A/N: I know, I know. It's been a while since the last update for Score! *hangs head* and I'm sorry for leaving you with a helluva cliffy *ducks and uses laptop as shield* but I got too caught up in writing my other fics (too soon for self-pimpage?) and forgot about this little ditty. Fail. If that made you lose interest in the story, it's okay. I understand.

Thank you to chiisai-kitty for her editing skills on her new awesome Microsoft Office Word Bar. I don't know exactly what that is, but I do know that she is amazing! I also like what she had to say about a certain part of the story, but that's at the bottom.

P.S. These characters are not mine.

recap:

Things became deadly silent when we pulled into my driveway and saw Jason walking over to his truck. Eric slammed on the breaks as soon as he saw Jason, and I swore loudly.

Jason stopped walking and stared at us. We stared back. No one moved or even blinked.

-_-_-_-_-_-_

Jason started walking towards us. In my frenzied mind, it seemed like he was moving in slow-motion, wanting to drag out my paranoia and fear for as long as possible. The crunching of his feet on the gravel, Eric swearing under his breath, and the soft music radiating from Eric's iPod all were drowned out by the pounding of my furiously beating heart.

Bah-dum. We're screwed.

Bah-dum. This is all over.

Bah-dum. The game is up.

All the extra adrenaline gave me a major eureka moment. At least it wasn't Gran or Tara who happened to be outside when Eric and I pulled up. It was Jason.

Jason, the star quarterback who led his team to the state championships his senior year. Jason, whose coaches used to give him free New Orleans Saints tickets and bring him breakfast and lunch at school. Jason, who was more than familiar with the benefits a star athlete receives from coaches, even if they weren't necessarily the same, ahem, benefits I was getting.

Jason, who knew I gave my car to Gran last night. Maybe he'd just think Eric was giving me a ride home from an imaginary morning practice or something. Aaah, now there's an idea.

Jason, who couldn't pour the water out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.

"Oh, thank God," I breathed.

Eric turned to stare at me incredulously and hissed, "Sookie, are you fucking blind?" His eyes were burning blue with fear.

"Listen, if we spin this the right way, we might come out alive. Just follow my lead, okay? Jason's not the smartest guy, but he was a damn good quarterback and he's used to getting more attention from coaches than most athletes. Just don't be stupid about this," I said as calmly as I could.

Eric nodded tersely, looking past me as Jason finally made his way over to my side of the car. I lowered the window and prepared myself for God knows what.

Jason poked his head in, hands jauntily resting on the top of the car, and grinned, "Hi, there. I'm Jason Stackhouse, Sookie's older brother."

His tone was friendly—too friendly, almost. But then again, Jason was always very sociable (especially to anyone with boobs and a smile, but that doesn't really apply to this). Was I just being paranoid? I looked at Jason, who was wearing a stale smile that was fading as the silence grew and no one talked except for my tell-tale heart. I peeked at Eric, who looked relatively okay except for the fact that he was gripping the steering wheel so tightly I was worried for its safety.

Finally Eric snapped out of it. "Eric Northman. I'm—"

"Sookie's coach. Yeah, dude, I was at the game and at Merlotte's last night! Congrats, man! Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier, but I was a little … distracted, if you know what I mean," Jason said, giving Eric an easy bro-smile.

"Uh, right. I remember. Thank you," Eric replied, obviously trying to figure out Jason's game, as was I.

"So what're you doing here?" Jason asked, still grinning.

I quickly answered, "We had an early-morning practice and no one could give me a ride home, since I gave Gran my car last night, so Eric offered."

"Oh, okay. Got it. Hey man, thanks for looking out for Sookie," Jason said, seeming to accept my weak excuse.

"No problem," Eric replied smoothly, his voice sounding a little stronger than the last time he spoke.

I turned to Eric and sweetly said, "Yeah, thanks for driving me home, coach. Sorry for the inconvenience. See ya on Monday."

Eric looked more shocked than when Jason first started talking. I winked at him, hoping that he'd at least play along even if he didn't know what I was doing. Even if I didn't know what I was doing.

"Oh, of course, Sookie. See you Monday."

I unbuckled my seatbelt, and Jason backed up so I could open the door. I waved goodbye to Eric and started walking back to the house with Jason. I didn't dare turn around to look, but I didn't hear the sound of his car leaving the driveway.

"So—" Jason said, but I quickly cut him off.

"Oh, crap, I left my soccer bag in Eric's trunk! Hold that thought!"

I turned and ran back to Eric's car, looking over my shoulder and grinning once I saw Jason walking to his pick-up truck. Eric lowered the window as I approached.

"I left my soccer bag in your car," I explained breathlessly. He nodded his head and popped the trunk, getting out so he could walk me back there.

"What now?" Eric muttered.

I whispered, "I think we're covered. But just to be safe, you go drive over to the soccer fields and I'll meet you there, and we can still have our date. We'll figure it out there. But lemme go do damage control and get changed and I'll meet you there in twenty. Okay?"

"Okay. Don't forget, practice is at 3 on Monday," he called out loudly as he walked back to his car. Jason turned around at that, and I was glad that I had thought of my soccer bag because that made our story more believable. Plus, I was in athletic clothes. That worked in our favor as well.

I started walking over towards Jason, who was leaning against his truck while watching Eric back up out of the driveway.

"He seems like a nice guy," Jason said, and I froze. Had he seen through our little act? Was this some sort of test? Did Jason actually have brain cells?

"Yeah, he is. He's a good coach too," I replied neutrally.

"Cool. Well, I'm heading out. Just stopped by for some breakfast; Gran made extra pancakes and they should be on the counter. See ya later, Sooks." He opened the door and turned the car on, and I walked to the grass and waved as he pulled out.

Whew. Looked like he bought it. Now I could only hope Gran would.

Luckily for me, I found her on the back porch sweeping, so there was a good chance she hadn't seen Eric drop me off. Even so, I didn't want to get too caught up in my web of lies, so I told her there was an early morning practice and Eric gave me a ride home when no one else could; I figured that'd be safe since she seemed okay with him driving me to Merlotte's last night. I was right—she just smiled and expressed how nice Eric was. I smiled too, glad that I was off the hook.

Then she dropped the bomb, asking me why Tara couldn't give me a ride.

"Why Tara couldn't bring me home? Uh … Tara couldn't bring me home because … uh, she had a really bad practice. She missed every shot she took and her team was destroyed in the scrimmage. She was really pissed off and went on a run to cool down. But, uh, if I were you I wouldn't bring it up, that'd probably just upset her even more. And she didn't have too much fun at Amelia's either, so I wouldn't mention that either. She's just having a bad day," I rambled. Hey, I thought that seemed like a pretty believable excuse, especially considering I just came up with it in ten seconds.

Evidently Gran agreed, as she promised not to mention anything and herded me into the kitchen to have some breakfast. I shoveled down the food, not even looking at what I was throwing in my mouth, and told Gran I had to work on a school project at a friend's house. She just wished me good luck, which made me feel terrible for taking advantage of her goodness. I hated lying, especially to her.

I took the stairs two at a time and hastily changed into navy shorts, a blue-and-white plaid shirt, and white Keds. I grabbed my purse, kissed Gran goodbye, and sped off to the soccer fields.

Eric was leaning against his Corvette when I pulled up next to him. He walked over and opened the car door for me to get out.

"So that was pretty close, huh?" he asked; his mouth twisted into a smile that crinkled his eyes but didn't make them merry.

"Too close," I replied.

"So … you still up for the date?"

"Of course! But, um, do you mind if we take separate cars? I'm still a little freaked out about this morning and I don't want to risk anything," I mumbled, hoping I wasn't being too paranoid.

"Sure, you can follow me. And the place isn't too far away, anyways," Eric grinned, "but we really should get going."

"Ooh, do you have a reservation set up?" I asked, still curious about where he was taking me.

"Nope," he smirked as he walked over to his car. I stomped my foot on the ground, not caring that it'd make me seem even younger than I actually was, and I heard laughter and the sound of Eric's car turning on. Sighing, I waited for Eric to pull out.

There was something oddly thrilling about following Eric in our separate cars. I'd feel a secret flush of excitement whenever we were stopped and I'd meet his gaze in his rearview mirror. Once he'd turned around to wave at me and I giggled. That man would do anything for a laugh.

I was glad I had Eric driving in front of me, because I had no idea where I was. We were somewhere even more backwoods than Bon Temps; I didn't know that was even possible. Eric turned off onto a dirt road, but I trusted him.

We drove past a large painted sign that announced we were five hundred yards away from Cripple Creek Farm. What the what? I shook my head and kept driving.

Then the path opened to reveal a large field, with a ton of cars parked in the makeshift lot. A large white farmhouse surrounded by trees was behind the parking lot, and there were lots of people walking all over the place. I parked next to Eric and jumped out of my car.

"Where are we? What's Cripple Creek Farm? What are we going to do?"

"My, aren't we nosey," Eric teased. I smacked him on the arm. "Okay, okay! All your questions will be answered as soon as we go in the barn, if you can hold off on abusing me until then!"

As we walked over, I spotted a bunch of workers wearing lime green shirts with "Mega Maze '10: The Lost Kingdom" printed on the front. People, looking sunburned and sweaty but very happy, walked past us enthusiastically talking about corners and directions and hints and surprises.

"Eric, what's this Mega Maze?" I asked curiously, and he shook his head in reply.

"Patience is a virtue."

"And withholding is a vice. Seriously, what's the deal?"

"Wait and see, Stackhouse. Wait and see." Gah, he was being so annoying right now. Good thing he's so cute when he does it.

We walked up the stairs and I was immediately greeted with a large poster board announcing prices for the Mega Maze tickets. I bit my lip to prevent me from asking any of the workers what this place was; I didn't want them to think Eric, like, kidnapped me or something. Paranoid, I know, but still.

I focused on these pictures of different cornfields while Eric paid for our tickets to something. But these weren't crop circles, they were crop-dinosaurs and crop-stars and crop-boots and some other crop-shapes I couldn't figure out. Each was dated with a different year. Huh. Either the aliens were getting bored or we were at a corn maze. I relayed this to Eric.

He thanked the lady and, placing a hand on my back to guide me, grinned, "Use your brain, Stackhouse. After all, didn't you once say your GPA surpasses the average hours of sleep you get per night?"

I opened my mouth to respond but then we were herded into a crowded room and the lights immediately dimmed and a movie began playing on a projector. A man dressed up in a crown and tights introduced himself as King Arthur. He explained that his Knights of the Round Table had failed him and he now needed our help to find the Holy Grail!! Even though no one could see me, I was grinning like a scarecrow. But with teeth.

Someone snorted, and I knew it was Eric even though it was pitch-black, so I pinched his elbow to get him to shut up while I listened to King Arthur tell me that the Holy Grail was hidden in the maze and how we had to find it, or else! The acting was very campy and I could see why Eric would snort, but I was too engrossed in the matter to care; this was the closest thing to a Disneyland ride that I'd ever been to and I was excited even though I hadn't seen the maze yet.

But I became even more animated once the video showed a crop-crown, the maze of the year; I grabbed Eric's hand and squeezed. He softly chuckled and squeezed back. I had to hand it to him—this was already shaping up to be a pretty great first date.

The lighting came back on and I could see that we were in a room full of parents and their kids. No matter, that would just make it easier for Eric and me to beat them all and be the first to find the Holy Grail!

I tugged on his hand and we pushed our way out the door. We exited the farmhouse and were now stationed in front of a gigantic corn maze with corn stalks about twenty feet high. I could only see the entrance, where there were real (or fake, I guess, but whatever) knights on horses guarding the front gate. I started walking over there, but Eric pulled me back.

"Hey, I think we should go to the bathroom first, before going in. The video said the average amount of time it took people to finish the maze was about three hours. I might be a Viking, but my bladder's not that good."

Oh yeah. I nodded and we waited in a long line for the porta-potties. Good thing I had Purrell in my purse, which I offered to Eric as well. He thanked me and then asked if I wanted a quick turkey leg or goblet of chilled apple cider, which was what the snack bar was offering in addition to modern cookout food like hamburgers ("hind of cow") and hotdogs ("hot hogs"). I shook my head no. After we accepted some complimentary packets of sunscreen ("emollient for the wrath of God") and took turns protecting ourselves from the sun, we finally entered the maze.

As we took lefts and rights and looked at our maps, we also talked more about ourselves, more than we had in the past. Eric told me what life was like in Sweden, about the changing days and nights and the frosty weather that a born-and-bred Southern gal like me could only imagine while watching a Christmas movie. He smiled while talking about the last time he took Pam back home (apparently he was bequeathed a lot of real estate when his parents died? He mentioned having an apartment in Stockholm and a country cabin in northern Sweden) and how she absolutely loved that she was recognized more than he was, because of the international fame she had won along with her Olympic gold medal. He also talked about what it was like growing up without any siblings or a lot of friends his own age.

And even though the conversation made me realize how very different our lives had been before we met, I welcomed the discussion, talking about my family and how it was hard for me that my friends thought the worst thing that could happen to them was that they wouldn't get accepted into their number-one college. But like Eric, I also mixed in the serious stuff with the funny, as I recounted the time where Jason picked up a pizza and then drove back because he thought they gave him a pizza without any toppings, when in reality he just opened the pizza box upside down. True story.

Eric roared when I said that, attracting the stares of frustrated parents and their whining kids. Somewhere behind the corn stalks to our right I heard a clear voice call out, "Peasant, how dare ye be merry when ye be concentrating on helping yer God-loving King! Pray ye that I not find yer misbegotten hide, ye empty headed boar!"

My eyes widened as I remembered that the video said that workers would be stationed in the middle of the crown, which served as the half way point. By the look on Eric's face, he was thinking the same thing as me; we continued with increased fervor, chortling while coming up with Shakesperean insults to say to each other. I called Eric a puking clay-brained foot-licker, and he denounced me as an unwashed half-faced red-elbowed harlot, and we cracked up as other people looked on curiously. They probably thought we were on medieval acid.

After some more dizzying turns we finally stumbled into the middle of the maze, where there were minstrels and knights and maidens stationed around the snack bar and nearby porta-potties (or privies, as the sign announced). Eric and I congratulated ourselves with hot hogs and chilled cider; "Come, drink ale and be merry with me, good fellow!" the female vendor had cried out to Eric, and I snorted at her lame Elizabethan pick-up line. We ate quickly, scarfing down our food so we could continue our quest to find the Holy Grail.

"See, I told you there was food without a restaurant and entertainment without a piece of electronic equipment," Eric smirked as he bought some bottled water. It was pretty hot with the sun beating down on us, and I was grateful for our medieval sunscreen. Excuse me, emollient for the wrath of God.

"Well then, I'm sorry I doubted you and your awesome date-making skills," I retorted.

"Oh, if you think this is awesome, just wait and see what other tricks I have up my sleeve, Stackhouse."

"Can't wait. Although, can you imagine how awkward this would be if it was a real first date?

Eric scoffed. "What do you mean, a real first date?"

I flushed. "I meant, like, if I didn't already know you so well already. Like, what if you took someone here on a blind date and you were stuck listening to them ramble on about their last romantic partner as you got more and more lost? That'd be horrible!"

"Are you kidding? That sounds like a great way to get to know someone!" Eric grinned. I rolled my eyes. He continued, "The only way that I can imagine a scenario like that being awful is if Jack Torrance came running through the corn stalks with an axe and shrieked, 'Here's Johnny!' Actually, you know what, I change my mind. That might be kind of fun."

I laughed and then we started walking around the corn maze again. There was a small archery field set in the middle of the path we had been walking down, so we took a break and had fun with that. I managed to hit the target every time and jumped up and down in excitement, even though I didn't even come close to the bullseye. Of course, Eric earned a handful of chocolate coins because of his three bullseyes (was archery in his Viking blood? I'd have to Wikipedia that). He gave me some candy because he said I was good luck, and we both sniggered when the milkmaid in charge of the activity excitedly asked if I was an enchantress.

Fortified by chocolate and humor, we walked around until we came to a large wooden bridge outlined with knights and peasants and maidens and other medieval persons that started clapping and cheering once they saw us. The same King Arthur from the video presented us with a plastic golden goblet (telling Eric he was the tallest rogue in all the land and looked like he could duel a dragon) and posed for a quick picture with us. I saucily asked him what a picture was, and the actor sent me a withering look before replying that the wench with the black box in her hands was a sorceress with magic powers that could be purchased for $12.99. Eric beamed at me.

I was in the middle of dragging Eric to go look at our picture when a knight called out, "Maiden and dragon-fighting rogue, the King has applauded thine effort and deemed thee worthy of announcing thine success to the rest of the peasants. Come yonder."

We wandered over yonder and someone shoved a microphone into Eric's hands. He looked at me. Guess he doesn't know how to address peasants! I smirked and he quickly handed me the mike as if it was a crying baby.

"Good day, men, women, and livestock. Ye be listening to Mistress Sookie.. The day has come for ye to find the holy grail! A pint of ale to those lucky enough to survive! Fear not, my friends. God will save thee" I sang into the microphone, too busy concentrating on not giggling to see the gobsmacked expressions on everyone's faces, especially Eric's. What, I paid attention in English class during our Shakespeare unit!

I handed the microphone back to Eric and immediately burst out laughing; in fact, my witch cackling (oh no! hope I don't get burned at the stake!) was do loud it was unintentionally broadcasted over the loudspeaker. The knight looked at me like I just licked his face.

After a quick glance at me, Eric grinned, closed his eyes, and bellowed, "FIE FIE FIE FIE FIE FIE FIE FIE!" I remembered that "fie" basically is the medieval equivalent of "fuck" and laughed even more, but with Eric now joining in. The knight hurriedly grabbed the mike and turned it off before moving on to the next round of peasants, but we were too busy with our medieval snickering to care.

Maybe it was exhaustion or sun stroke or just being able to freely enjoy each others' company, but Eric and I laughed for an embarrassingly long amount of time. After being hustled off of the bridge by another knight ("Can it be a dragon over yonder? Thou must investigate right away!"), Eric and I wandered over to the picture booth and I bought the picture of us; Eric pouted and said that his smile looked like Wallace from "Wallace and Gromit" and he was so right I forgot to poke fun at his girly pouting. So of course I added a customized picture frame (with a 3-D scarecrow on it) just for giggles. Well, my giggles; Eric told me it was a waste of money and jokingly stormed off to the merchandise tent.

Bad move on his part once I found this highlighter-yellow t-shirt that had "I Found the Holy Grail at Cripple Creek's Mega Maze and All God Gave Me Was This Stinkin' Tee Shirt!" written on the front and a cartoon of a frowning knight on the back. I tried to talk Eric into buying a hideous orange shirt that had "Cripple Creek Mega Maze" written on the front and "Peasant" on the back, like where "Stackhouse" is written on the back of my soccer uniform. After searching for a shirt that read "King" or "Knight" on the back and coming up blank, he vehemently refused.

I pretended to make Eric's "Peasant" shirt dance for him, and he rolled his eyes and went to look at the wooden sword display on the other side of the tent. Figures. I grabbed a large (that was what his other shirts were) and used the opportunity to sneak over to the register and buy my shirt and Eric's shirt, looking over my shoulder so much that "Mistress Mary" told me that if I hadn't currently been paying for my purchases she'd think I was stealing something. I laughed nervously and threw the money at her before I ducked down; Eric had walked back over, his eyes scanning over the crowded makeshift aisles for little old me.

Mistress Mary leaned over the counter to stare and I hissed, "Don't look at me! Can't you see I'm hiding!?! People hid back in the Middle Ages too, ya know!"

She rolled her eyes, but that only increased the sketched-out factor of her face. I didn't mind, especially when she began putting the shirts in a bag. I extended a hand up and, after a very long pause that made me fully aware of how weird I was being, she hesitantly placed my change and plastic bag o' goodies in the palm of my hand. I stuffed the change in the bag, too rushed to organize it in my wallet, and slid the handles of the bag around my wrist. I waved goodbye (not wanting to risk standing up to see if she'd wave back) and frog-marched away. In fact, I was so busy frog-marching that I didn't see the pair of long, jean-covered legs in front of me until my nose hit knee, and not my own.

Too frightened to look up, I peered down and—yep, black Puma sneaks. Eric. My observation skills smugly proved themselves to be frightfully good when I tilted my head up and saw Eric's trademark two-for-one special, the Northman eyebrow wiggle and smirk. Cost: anything that amuses him, and usually me and/or my embarrassment.

"Hiya Eric," I said as calmly and dignified as I possibly could while squatting in the middle of a public area.

"Uh, hiya Sookie. What're ya doing down there?" Oh, he was enjoying this, all right.

"Um …" (damnit, I needed a Twix moment! Stupid medieval gift-tent for not stocking modern-day candy bars!) "What am I doing? Well ... I am checking for cow patties, that's what I'm doing. You never can be too sure."

"Did you find anything?" Eric asked, extending a hand to help me up.

"Not really," I replied as I tried to simultaneously stand up and hide my shopping bag behind my back.

"So then, what's in the bag?" he grinned devilishly. "Cow patties for the ride home?"

I can just tell there's no f-ing way Eric's letting me out of this easy. "Nope, I just bought my tee shirt, that's all."

"Right."

"Right-o. So. What's next on the big Northman date?"

"Well, I've got nothing. Unless, of course, you want to try and get us kicked out for our wannabe medieval behavior?" Eric said, winking. I laughed. He continued, "We pretty much did everything there is to do here. And we already had coffee today … I mean, unless you're up for some more of that, uh, interesting-looking slushie concoction you ate. Drank. Digested."

I giggled, "It's called an orange mocha frappaccino, Eric. Come on. And you should remember that, because I drink those all the time."

Having properly chastised Eric for his unforgivable Starbucks ignorance, I added, "I saw an ice cream store on the way. We could have ice cream?"

His eyes lit up. "Ice cream sounds great! Race you there!"

I chortled. "No way! We can't go drag racing!"

Eric deflated a little. "Oh, right. Of course. I—"

"Race you to the cars!" I interrupted, sprinting towards the organic parking lot.

I heard laughter behind me, but I was more focused on the pounding footsteps that came from a similar-sounding place. And then I was caught in midbound by a pair of arms like steel bands. Lifted and whirled, I was spun around like an ice skater so much that I felt a little dizzy when I was released. When I finally straightened, I saw Eric smugly leaning against his car, his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed.

"The phrase 'slow poke' comes to mind," he smirked.

"Really? 'Cause I was thinkin' more along the lines of 'filthy stinkin'cheater.' Huh," I cheekily replied, walking over to him.

"Indeed. But since I won, I deserve a little prize, don't you think?" Eric murmured, stepping closer to me and gazing at my lips.

Nuh-uh, he was going to have to work for it now. I don't like losing. "I completely agree," I responded in my best imitation Marilyn Monroe voice while digging through the plastic bag that I was hiding behind my back. Once I found what I was looking for, I slowly took it out while angling my face up towards Eric's.

He closed his eyes and bent his head down in the perfect kiss position; he was certainly making it very hard for me to concentrate on my important task. But, with the right incentives I can be focused. Very focused. Once his face entered my kissing radar I triumphantly placed the shirt I had bought him over my face so that he'd kiss cotton lips. Only downside was that I couldn't see his expression when he made contact and tried to make out with a tee shirt, but after he quickly pulled away I ripped the shirt off of my face, snickering when I saw a spasm of confusion overtake his face.

"What the …?" he exclaimed, looking adorkably confuzzled. I beamed. Success! Aha, take that!

"You wanted a little prize … well, I only have one in a size large!" I giggled.

Eric scowled and took the shirt I was holding out to him, his eyes widening and then narrowing once he recognized it from before. He looked at me and then back at the shirt, and then he threw his head back and laughed and laughed. I did too. A lot.

Once we calmed down (enough so that people would only think we were on expired medieval wine now) Eric threw the shirt over his shoulder and said, "So, I'd say that you're the one who deserves a prize."

"A prize, huh?" I replied, stepping up and fingering his shoulder-shirt with one hand as the other stroked Eric's cheek. He grinned. This was too easy.

I leaned up for a kiss, and Eric obligingly closed his eyes again and angled his face, just enforcing my belief that he truly didn't learn his lesson.

I breathed on his lips, "Ice cream," and pulled back right away. This time I could see his expression and I didn't even bother trying to conceal my mirth. His eyes fluttered open and his mouth widened even more. I placed my hand under his chin and closed his mouth. Now it was my time to smirk, and I made sure I was doing a pretty damn good job of it. The phrase 'payback is a bitch' comes to mind …

"What?"

"Ice cream. That's my prize."

"Seriously?"

"Are you going to make me say it a third time?" I teased, drinking in his incredulous expression.

He recovered by replying, "Nope, don't want to risk having the Beetlejuice of frozen dairy treats come and haunt you."

"Awwwh, you're the best boyfriend ever!" I responded sweet-sarcastically. Eric understood and shrugged his shoulders in an adorable 'oh well, what can ya do?' way.

I kissed him on the cheek and skipped over to my car. Once I unlocked it I turned and saw Eric still watching me, a big smile on his face.

"What?"

"Don't change," is all he said before he got in his car.

He pulled out and then I followed suit; we'd lower the windows and wave at each other at red lights and I wondered if it was possible to die of giddiness. I began feeling dangerously giddy once we arrived at The Cone Zone and saw that their special was a Reeses banana split sundae: chocolate ice cream, peanut butter and hot fudge sauces, a chopped banana, whipped cream, and crushed-up Reeses peanut butter cups. That sounded like heaven in a dish. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eric read the specials board and grin broadly. Somehow I just knew that was what he was going to order.

"Wanna split the Reeses banana sundae?" I asked as we stood holding hands in front of the counter.

"But the ice cream's supposed to be your big prize," Eric said while glancing quizzically at me.

"It will be if you spoon-feed it to me Lady and the Tramp style but with ice cream and humans," I flirted.

His eyebrows shot up and he winked. "Win-win. I like it."

"More like gold medal win-silver medal win, since you're still paying. But whatever."

True to form, Eric did pay and he did spoon-feed me the ice cream for a little bit. I couldn't tell if I liked the sundae because it was delicious or it was being fed to me by Eric. Since I'm a nice person, I spooned some ice cream into Eric's mouth. We were being that lovey-dovey couple right now, but since there weren't any other customers and the employees were watching a soap opera behind the counter, I didn't give a damn.

After we finished, we stayed inside and just chatted. I didn't want this date to end, even though I knew it was getting late, too late for Gran to believe this was a school project. But I forgot about being smart and reliable once Eric hesitantly asked if I was doing anything tomorrow.

"No, I'm free. Why?" Because you know if you asked me to go skunk-catching or iguana-licking or anything else I'd say yes in a heartbeat.

"Well, you see, Pam's charity is hosting a children's 3 v. 3 soccer tournament thing and I was wondering if you wanted to come and hang out and coach with me. You'd get a t-shirt and free food and a nice tan that I know you like having. It'd be a lot of fun," he explained, ripping up and shredding some napkins absentmindedly.

"You forgot to add that I'd be able to spend more Northman-Stackhouse time with you," I teased.

"Right. That too. Should have said that first. So, you in?" Eric asked, turning his attention back to me.

"I'm in. I don't have that much homework anyways. Although I need to cover all the bases first before I sign anything, just to mix up my sports metaphors. When, where, how long?"

"When? Pam wants me there by six in the morning because I'm a field marshall; I don't know what time it starts, but I can find that out. It's at the Shreveport soccer fields, which are literally three minutes away from my apartment. And I think it's until four or five, but again, I can find that out. And you don't have to stay all day. You don't even have to come if you have too much homework. I'd understand."

"Northman, read my lips." Eric did, but was paying so much attention to my mouth he didn't look like he'd hear me. I blushed and stung my tongue out, which caused him to look up. "Listen. I want to come, and I'll try to be there for as long as possible, okay?"

Eric opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, then bit his lip, then opened it again. He looked like a little kid with a big secret.

"What? Seriously, what? Northman, just spit it out!" I said, a little worried about what Eric obviously didn't want to say to me. Did he not want me there? I didn't have to come along if he didn't want me to.

Then Eric erupted with laughter, causing the workers to glare at him for draining out the soap opera and me to stare at him confusedly. What the heck? Once he finally opened his eyes after laughing so hard and took one look at my puzzled expression, he broke out into guffaws again.

"Oh, come on Stackhouse!" he managed after another bout of laughter.

"What? I don't get it." I asked. "Do I have ice cream on my face?"

He laughed some more. "Just think about what you just said," he replied with a huge, knowing grin on his face. His eyes bore into mine, as if he was trying to signal me something using his eyelashes and Morse code.

I did think about what I just said. What's so funny about ice cream on my face? Or telling Eric to spit it out? Or talk about coming to the tournament tomorrow? Wait. WAIT. Oh. Oh, now I get it. Good lord, I get it. Geeze, and even my thoughts were teeming with unknowing sexual innuendos. 'I didn't have to come along if he didn't want me to.' Thank God Eric wasn't a telepath, or else I'm pretty sure he'd have fallen out of his chair and started rolling around on the ice cream parlor's dirty linoleum floor. I blushed as red as the maraschino cherry stem that Eric had twisted into a knot with his tongue when we first got our sundae; too bad I couldn't actually be that cherry stem.

Eric snickered as he watched me figure it out and put the pieces of a very dirty puzzle together. "Come on Stackhouse, you were practically begging for it."

Being the good sport that I am (in more ways than one), I laughed it off. "Yeah. I see your point." A wave of satisfaction rushed over me as soon as he chuckled appreciatively.

"But seriouslyEric, why didn't you want to say anything earlier, when you were biting your lip? I mean, you never used to have any doubts about de-virginizing words or phrases before. What's different now?"

Well, that wiped the all-knowing smirk off of his face. Now he looked earnest, bashful. Although it was a new look for him, he wore it very well.

"Why didn't I want to say anything earlier? Good question. Uh … I didn't know if it was too soon for that … with what you said this morning and everything," he mumbled, looking earnestly at me, worried at what I might do.

Aaaaawh. My heart melted like the ice cream soup gathered at the bottom of our ice cream bowl. He was being so unbelievably sweet I was waiting for him to tell me he bought me a kitten and wrapped a pink polka-dot ribbon around its neck for a collar.

I reached over and took his hand in mine, squeezing gently. "Eric, that was really, really considerate of you. Especially because I know how hard it probably was for you to contain yourself for that long." I grinned, and he did too, nodding his head. I continued, "And I'm glad you were paying attention this morning. But, uh, I don't mean there has to be a chastity belt around my waist and a chastity muzzle around your mouth, you know? We already have an amazingly open relationship, so we should keep it that way. But, again, thank you for being so nice and thoughtful. Seriously. We've got an All-Star boyfriend right here. There's a MVB in our presence!"

"Most valuable boyfriend?" Eric asked. I nodded in confirmation. He smiled, "Well, we can't forget the girl with the gold medal in girlfriend-being either, you know. Wouldn't be right."

"I know. But I'm surprised you didn't mention the award-winning doubles pair … Sookric? Nope. Erikie? Meh. Oh well, Brangelina we ain't." Plus, Eric was so much hotter than Brad Pitt.

Eric made a face. "Good thing too, because then we'd have the paparazzi capturing our illegal relationship. Maybe Northhouse or Stackman?"

"Not bad. Suseric? Ericannah? I got nothing," I tried. Although the names sounded funny, they didn't feel right.

"What about Stackhouse and Northman?" Eric asked simply, shrugging his shoulders.

I grinned. We'd always been Stackhouse and Northman, right from the very beginning. I should have known better than to try and change it. "I like it."

"Me too." We smiled at each other for a while.

After I checked the time on my phone I very reluctantly told Eric that I probably should get going, if there was going to be any chance of Stackhouse and Northman time tomorrow. Eric seemed as sorry as I was to agree with me.

He walked me over to my car and promised he'd call later with the information on tomorrow. And after he gave me a long, slow kiss goodbye that made me want to forget responsibilities, duties, heck even my own name, just so I could be in that kiss forever. Sigh. And as an added bonus, he faintly tasted of chocolate.

I followed Eric until I had to turn right to go home and he had to continue going straight to his home; this time it wasn't so much fun driving behind him now that we knew we were going to end up at different destinations. Even though we beeped and honked until we became too separated to hear anything anymore, it wasn't enough. But as I was starting to figure out with Eric, there was never enough time with him.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

So what are your favorite Eric-Sookie nicknames? Chiisai-kitty liked "Stackman" because then you could go "nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah Stackman!" Don't you just want to have her brain?!

Okay, hopefully now it's time for some self-pimpage. I wrote a Generation Kill FF ("The Big Easy: How To Cockblock Sgt. Brad Colbert) for the Seasons of Love contest over at the Alexander Skarsgard Library Forum (http://www. alexanderskarsgardlibrary. com/forum/) and it is now voting time! You have to register to see the entries, but it's free and easy and, hey, it's another site for Alexander Skarsgard inspired stuff. What's not to love?

Here are two sample quotes:

1.) As soon as the song finishes, Brad remembers he's supposed to be all stoic and Iceman and whatever, so he looks out the window and exclaims, "Jesus, Ray, aim for the road, not the woman with the stroller. You're a terrible civilian driver."

"Your mom said I'm a great driver in bed. She's a civilian."

"Which mom, Ray? My biological mother, the one who deemed herself mature enough to open her legs and embark on one of the oldest and most sought-out rituals known to mankind yet did not want to deal with the responsibilities of her very adult actions? Or my foster mother, the one who felt it was beneath her highly desired upper-middle class status to sleep in the same bed as her husband and partake in the same activities that anyone with an open pair of shaved legs, much like your cream-of-the-trailer-park-crop momma, would enjoy?"

"Both of them. At the same time."

2.)"You know the world is fucked up when the jihadist-killing Marine wears Birkenstocks, the most successful rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the tallest player in the NBA is Chinese, France accuses the U.S. of being too arrogant, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the two most powerful men in America, hell the whole world, are named 'Bush' and 'Dick.' Need I say more?"