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Spike couldn’t believe he was walking Mr. Gordo, or that he had to wait for the bloody poodle to do his business, under the blazing sun and in his duster.
The idea of wearing the duster had seemed good to him when he was getting ready that morning. The leather made him look like the bad ass he was and would deter any smart mouthed kid that thought of making fun of him for walking a poodle of all dogs. It could have been a Rottweiler, or a Bulldog, heck, even a Great Dane, but no. He was stuck with eleven pounds of white curly demon that just wouldn’t get everything done so that Spike could walk it home and happen to be right next to Buffy’s house when she got back from work. He’d pretend to be surprised to see her there, say something witty and ask her out for coffee. So simple. He grimaced. This wouldn’t be the first time a so simple plan of his to get the girl could backfire and make him look like an ass.
~~~~~*~~~~~
He’d first seen her at the grocery store two summers ago. She was there with her mom, and the two were giggling over something he didn’t catch, but the sound of her laughter was to him the song of the Sirens. He was entranced by how her mirth radiated off her entire body, her slender shoulders shaking, her eyes glowing, her ponytail bouncing… It was love at first sight and he’d decided right there and then that he would one day be with her. Sadly, he didn’t define when that one day would be, so here he was two years later, still trying to catch her eye.
He hadn’t had a lot of luck where his efforts to win her heart were concerned, with the first blunder being on that same day he first met her. Seeing she was about done with her shopping by the time he noticed her, he forgot all about the grocery list his Mum had given him and, grabbing the first thing he saw — which happened to be a banana — followed her to the cashier. When they were outside the store, her mother left her at the entrance to go bring the car around, and, seeing the girl fumbling with their shopping bags he’d decided that was his cue. He approached her and with a smile offered, “If you can hold my banana, I can help you with those.”
He was blanching at what he said even before she scrunched up her adorable nose, smirked, and said, “Gross.” Deciding that the earth wouldn’t do him the favour of opening up under him to swallow him whole, he turned tail and left, the sound of her giggle still ringing in his ears.
It had taken him the entire summer to locate her. He name was Buffy Summers, she was a sophomore in college, had moved there with her mom the previous year, and lived at 1630 Revello Drive. Just six blocks from where he lived. Six blocks that he’d travel often after work, just to catch a glimpse of her on her porch, taking out the garbage or coming home from the gym, if he saw her at all. His best friend, Angel, made fun of him for his obsession, and had on occasion tried to set him up with girls more “within his reach,” as he put it, but Spike was determined he wanted nobody else.
There was this one afternoon when he was lucky enough to be walking by her place as she exited the yard, talking on her cell phone. “Sure, Cordy. See you at ten. I think Bronzing tonight will be of the good.” He felt extremely proud of himself for not wooting and bouncing.
He knew where she’d be that night and if he played his cards right he might get to actually talk to her. He was confident she wouldn’t remember the banana incident, it had been seven months since then and he’d also died his hair, the platinum colour changing his appearance almost completely.
He all but begged Angel to go to the Bronze with him, and the big guy finally gave in, although he groused a lot about Spike being able to have any chick he wanted since high school and not understanding how the small blonde had him whipped without even talking to him once.
She did talk to him that night, but it wasn’t how he’d envisioned it. He’d noticed she wasn’t drinking alcohol, so he got a beer for himself and a diet coke for her, and, calling forth the smirk that had had girls weak in the knees since he was fifteen, swaggered towards where she stood swaying to the rhythm of the song the band was playing. The plan was simple, he’d say hi, offer her the coke, ask her to dance.
Standing right behind her he said, “Hey there,” only to receive an elbow in the stomach as she spun on her heel, startled by his voice. He doubled over, managing to hold the beer bottle upright while watching the coke glass slip from his grasp, spilling its contents on her lovely red dress.
“Oh, I’m sorry, are you ok?”
He nodded, still horrified as he watched the stain grow bigger on the soft fabric. He reached out as if to magically clean it up with his hands, but she was leaning too close, her sweet perfume flooding his senses as she asked again, “Did I hurt you?” and then, taking a closer look at him exclaimed, “Hey! You’re the banana guy!”
He scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for her to start hitting him with her purse or calling him a pervert, but instead she helped him straighten up and said, “I’m Buffy, the menace, apparently.”
“Spike,” he managed to say, while in his head he kept repeating she talked to me, she talked to me, she talked to me.
“Huh?”
“I’m Spike.”
She laughed. “I think I like banana-guy more.”
He blushed… and bolted. He called Angel from his car, told him he wasn’t feeling all that well and would go home. He didn’t pass by her block for several months after that.
He’d actually managed to convince himself he was getting over her, and then he saw her at the town fair. She was eating cotton candy, and the fervour with which she licked the stickiness off her fingers made him groan. He wanted to get some of the stuff himself, just to feel the delight she seemed to when she closed her lips around the sugary cloud. He felt like a ponce for ordering some of the pink fuzz after having spent most of his teenage years and his time as an adult establishing and maintaining a bad boy reputation — one that was in serious trouble if Angel ever started telling people about how Spike wrote poetry over a bubbly blonde he’d never have — but ordered it none the less. He also did a good job balancing the thing while searching his pockets for change. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t very careful as he turned to leave the sweets stand, and ended up sticking the thing on a certain bubbly blonde’s hair.
She wasn’t as magnanimous this time, probably because she hadn’t elbowed him. She arched an eyebrow, pursed her lips and fisted her hair to her sides. Spike was mesmerized and twice as much in love with her anger as he was with her joy. He was a split second from actually blurting that out, but her guy friend, the one that seemed to always hang out with her, and who Spike could bet his dad’s entire company would never stand a chance with Buffy, spat out, “Watch where you’re going, banana-boy.”
Spike felt his heart being ripped out of his chest and broken into a million shards. She made fun of him with her friends, the bitch. He was devastated… he was furious. His eyes narrowed into slits and that muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying hard not to break down and cry or bust the pillock’s head in. If it weren’t for the shock in Buffy’s eyes, swiftly followed by her snapping her head towards the brunet and her voice steely ordering him to apologize, scary even with cotton candy still stuck in her hair, he might have gone either way. As things were, he shrugged, said, “No big deal,” and left.
It seemed he was always leaving where she was concerned. After the fair, he hadn’t gone by her place again, not even when it was on his way.
Then, a week ago, he’d run into her friend at the only place vaguely resembling a pub in town, Willy’s. The guy had waved to Spike from his table and Spike had promptly ignored him, chatting up a blond bimbo that sat next to him at the bar. Just minutes later he’d felt a meaty palm on his shoulder and turned to find the guy giving him puppy eyes. “Please come sit with me for a few, man. Got something to get off my chest.” Not in a charitable mood, he’d warned the guy to stay away lest he be pummelled, but the other wouldn’t back down. “It’s about Buffy,” was all he needed to say for Spike to ditch the blonde, order two bottles of beer and follow him to his table.
The two beers became four then six, as Xander — that was his name — apologized for being such an ass at the fair. “Buffy can be real scary when she wants to, but she was right. I was a prick to you, and it wasn’t even your fault. You see, my girl in high school had a big crush on you.” Spike’s eyes widened and Xander went on. “Anya, Anya Jenkins?” Seeing the bleached blond still didn’t know who he was talking about, Xander waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind. She was always going on about you. When I realized the cute guy from the grocery store Buffy had told us about was you, that night at the Bronze… Well… Let’s just say I fumed. Seeing you at the fair I–”
Spike was sure Xander was saying something more, but his mind was stuck on “cute guy”. “She thought I was cute?” Xander rolled his eyes. Soon there were eight beer bottles in front of them and they decided to call it a night.
Spike went by her place the next day, and the day after, and the day after, but hadn’t managed to see her. He’d finally built up the courage to go knock on her door the previous day, but just as he was about to start up her walk way he saw someone dropping her off and lost his nerve, running instead up to her next door neighbour’s porch. He made to leave after he saw her walk inside her house, but the door he was standing in front swung open and an old lady asked, “Are you the dog-walker?”
“Yes ma’am, that’s me.” He really should think before opening his bloody mouth.
~~~~~*~~~~~
He was sweating, and parched, and just wanted to lose the duster and the boots as soon as possible. After talking to Buffy, of course, and finally asking her out. “Come on, fur-ball, do your business so we can have you home in time to see Buffy!” he urged the dog who’d been sniffing around in circles for what seemed like an hour now.
“Huh. I never imagined you with a poodle.”
He spun on his heel.
“Guess you never know a guy unless you do hold his banana.” Buffy smiled and winked.
“Oh bollocks.”
Tbc.
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