A/N: Hey there, now from the summary you probably know what this story's about. I honestly have no idea whether someone else has a story that is like this, if there is, sorry, I don't mean to take your idea; dreams do have a funny way of panning out. Hehehe…hehe…he…yeah…

But yeah, something I sorta' remembered from a dream. I'm bored, it seems story worthy so here you are reading this and here I am typing this! Enjoy, and thanks for reading! Longest oneshot ever by me, btw! :D

He Stole, She Stole

It was simple. Really it was. OK, so it was more weird than simple. But more simple than complicated. Although now I think about it, it was a tiny bit complicated…

OK, I'm going off track here. Let me explain. I'm going to do one of those 'once upon a time' time things; they seemed so cool to read when we were young…right? Right?

It all started like this…

My best friend Casey Robinson was pregnant. She was eighteen and pregnant. Now, before all you judgemental people…well judge, let me tell you something about Casey Robinson, she never makes mistakes. OK, so she does, but it's only very, very, very rarely.

Anyway, my point is-

(In case you're wondering what it is, and I know you are)

-that if Casey did something she did it for a reason, she knew what her course of action would be and she knew what the consequences of those actions would be. Yep, that was Casey. A complete opposite of me really, our parents and friends say that we balance each other out. I just say we annoy the heck out of each other.

So Casey was pregnant, but it was all good. Everyone knew it was going to happen someday soon.

No you very evil people she was not a…sleep-arounder. No, she had found her soul mate at a very young age. Fifteen to be exact. She wasn't a cliché, no she just found Mr Right when she was Miss Young. I was just happy that she had found someone better than some of the sleaze bags I dated. We all knew she was going to get married to him, Joseph Williamson being the 'him'. My parents knew it, her parents knew it, his parents knew it, our friends knew it, our families knew it, heck even our teachers knew. (A lot of people knew it, can't you tell?)

Right, so my point, Casey was pregnant, and Joe was out of town. Again, no you evil people he wasn't a sleep-arounder either, he was just extremely clever and was in London sorting out a few glitches in his business.

(He lost a quarter of a million pounds. 'Nothing', he said. Pshh. Corse, quarter Mil. Nothing! I bet you've stopped wondering where I get my Prada boots from now, haven't ya?!)

So it was up to me, Elizabeth Mendis, to come to the aid of a pregnant woman…who had cravings…who still had morning sickness, even after 3 months! –Sigh- And to think it all sounded so heroic to start off with.

Life saver fact number one, when a pregnant woman asks for something, e.g. Pineapples which she normally hates, you don't think twice that there are no subways working because of a strike, you don't think about the fact that you have no car, not due to poor funding-

(Prada boots! (Joe somehow goes out his way to help me financially. It's like I'm some charity case! Just because I'm Casey's best friend since birth, literally, he thinks he can flatter me with gifts like I'm his girlfriend… Whoa, that sounds so much better than the whole 'helping the pregnant lady heroic thing')),

-no not poor funding, I just never bothered to take the test. Did you know you had to take a written test…about driving…something that is done practically?

Point is, you don't think twice about anything like that. It's New York you can just whistle down a cab. So when a pregnant lady asks you in what she thinks is a nice manner- (I don't get how the beep you get there Elle, you get me those beeping pineapples! I don't care if you have to get a pine and an apple and sow it TOGETHER!) - to get her some pineapples you don't reply, 'I'm kind of busy watching my nails dry', because your sarcasm will go to waste and you'll end up with a bottle thrown to your head with a string of curses to accompany it.

Oh and you don't bother to think about the fact that it's 7 in the morning on a Saturday. The one Saturday you have no University assignments.

No you put a coat over your PJ's, you put your converses on and you race out that front door!

Not that I'm saying that's what I did, or what you should do. No, that's just like an…example of what a moronic idiot would do in the freezing cold. You know, run out in their PJ's, coat, and converses. (I just thanked whatever angel that was watching me that I had left my purse in my coat the night before)

So, there I was running in something other than my PJ's, coat and converses, down to the local grocery store. Nearly halfway through I stopped and thought, 'oh wait, isn't my nearest grocery store the opposite side of where I'm running to now?' I didn't let that bother me though, nope; I just stood there like any other normal person and screamed until a taxi stopped. Simple really. During that process I think I lost a couple of pounds. It's a win, win situation. You loose some 'friends' you never really wanted because they think you're a crazy psychopath on her rage of destruction, but at the same time you loose a couple of pounds! Do we have a winner here? I think we do! Ding, ding, ding!

I managed to breathe out to the cabbie that was looking at me nervously from the rear view mirror, 'Janet Greens, please'. It didn't take too long to get there, but it was definitely quicker than if I ran to it. (I would've become anorexic if I did that)

"Thank you. I'll only be a moment, can you wait? I'll pay whatever," I said. With the mention of the magic word 'pay' the cabbie agreed to stay. I mean the word 'pay' had a brother named 'dollar' and a sister named 'money'. Those three words were key words to use in New York City, New Yoek.

I ran into the store which was open, thankfully. I ran straight to the fruits section, grabbed a pineapple, then another, and another. Just in case the crazy sick-o-path, sorry my best friend, wanted more than one pineapple. Or two. Or three. I grabbed another just in case.

I was walking up the till; I was stretching out to put the pineapples on the counter when some jerkoff put his latte on the table. I cocked my head thinking, 'Jane doesn't do lattes'. Then the jerkoff put down a banana. I nodded my head thinking, 'that's more like it' then I thought, This guy stole my place in the line! Jerkoff!

"Hey, monkey boy, I was here first," I snapped at the too-tall-for-his-own-good guy. Then, it was like someone was playing 'Hallelujah' (the gospel version) and was holding a light down on the jerkoff. He was god's gift to women. He had swept back hair, like he had been standing in front of the sea wind, his brown eyes melted in my own. He looked like he was in his mid twenties, but what were a couple of years (three or four tops…OK five) between love? It was only the face of Casey and her lunatic face that kept me from drooling in front of him.

"Monkey boy?" he asked. Even his voice was amazing. Like a perfect harmony. A definite tenor. I nodded towards the banana in response.

"Speak for yourself," he said nodding at my pineapples.

"They're cravings," I replied coolly. I watched his gaze fall to my flat stomach. "Not for me, idiot," I muttered the last bit under my breath.

"Right. You're playing servant for your pregnant, pineapple craving friend," he said while paying for his banana. I placed my pineapples down and laid a ten dollar note on the table before replying.

"Not servant, I'm being a friend, maybe you haven't grasped the concept of what that is. Friend, noun, someone who trusts and is fond of another. someone who gets on well with someone. An ally or somebody who is not an enemy." I took my change. "Thanks Jane."

"Bye pet," she said as I walked off with my pineapples in hand. I could feel jerkoff/monkey-boy/Gods-gift/line-stealer behind me.

"Hmm, it seems you have the dictionary memorised."

"Photographic memory comes in handy at times," I replied shruggina. I stood in front of my cab. I don't think the cabbie minded much. You know the whole 'pay' thing, not forgetting the 'brother' and 'sister' thing, yeah that was what stopped him from yelling at me to get in the cab. Although, I could see from his face that he really wanted to say something.

"I see," he said grinning. I saw nothing funny. No one said a joke, I'm not laughing, nope. Nothing Funny. This guy thought he was smug for stealing my place in line. The line stealer! I wasn't going to stand for it.

"New coffee?" I asked him casually.

"Yeah, got it from the Starbucks down the road. All nice and new, not taken a sip yet. Just waiting till it's just right," he said teasing me by giving me a whiff of it. I could sense the evil genius in me bubbling. She was mad, getting madder by the minute. It wasn't long before she cracked.

My brain said no, but my free hand reached out and grabbed the latte before jerkoff/monkey-boy/Gods-gift/line-stealer could do anything. I took a big gulp of it. He was right, it was just right.

"Thanks," I said smiling sweetly.

Me: 1

Him: 1 (the whole line thing, I play fair)

"B...bu…" he finished lamely.

"You stole my place in the line, I steal a well deserved latte," I said nicely.

"Really?" he asked finally composing himself.

"Yes really."

"Well that seems fair. I mean, I steal your place; you steal my latte…so I guess all I have to do now is…steal your cab! See ya'!" Before I could register what happened, the jerkoff/monkey-boy/Gods-gift/line-stealer jumped into my cab and locked the door.

"Don't you dare go!" I shrieked to the cab driver. I could see that jerkoff/monkey-boy/Gods-gift/line-stealer (I should've learnt his name then) was telling him something too. The cab driver seemed to be battling with himself about who he should take.

The jerkoff/monkey-boy/Gods-gift/line-stealer must have said something right because the cab driver shrugged at me apologetically and started to drive off. Jerkoff winked at me, I flipped him off. It was just not my day.

After haling down another cab I made it home, after an hour! A whole hour!

"Here are your pineapples, oh great one," I said tiredly ready to go back to bed. I shoved the four pineapples in her face. Casey wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"I hate pineapples. I want some water melon, and I want it now."

Why do I even bother?




A week had past before anything else happened. I had just finished celebrating my nineteenth birthday. It was all a very glum occasion. Nineteen meant that I could finally inherit whatever it was my late father had left me. He died when I was six, but left me a fortune, so my mother said. She wasn't one of those raged crazy ladies who wanted the fortune for themselves. She actually wanted me to have it. It wasn't as if she needed it, she'd done all she wanted to in life. Went to college, got married, had kids, grandchildren (my older brother's kids), seen the world and that was it.

"Go on in hun," she said to me as we waited outside the lawyer's office. The guy's name was Clinton Law, which was all too funny and ironic. You know, the whole surname being Law and being a Lawyer thing? Ya' know? Corse you do!

The sectary of Mr Law waited patiently at his door for me to come. I smiled nervously at her.

"He doesn't bite," she said winking. I smiled a more genuine smile. The high heels, and low cut top sort of put me off. Made me think she was a first class beep. I mean come on, everyone's led astray by what they show in the movies! Don't boo at me!

I walked into Mr Law's very spacious office. The door closed behind me. There were books everywhere. Well not everywhere, but stacked neatly in rows on bookshelves. I finally looked towards Mr Law, who also took that moment to look up from what he was going.

"Jerkoff/monkey-boy/Gods-gift/line-stealer! It's you!" I cried. Jerkoff/monkey-boy/Gods-gift/line-stealer or Clinton, looked quite surprised, and amused, to see me here.

"Hello again too, I'm sorry I don't have a nickname for you," he said. I smiled sarcastically.

"I should add cab stealer too," I muttered under my breath, though I'm sure he heard because he sort of laughed but hid his laugh with a cough.

"Mrs Mendis," Mr Law/Clinton started.

"Geez, it's Miss Mendis. Did you not read the birth date? I'm only nineteen! Oh and please don't call me Miss Mendis, it sounds like I'm ninety not nineteen! I mean I'm only going to be a teen for so much longer so please, Elle will do."

Clinton looked at papers in front of him. "Ah right, sorry about that mistake. I call you Elle, you call me Clinton, or Clint, whichever." He cleared his throat and began in a more business like manner.

"How about Clinty? Or Woody, as in Clint Eastwood? Eh?" I asked wagging my eyebrows. Clinton seemed to ponder this for a while.

"No," he said flaty.

"Fine, Woody," I muttered.

"Let's get this over and done with."


An hour later we were finished with my business of my dad's will. It seemed as though Joe didn't have to pay for my Prada boots anymore. I could manage just fine. Clint was out of his office to get something to add to my file, while I was signing some documents. I put the pen down when I finished and waited. My eye drifted to the pen. It was unique in it's shape. Silver, with detailed designs on it. It looked like it was worth a bit. I smiled slyly. I picked up the pen and slipped it into my purse and put my purse in my coat pocket.

"Sorry about the wait," he said still in his business like voice. He picked up the papers and checked they were signed. "Right well that seems to be in order. Do you have the agreement form?" I checked my bag.

"It's in here somewhere," I said rummaging my bag. I took my diary out, my mint, my keys, my makeup, my books and my brush before I found the agreement form.

"You didn't need to take it out, I just needed to know that you had it," he said raising an eyebrow at all the junk I had out on the table.

"Nice to know…now!" I said moodily shoving my stuff back into my bag. I zipped my bag up and stood.

"Here's my card in case you have any other problems," he said. I took the card he had outstretched, and pocketed it. "You didn't even look at it."

"Well I don't need to phone you now do I? You're standing right in front of me!" I shook my head.

"Touché," he said. At the time I had no idea what that meant. Sue me! I hadn't photographically past 't' in the dictionary... Don't ask.

"Right. Well I best be off, loads to do." I shook Clinton's outstretched hand. "Thanks again."

"No problem, just doing my job," he said. "Oh and I'm sorry about your father."

"Meh. Happened years ago, but thanks anyway. Anyway, I'll be off, bye." I smiled a more genuine smile and headed to the door. I lifted my hand without turning around before slipping out.

Once outside, and with my mum in a taxi going back to her house, I took my cellphone out and took out the card Clinton gave me. It rang twice.

"Clinton Law," he answered. I could hear rustling. I smiled.

"Hey Clinty, I was just wondering. I, being Elle Mendis, was just wondering whether you were looking for something?" I asked innocently.

"As a matter of fact I…" he trailed off. "I should've known. That's my lucky pen you know."

"You're a lawyer, you don't believe in luck," I said smugly walking with a bounce. I heard him grit his teeth. Bad thing that is.

"It was my grandmothers," he said while I examined the pen. "It was made especially for her by a man in Rome."

"Rome?" I asked astonished. "Really?"


"Well, why does it have a little 'China' printed into the side?" I asked again angelically. "Was his name China? You stole my cab. I stole your pen."

"You're right," he sighed. "I guess since it's even now, you won't need your diary."


I opened up my bag and looked for it. It wasn't there. I must've left it on his table! I let off a string of curses.

"It's bad to swear," he said in a smug voice. I growled.

"You open that diary so help me god, I will murder you!" I said running back towards there building.

"Sure thing sweet cheeks. Isn't that what Gohn, with a G called you in tenth grade?" he asked, his voice taunting. Oh how dare he taunt moi?

"I'll murder you."

In the end he gave me back my diary, in exchange for me going on a date with him for dinner. Seriously, he thought I was going to go with him on a dinner date?! After he stole my place in line, stole my cab, and even stole my diary which I forgot at his office! He seriously thought that.

Like hell I was!




"So what are you going to wear?" Casey asked me as I mulled over my choice of evening wear.

"Not sure yet." I settled with a grey sweater dress, black tights (I hate the word pantyhose/stockings whatever we call it), and grey ankle boots. Clint was looking very fine in some causal yet smart looking jeans, with a buttoned up shirt, which was rolled at the sleeves. You would've never thought he was 25, or that he was a lawyer.

We went to a simple restaurant, had dinner, talked, danced and that was it. I made it sound as if it was nothing, but my stomach couldn't stop flipping. I felt like I was in high school again.

I learnt a lot about him. His real height, which is tallll, 6'1. His full name is Clinton Samuel Law. He was 25. He started doing law because his brother was unlawfully put into jail. He not only has a brother, but two younger sister; Mel, 16, and Sophie, 23. His mum and dad got divorced when he was young, but he was always financially set. He had hazel-green eyes until he was 15, then his eyes became darker. The doctor said that it sometimes happened and that brown would most probably be his eye colour for the rest of his life. (I personally like brown better, it makes it more hard to resist)

The night ended soon, and quickly enough we were stood at the entrance to my apartment block.

"Well tonight was fun," he said.

"Yeah it was. Even if you are a jerkoff/monkey-boy/Gods-gift/line-stealer/cab stealing lawyer," I said playfully.

"How do you always remember that in that order?" he asked frowning. Then something must have triggered a memory. "Photographic memory. Right." He laughed. It was so melodic I could've listened to him all day…or night…whichever.

"I'd better go. Casey's probably up waiting for me, which isn't really good for her or the baby. She's going to get cranky and stressed, which ultimately isn't good for me. Then again I think Joe's here, which might put her in a better mood. I've mentioned Joe right, Casey's soul ma-" I could tell I was rambling, but I got cut off because a pair of oh-my-gosh worthy lips slammed into my. I think we were making out for quite a bit because Casey opened the window and shouted for me to get up there. There were some perks of having a window facing the street and then again there were some disadvantages. That being one of them.

"Sorry," he said eying my swollen lips.

"Don't worry about it," I said holding back a grin. "Well…I'll see you then."

"Yeah, I'll call you. Bye."


An hour later when I'd told Casey everything, much to Joe's displeasure, and was finally getting my head around the fact that I had made out with the hottest guy in the history of ever, that was when I started shrieking into my pillow, and laughing happily.

"Told you," Casey mumbled from the next room. I couldn't give a crap about Casey at that moment, because I'd made out with the hottest guy ever!




Just as things were perking up, disaster struck. There were problems with Casey's baby. She was in hospital. Joe was by her side, as was I, twenty-four seven. The baby had shifted and was on the placenta and was cutting off its own supply of oxygen. They managed to move the baby without having to operate or having an emergency c-section.

With all that drama going on I had no time to call Clinton back, he'd left a few messages on my machine. I had three sets of families to worry about. Mine, Casey's and Joe's. Not to mention university.

So it was one heck of a surprise when I heard someone banging on the door. I grabbed a baseball bat (thankfully Joe was a Sox fan…or was it Yankees…I could never remember) and headed to the door.

"Who is it?" I called out.

"It's me. Clinton, or have you forgotten who that is?" he demanded from behind the door. I opened it with a apologetic face. He looked at the baseball bat I was holding, with alarm. "What the hell have you got a bat out for?" he cried out.

"Well I'm sorry you were banging on the door loudly."

"Well I'm sorry that I've finally got your attention," he retorted.

"Well I'm sorry that I don't revolve my life around you."

"Well I'm sorry I came!"

"Well are you?" I demanded.

"No!" he shouted before pulling my face towards his and once again slamming his lips onto mine. He pulled apart.

"What's been going on with you? I called. You never returned it. I thought fine. Women were strange species, so I gave you a week. I gave you two days, then three, then four, then that turned to another week. Two weeks, no call!"

I sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just things have been so busy here. Casey's baby was dying, not anymore though," I added after seeing his face. "So I was running the fort. I had a lot on my plate so I'm sorry I never called."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he said pulling me into a hug. I relaxed into it. That was something I needed.

"Thanks," I said softly. I didn't need to explain what I meant by that thanks, because that was all he needed to hold onto me tighter.

When he left later that day, he didn't realise that he'd left his umbrella next to my door. Ha!

Me: 3

Him: 3 I was catching up.

Six months later

It's funny. A couple of months ago I was waking to the sound of my alarm, now I was waking to the sound of a baby. The apartment Casey and I lived in was now not big enough for Joe and their baby. (Her name's Isabella, they named her sort of after me! (Tear))

Instead of asking them to move out, three people's stuff was just too much to hall around, I volunteered to move. Casey literally broke down in tears. I think the hormones were getting to her. I mean she was still a 'teen'. Joe scarpered when he saw the waterworks. What is it with men and tears? Was it their own incapability of showing emotion in themselves that made them turn away from other people's emotions? And do I need to see a shrink? Because I'm coming up with some rich down to earth, deep stuff.

Maybe it was because I was dating a lawyer. That's right! ME! Elizabeth Mendis, dating Clinton Law, big hot (definitely) shot lawyer! Steadily for 7 months now! It was weird, I would've never imagined myself going out with a lawyer and yet here I was doing exactly that.

As I packed another box my cell phone rang. I answered it. "Hey there Woody."

"Hey, and don't call me that."

"What? Woody?" I asked. I could just see him rolling his eyes. "Anyway what's up?"

"Have you found an apartment yet?" he asked. I sighed.

"No!" Apartments, good ones, in New York were just impossible to find. Beyond impossible in fact.

"Well good." Before I could start a steamy rant at him, he continued. "You see there's a opening in my apartment block. In my apartment actually."

"That sounds familiar, that line," I said slowly. Not registering what he said.

"No it's not," he said panicky. I starred hard at my box trying to think where I heard that from. I starred at the word 'books' written on my box for ages before I remembered.

"Meg Cabot! You just quoted Meg Cabot!" I shrieked.

"No, no, no, no!"

"Yes, yes, yes, ye- Wait, what did you ask me?"

"Oh, she remembers now!" He said sarcastically.

"You mean it? The apartment thing?" I asked almost in tears.

"Well I've seen you in the mornings so I won't get any hideous surprises," he said calmly. I laughed at the casualness. I didn't know what to say. This greek God, lawyer, charity giver, closet romantic wanted me, university student, messy eater, morning crank to move in with him! It was so unbelievable, so you wouldn't be surprised that I said the first thing that came to my head.

"I stole your umbrella," I blurted out randomly.

"OKaaay," he said laughing slightly. "I was wondering where that went to. Well that's OK, cos' I've stolen something more important."

"Oh what's that?" I asked nervously, looking around to see if I was missing anything, thought it was hard seeing as my stuff was all packed away. Most of it anyway. "What've you stolen that's so important to me?"

"Your heart."

Me: 3

Him: One million

My vocab!

Sleep-arounder – A nicer way of saying 'whore'. (Well that does the whole 'nicer-way-of-saying-it')

A/N I know the whole 'subway strike' thing is pretty much nonsense because I don't think New Yorkers can live without their subways right? (I could be talking about the food here too! Hehe!) Just pretend that happened, and if it did really happen well I guess you've found your next Einstein. No, don't look around! It's me!

So yeah, hope you like this mindless piece of nonsense, because it was all just nonsense. I've had a very emotional day today, it might be my sudden craze to jump about maniacally that I've done such a mad piece!

Thanks for reading the story even still, hope you got a laughing out of my craziness!! :D

DISCLAIMER - Anything you recognise e.g. Starbucks, I DO NOT OWN IT! :D Toodles!