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Emma slams the door to her bug shut. That did not just happen. She did not kiss Regina. No, sir. It was a simple peck, nothing more. Certainly nothing more in front of the man she’s dating. Robin Hood, ugh. What did Regina see in that guy anyway? He’s such a tool, with his stupid face and his adorable kid.
She snaps her fingers. The kid, of course; Regina’s kryptonite. Roland is like a hundred different levels of cute. Emma can’t blame her, really. Who wouldn’t want that kid in their life? She doesn’t see him much outside the diner, but damn if she doesn’t want to squish those chubby squirrel cheeks of his whenever he smiles at her.
This is Henry’s fault. He’s grown too much, too quick, whining about needing his privacy and independence and—whatever else teenagers rag on their parents about. She doesn’t know. How would she know? Her parents growing up were either drunks, drug addicts or some posh, uptight couple with too much money and not enough time. Useless.
That isn’t important, though. Not Now. Henry, Henry is important with his damn height towering over everyone like he’s some man and not the pimple ridden teenager he is. “I am being ridiculous,” she groans, banging her head against the steering wheel.
It isn’t until her mind is slightly fuzzy from the attempt at giving herself head trauma that it occurs to her she should probably throw the bug in gear and, you know, drive away from the mansion before Regina recovers from her shock. Except, when she turns, she knows it’s too late as she catches sight of the woman in question storming down the path with a look of—no, she’s imagining it. Regina isn’t hopeful, no way, no how. That has to be murder in her eyes, or a very harsh scolding at least. She shouldn’t have kissed her—pecked her, whatever. It’s like she has some version of foot in mouth disease, only instead of saying shit she shouldn’t, she does things she shouldn’t.
Actions speak louder than words is a terrible saying. At least with words she can say she’s sorry and promise not to do it again. How can she do that with actions? Offer Regina a handshake and an apologetic head nod? Puh-lease.
She smacks her head on the steering wheel again for good measure. “Miss Swan.” Yup, she thinks, Regina is definitely about to give her a stern talking to. She winds down the window, resigned and ready to accept her punishment—in whatever form it happens to take.
“Regina,” she replies, somewhat muffled as she refuses to tear her gaze from the floor. She probably has the indent of the steering wheel imbedded in her forehead. No one needs to see that.
“What was that?”
She laughs. Three simple words. The answer should be easy—open and shut, case closed—but it’s not. Oh how many responses there were; spur of the moment, a high from hearing her laugh—the full kind of laugh that only Henry ever seems to manage to pull out of her. She had succeeded where so many others failed, and she’d coasted right along on the feeling of bliss that swam through her veins, straight to those beautifully soft lips.
“Ugh.” No way in hell is she going to say that out loud. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Her head snaps up and she tries to shake the confusion off. Regina sounds amused—why does Regina sound amused? “You know, Robin and I broke up a few weeks ago.”
She blinks. “Huh?”
“You ran away,” Regina reminds her, talking as if she thinks Emma is suddenly slow and—yeah, okay. “I was simply informing you of my availability should you decide to kiss me again,” she continues. “I admit, I am rather curious to know how it feels, assuming you can resist running away like a prepubescent boy experiencing his first ever crush long enough for me to find out.”
“Um.” Emma gapes, at a loss for words. Regina wants to kiss her? Or be kissed by her? Both? Both sounds good—fun. Suck it, Robin Hood.
“Perhaps something a little less intense to start with?” Regina suggests and Emma nods as she gazes longingly at plump, red lips. “Dinner, tonight. My house, seven o'clock.”
“Kay,” she murmurs, breath catching in her throat as Regina leans in through the window and kisses her cheek.
Pulling back with a smile, Regina wipes the lipstick she left behind and straightens. “Wear your jeans—the black ones,” she purrs. “Your ass looks fantastic in them.”
Emma swallows and licks her lips as heat pools low in her stomach. “Kay,” she repeats, eyes glued to the sway of hips as Regina turns on her heel, chuckling as she saunters back up the path from whence she came.