Guys like Oliver Queen didn't go for girls like Felicity Smoak; charming, rich, good looking... that was reserved for someone else. He knew it, she knew it. She'd seen the looks he'd given her (mostly baffled head tilts) when she really got going on her babble and chalked it up to the same kind of blank look she got from everyone else when she tried to explain her genius. It didn't stop her from doing it; not because she could help herself, exactly, but because deep inside, she got a kick out of Oliver's confusion. That look he gave. It made her warm on the inside, and not because he was confused, but because he was gorgeous.

Even now, she was talking about nonsense, aware that he wasn't focused on her. Even she wasn't focused on her, but on the man as he did some kind of complicated upside-down sit up thing that she never could. She watched him from the corner of her eye as she puttered around their computer set up, nattering on about this and that and plans for the evening. The specifics weren't important. He'd come down eventually, that perfect mix of sweaty and sexy, and she'd do her best not to stare while he did his best not to notice her not staring.

They'd done it before and she knew he knew, but it was something best Not Talked About.