“I’m not wearing them.”
“Not even for me?”
“Don’t even think about it, Kitten,” he warned in a low voice. “My love for you is not something to be used to get your way.”
“Fine. You don’t have to play then,” Hermione finally said, disappointment evident in her voice. “Go get some ice cream. I’ll find you when I’m done.”
“I’m not going to let you talk me into wearing those horrid things,” Adrian said with an emphatic nod of his head, sandy hair falling across his eye, which sort of ruined his attempts at being firm.
“Adrian, I already said it’s fine,” she told him a bit sharply, rolling her eyes as he glared at the shoes in her hand. “You’re such a bloody priss at times. They‘re just shoes.”
“They’re awful,” he said with a shudder, grinning as she glared at him. “Those colors do nothing for my skin tone or hair.”
“Such an arrogant prat,” she muttered dryly.
“You know,” he drawled, “you could offer me something in exchange for wearing those horrible shoes.”
“I’m not going to bribe you to play,” she said firmly, doing a far better job at it than him.
“Don’t think of it as a bribe,” he told her. “Think of it as an incentive. After all, if I recall correctly, you required several incentives before I could even get you to consider flying with me.”
“There is a vast different between flying, which I loathe and involves my fear of heights, versus putting on these shows and bowling with me and my friends,” she pointed out logically.
“Well, I might have a fear of ugly shoes,” he pointed out smugly, moving his hand behind her so he could pull her close. “However, I do believe a kiss might very well aid me in my quest to no longer be afraid of ugly shoes that smell odd and were worn by far too many people to make me comfortable.”
“Prat,” she said somewhat fondly before giving him a brief kiss on the cheek. Her innocent smile made him resist the urge to growl and claim her for all to see. “There. A kiss.”
“Kitten, that’s not only good enough for one toe putting itself in those shoes,” he declared with a slow smile. “Would you like to go for the whole foot?”
“Why, Mister Pucey, I do believe you’re cheating,” she declared in a shocked tone.
“It’s not cheating,” he decided, ghosting his lips above hers. “It’s merely taking advantage of the situation.” Before she could reply, his lips met hers, his hand moving behind her back to pull her closer. Hmmm, maybe this bowling thing would be some fun after all.
“I’m not wearing them.”