walked in and I tossed my crap on the table as usual. He closed the door, and I heard the click of the lock.
“Want some breakfast?” I asked him, walking past the large sectional in my living room into the kitchen. Nathan followed but stopped in the dining room and took a quick glance around my place as he leaned against the wall.
“Assuming I will be here for breakfast?” he asked in a sultry voice full of humor.
Flushed, I popped my head out from behind the fridge door. “Smart ass, I meant now. I’m starving. Yes or no?”
“Sure.” He got dimples when he smiled.
“Can you make some coffee?” I pointed to the pantry closet door.
“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped into the pantry. “Pop Tarts? You eat Pop Tarts?” His muffled words became clearer as he walked out, holding coffee in one hand and a box of Pop Tarts in the other. He closed the door with his foot.
“I enjoy a good Pop Tart.” I pouted, crinkling my eyebrows.
“Seriously? Strawberry? I thought you said you enjoyed a good Pop Tart.” He eyed me suspiciously.
“Shut up—it’s the sprinkles. They make me happy.” I quickly looked back down at the pan, trying not to stare at his amazing blue eyes.
“Do you know what these are made of?” He sounded appalled, as if I were eating a cockroach instead of an artificial pastry.
“No, please enlighten me.” I noticed my cheeks hurt because I had been smiling for the past five minutes.
“All right, sassy pants, I will.” He was attempting to be serious but began to laugh while he poured water into the coffee maker.
“C’mon educate me, I need a good schooling, and have you ever made coffee before?” I playfully grabbed the coffee from his hands, swiftly dumped four scoops into the top of the machine, closed the lid, and pressed the start button.
“Impressive.” He hopped onto the counter holding the box of Pop Tarts again, watching me. “It’s a sugar coma is what it is. I can’t explain it. I just know anything that has a shelf life of fourteen years and is still edible after a nuclear winter can’t be good for you.” He held his head high and tightened his lips as if he was triumphant in convincing me.
I stared blankly at him, trying my damnedest not to laugh, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me as they tightened. We both burst out in laughter.
“Really? That’s all you got?” I snatched the box from his hands and put it back on the counter. “Like I said, it’s all about the sprinkles, so if there is in fact a nuclear winter, at least I’ll be happy.” I tossed him a loaf of bread. “Can you make toast?”
“Can I make toast?” He hopped off the counter. “Of course I can make toast.”
When I turned to look at him he was standing at the toaster with a confused look on his face.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” My mouth popped open wide in shock and he laughed.
“Gotcha.” He winked, pushing down the lever.
Oh my, no no no. I won’t survive this night if he keeps shit like that up.
“I love cheese omelets. You can cook, woman. That was great, thanks.” He rested back in his chair.
“Thank you, it’s no biggie. I like to cook.” I shrugged. “And let’s not forget you make a mean toast, sir.” I picked up my plate.
He stood up and picked up his plate as well.
“I got it.” As I took the plate from him, his hand curled around mine. My heart stopped for a second. When it started back up it sent an electric pulse through my veins. I can’t move. This is the greatest feeling ever. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to calm myself and savor the moment all at once. When I opened them, my nut job smile was waiting for me. After another moment or two I slowly pulled my hand back and turned to bring the plates into the kitchen with a hint of a smile on my lips.
He wandered into the living room. When I came out of the kitchen he was standing in front of the biggest picture hung on my living room wall.
Oh no. Stupid, stupid,
“Want some breakfast?” I asked him, walking past the large sectional in my living room into the kitchen. Nathan followed but stopped in the dining room and took a quick glance around my place as he leaned against the wall.
“Assuming I will be here for breakfast?” he asked in a sultry voice full of humor.
Flushed, I popped my head out from behind the fridge door. “Smart ass, I meant now. I’m starving. Yes or no?”
“Sure.” He got dimples when he smiled.
“Can you make some coffee?” I pointed to the pantry closet door.
“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped into the pantry. “Pop Tarts? You eat Pop Tarts?” His muffled words became clearer as he walked out, holding coffee in one hand and a box of Pop Tarts in the other. He closed the door with his foot.
“I enjoy a good Pop Tart.” I pouted, crinkling my eyebrows.
“Seriously? Strawberry? I thought you said you enjoyed a good Pop Tart.” He eyed me suspiciously.
“Shut up—it’s the sprinkles. They make me happy.” I quickly looked back down at the pan, trying not to stare at his amazing blue eyes.
“Do you know what these are made of?” He sounded appalled, as if I were eating a cockroach instead of an artificial pastry.
“No, please enlighten me.” I noticed my cheeks hurt because I had been smiling for the past five minutes.
“All right, sassy pants, I will.” He was attempting to be serious but began to laugh while he poured water into the coffee maker.
“C’mon educate me, I need a good schooling, and have you ever made coffee before?” I playfully grabbed the coffee from his hands, swiftly dumped four scoops into the top of the machine, closed the lid, and pressed the start button.
“Impressive.” He hopped onto the counter holding the box of Pop Tarts again, watching me. “It’s a sugar coma is what it is. I can’t explain it. I just know anything that has a shelf life of fourteen years and is still edible after a nuclear winter can’t be good for you.” He held his head high and tightened his lips as if he was triumphant in convincing me.
I stared blankly at him, trying my damnedest not to laugh, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me as they tightened. We both burst out in laughter.
“Really? That’s all you got?” I snatched the box from his hands and put it back on the counter. “Like I said, it’s all about the sprinkles, so if there is in fact a nuclear winter, at least I’ll be happy.” I tossed him a loaf of bread. “Can you make toast?”
“Can I make toast?” He hopped off the counter. “Of course I can make toast.”
When I turned to look at him he was standing at the toaster with a confused look on his face.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” My mouth popped open wide in shock and he laughed.
“Gotcha.” He winked, pushing down the lever.
Oh my, no no no. I won’t survive this night if he keeps shit like that up.
“I love cheese omelets. You can cook, woman. That was great, thanks.” He rested back in his chair.
“Thank you, it’s no biggie. I like to cook.” I shrugged. “And let’s not forget you make a mean toast, sir.” I picked up my plate.
He stood up and picked up his plate as well.
“I got it.” As I took the plate from him, his hand curled around mine. My heart stopped for a second. When it started back up it sent an electric pulse through my veins. I can’t move. This is the greatest feeling ever. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to calm myself and savor the moment all at once. When I opened them, my nut job smile was waiting for me. After another moment or two I slowly pulled my hand back and turned to bring the plates into the kitchen with a hint of a smile on my lips.
He wandered into the living room. When I came out of the kitchen he was standing in front of the biggest picture hung on my living room wall.
Oh no. Stupid, stupid,
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