Two hours later, Toby stood, head down, on Andy's doorstep. This was a terrible idea. Sighing at himself, he rang the bell.
She answered, barefoot in jeans, a glass of wine in her hand. "Twice in one day? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Thank you for the pie," he started, handing her the tupperware before subtly peering around her into her apartment. "Am I interrupting? Any baseball advisors who wanna have a chat about how to get out of last place? Being a lifelong Yankees fan, I have a slew of knowledge on the topic., though not really the last place part."
"You'd enjoy that too much. No, I was just working. Come on in." Andrea lifted her wine in his direction. "Want a glass?"
He nodded, murmuring a thanks, looking around her apartment as she poured and handed the glass off to him. It was familiar and foreign at once, a space he'd only been in a couple of times, but all of her belongings were the same. She'd had that lamp since law school, and the end table it sat on used to be in her parents' foyer. He knew if he went down the hall to her office, he'd find the desk that used to be in their apartment in Brooklyn, once they got a big enough place to have the extra room to share.
"So," Toby started, "I'm rethinking my proclamation that you're free to date the National League."
"I think we both know my first question is going to be why you think you have any power to make such a proclamation in the first place, but please, continue," Andy interrupted with a laugh, leaning back against the kitchen doorjamb.
"I'd prefer - is that okay? Prefer, no proclamations?" She nodded, and he continued. "I'd prefer you not date people who don't share some common traits with me." The tiniest smile quirked on his lips, his gaze holding hers as he took a drink of wine.
"And those traits would be?"
"My DNA."
"Ah. So, I'm not a geneticist - "
"Far from it," he interrupted, "members of Congress being the lowest on basically every totem pole ever erected."
"Scum of the earth, scourge of society, etcetera," Andy filled in, waving her hand. "I get it. So my question, as a non-geneticist, is...how many alleles? Under this new ruling, can I date your brother?"
Toby laughed. "Actually a fair point, but no. I mean, his wife and his space lizards would both get jealous, so personally, as your friend, I'd advise against it anyway." He crossed the room to stand in front of her, his shoes nudging her bare toes, the long silence before his quiet question telling her they'd turned a corner from joking into what they did all along. "I wasn't quite ready for this."
"Tobe, we've been divorced for almost a year," Andy replied kindly.
"So, I brought a cocktail waitress home last week, and when she left the next morning, she accidentally backed into the lady in 3H." He held his hands out in a shrug. "You wanna hear that kind of story? Because that's about how much I want to hear about you and the Oriole."
"Was there really a cocktail waitress?" She asked, her eyes locked with his.
"If you couldn't stop yourself from asking, you're not ready to hear it either."
Andy lifted her chin. “Ahh, so this was a little parable.”
“Yes.” He pushed off the wall, finally letting her gaze drop. "Plus, 3H stole my Times every Friday for a month a while back, so I probably wouldn't care all that much." Toby set his wine glass down on the end table, fiddling in his coat pocket for his keys. "Have dinner with me," he said quietly, not looking at her.
"Like a date?" Andrea asked, incredulity sliding a smile to her face.
"Like us having dinner, and...we'll see." He looked back up at her, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Her hand found his, his keys digging into her palm as she gave him a fleeting squeeze.
"Sure. Saturday?" She watched him pause, open his mouth to speak, and close it again before she finished, smirking. "Just in case it's a date."
Not Ready, TWW Toby/Andy [part 2/2]
She answered, barefoot in jeans, a glass of wine in her hand. "Twice in one day? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Thank you for the pie," he started, handing her the tupperware before subtly peering around her into her apartment. "Am I interrupting? Any baseball advisors who wanna have a chat about how to get out of last place? Being a lifelong Yankees fan, I have a slew of knowledge on the topic., though not really the last place part."
"You'd enjoy that too much. No, I was just working. Come on in." Andrea lifted her wine in his direction. "Want a glass?"
He nodded, murmuring a thanks, looking around her apartment as she poured and handed the glass off to him. It was familiar and foreign at once, a space he'd only been in a couple of times, but all of her belongings were the same. She'd had that lamp since law school, and the end table it sat on used to be in her parents' foyer. He knew if he went down the hall to her office, he'd find the desk that used to be in their apartment in Brooklyn, once they got a big enough place to have the extra room to share.
"So," Toby started, "I'm rethinking my proclamation that you're free to date the National League."
"I think we both know my first question is going to be why you think you have any power to make such a proclamation in the first place, but please, continue," Andy interrupted with a laugh, leaning back against the kitchen doorjamb.
"I'd prefer - is that okay? Prefer, no proclamations?" She nodded, and he continued. "I'd prefer you not date people who don't share some common traits with me." The tiniest smile quirked on his lips, his gaze holding hers as he took a drink of wine.
"And those traits would be?"
"My DNA."
"Ah. So, I'm not a geneticist - "
"Far from it," he interrupted, "members of Congress being the lowest on basically every totem pole ever erected."
"Scum of the earth, scourge of society, etcetera," Andy filled in, waving her hand. "I get it. So my question, as a non-geneticist, is...how many alleles? Under this new ruling, can I date your brother?"
Toby laughed. "Actually a fair point, but no. I mean, his wife and his space lizards would both get jealous, so personally, as your friend, I'd advise against it anyway." He crossed the room to stand in front of her, his shoes nudging her bare toes, the long silence before his quiet question telling her they'd turned a corner from joking into what they did all along. "I wasn't quite ready for this."
"Tobe, we've been divorced for almost a year," Andy replied kindly.
"So, I brought a cocktail waitress home last week, and when she left the next morning, she accidentally backed into the lady in 3H." He held his hands out in a shrug. "You wanna hear that kind of story? Because that's about how much I want to hear about you and the Oriole."
"Was there really a cocktail waitress?" She asked, her eyes locked with his.
"If you couldn't stop yourself from asking, you're not ready to hear it either."
Andy lifted her chin. “Ahh, so this was a little parable.”
“Yes.” He pushed off the wall, finally letting her gaze drop. "Plus, 3H stole my Times every Friday for a month a while back, so I probably wouldn't care all that much." Toby set his wine glass down on the end table, fiddling in his coat pocket for his keys. "Have dinner with me," he said quietly, not looking at her.
"Like a date?" Andrea asked, incredulity sliding a smile to her face.
"Like us having dinner, and...we'll see." He looked back up at her, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Her hand found his, his keys digging into her palm as she gave him a fleeting squeeze.
"Sure. Saturday?" She watched him pause, open his mouth to speak, and close it again before she finished, smirking. "Just in case it's a date."