"I love you like a fat kid loves cake," Alfred laughed through the phone, and you could have sworn you heard him smacking his lips too, "And do I know something about that."
Not many people knew this, but your gorgeous best friend, Mr. (America) Alfred F. Jones, used to be a fat little thing when he was younger. Not quite obese, but enough that he seemed to jiggle everywhere he went - so perhaps, rotund was a better word to describe him. One would not know that now though, although he still had that small amount of pudge around his stomach that years of exercise hadn't quite rid, and that you just couldn't help but tease him over. You had always loved Alfred, even when he was that fat little kid who used always walk home from school with chocolate smears around his mouth, but ever since his change in physical appearance, you must say (much to your dismay, since you liked to think that your love wasn't so shallow), you'd actually become quite attracted to him.
And by quite, what you actually meant was that you wanted to jump his bones and, perhaps during or separately lick his abs.
There was shocked pause, followed by a hissed response escaping your lips, "What?". You cocked your head away from Francis, your Valentine's Day date, so he hopefully wouldn't hear you hissing like some deranged cat down the phone. Considering the fact that for the past five minutes he had been staring at a rather well endowed blonde waitress across the room, you doubted he would. Disgusted, you saw him flash her with his come to bed eyes.
Ugh, well, this date was turning out to be a disaster.
"I love you, _______," Alfred replied cheerfully, putting on his best southern accent. Normally, this would have made you giggle, but at this moment you couldn't help but scowl.
"...Are you being serious?"
"Of course I am."
"And you're telling me this now?" you snapped at him, "You're calling me to tell me that you love me, after a decade of knowing one other?" You couldn't stretch the absurdity of the situation quite enough - He was clearly insane.
You glanced back to Francis, who was now shamelessly flirting with the busty waitress. Glancing down at your more humble cleavage, or somewhat lack of despite your push up bra you sighed deeply.
Well, if the time on your phone was correct, only fifteen minutes had passed and you'd effectively been ditched by you date. Wonderful.
"Ten minutes Al, give me ten minutes and I will rip your throat out and let me tell you that this is all your fault, mister Jones!" Your phone snapped shut forcefully, not waiting for or listening to Alfred's reply. Swiftly, you rose to your feet, forced a smile at the Frenchmen sat across from you and muttered the best apology you could think of on the spot - that something urgent had come up, and that you had to leave before the food was to be served. Thankfully (although truth be told you were rather pissed at his disinterest in you) he waved his hand dismissively, focusing on the blonde that wasn't you. It made you wonder why you had even bothered to apologize in the first place, and as much as you wanted to berate the narcissistic Casanova on his manners you instead grabbed you purse and left, leaving no time to waste, and leaving the bill to him.
"This is all your fault!" you repeated once again, continuing the argument from where you had left it. A surprised Alfred peered through the crack in his bedroom door, which you tore open to get in.
Alfred held his hands up in defence, while you tried desperately not to stare at his too tight superman shirt; the one he self-consciously only wore at home. "Wow, take it easy _______," he tried to sooth, but you were not having any of it.
"No Al! I'm not going to take it easy! I was in the middle of a date, which you knew full well I was on when you called, only to tell me you love me, followed by some weird food analogy. What, is this a joke? -Are you out of your right mind?" you questioned, because you seriously questioned his behaviour. Love was never something you joked about with one another, and he never gave you any indications that he had feelings towards you. So how could he just come out and say that he loved you? Not even once had he showed you those kind of feelings, and god knows that you had been searching for a reason to get on him.
Furious, you stood in front of him, waiting for an explanation whilst still clad in your rather revealing (f/c) new Valentine's dress. Even if it went down the pan, you had been expecting a hot date after all, and Al did say that (f/c) suited you perfectly.
"Chill _______ - First off, I knew you were on a date, that's why I called - I wanted to kill any sort of romantic atmosphere that could flourish between you and that stupid cheese-eating surrender monkey. I don't want to think of him kissing you _______..." His look was intense, yet his twinkling eyes never stopped twinkling. "... I don't want to think of any man kissing you _______, except me." If you thought there were butterflies in your stomach, whatever was in there now had your heart tied up in knots.
"Okay," you replied levelly, still contemplating what he just said. "But why now all of a sudden?"
"Well, it is Valentine after all," He responded, the trade-mark smile gracing his lips nearly stopping your heart there and then. "So," he said, taking a step closer, "What do you think?"
"Think of what?" You asked, dumbfounded.
"Of being my Valentine," was the obvious reply from the blue-eyed, blonde American who, was absolutely, undoubtably delicious.
"What makes you think I would want to be your Valentine?"
"Well, you did leave your date behind to see me. Before that, you answered the phone during said date knowing that another guy was calling you. Moreover, I do love you like a fat kid loves cake, and I have a hunch that you might feel the same," Alfred grinned once more. "After all, who wouldn't love someone as heroic and handsome as me?"
He flexed his muscles at you with a laugh, and you couldn't help but think, trust Al to make a serious situation not so serious.
"Oh, and _______ babe, all the lust filled stares you give me when you think I'm not looking tell me enough too."
He had the audacity to wink at you, and perhaps you would have hit him there and then if he hadn't encircled his arms around you before you had the chance, pressing his lips to yours in a tender, yet passionate kiss.
Now you could have made up excuses to what he had said; say that your date ditched you as much as you ditched him, that you'd always answer a call from your best friend. Or, you could finally, legitimately, agree with him.
and, jump his bones.
Well hey, it was Valentine's Day after all.