop?"
"Hey, I've worked hard to be where I am today, you know that."
"I thought you didn't care about money?"
"Who said it was about money? Okay, I admit this isn't exactly where I envisioned myself being eight years from high school, but I'm not about to throw it all to high heaven. Life's been good to me, it's been good to you too."
Another awkward pause drinking coffee and pretending to care about their orders.
"So what was it you wanted to talk about, anyway?"
"There's an us now?"
"Don't do this again, please."
"I'm just saying, ever since you walked in on me taking a shower and then proceeded to fuck me senseless it's been nothing more than that. Why did you even do that, anyway? Not that I'm complaining..."
The other woman mumbled something incoherent. Quickly, before she could regret even thinking about it.
"What was that?"
"Because I was in love with you."
"Say again?" This time there was more tenderness, more caution.
"Because I didn't want to lose you." The explanation came with the promise of tears, "It was just a spur of the moment thing, I couldn't help myself... and it worked. Imagine my surprise. So I kept doing it, I stayed to what worked just to be close to you. Then you got that modelling opportunity and moved out of town, switched colleges and... there was no other way for me."
"No... please don't..."
"I can't do it anymore, I have to say this. I love you, I always have."
"But it was you who... oh, my god, no."
"What?" From beneath the tears a small reserve of anger welled up, "I get the blame for this now? I don't care, I can't live with myself doing this. Every time I try to spend time with you there's only the supermodel, the bitch queen. I'm sick of her. We used to be friends!"
"That's how you see it?" She held her sisters hand firm to the table to stop her from leaving, "I had to do that to make you come back. Every time I tried acting like anything more than a fuck buddy you got this horrified look in your face and you split. I didn't even have to turn around before you were gone, I couldn't even cuddle with you before there was 'this meeting' or 'this article' you had to finish."
Now they were both crying, when the realisations started to dig in.
Continuing on the trail, she said, "I thought that was all you wanted in high school. Some fun, just the adventure. So we kept doing it, didn't we? Just to stay close."
"I'm sorry... I should've said..."
"Hush. No, I should have asked. We both should have... it doesn't matter. I love you, too."
This is where people could've started noticing that the world famous supermodel and nationwide famous journalist were getting rather emotional, and close.
"We should go."
"Why? Worried about your image, Ms. Vanity Fair?"
"No, I just want to go somewhere private."
"No no no no... to talk. Just, to talk, okay?"
So they left. Wiped their tears and quickly checked some makeup and readied themselves to face the outside world if only for just a moment.
Outside it was hard as ever hailing a cab, but if anyone could make it, it would be a supermodel. Handy to have one of those in store. As they entered the cab, the cabdriver immediately noticed and turned his neck to the backseat.
"Hey, aren't you that model?"
"I won't intrude, or anything," he said, "I'm just a cabdriver. But if I may, I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world."
"Thank you," Sam said, smiling professionally, "that's very kind."