Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
You'd think I was the high one with how paranoid I was sitting in the kitchen watching Jackson.
It was like watching a movie in slow motion — sitting on the edge of your seat, waiting for a disaster. But the fast forward button was broken, so you're stuck watching in agonizing suspense.
What wasn't agonizing though, was the view I had from this angle.
The white t-shirt he'd changed into complimented his tan skin just as much as the black did. And I couldn't stop my eyes from trailing down until they reached his grey sweatpants.
I'm turning into a freaking pervert.
As he focused intently on spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread, Tormenta was walking circles around his legs, rubbing against them every so often.
I glanced up to the side of his face that I could see, noticing the corner of his lip turned up as he hummed quietly.
Even though I was worried about Dad coming in here and noticing Jackson's state, I couldn't help but smile at how at ease he looked.
How at home he looked.
It made me wonder if he ever acted like this in his own home. His old home.
If he hummed to himself while he made food in their kitchen. If he relaxed into their couch, and threw his feet up on the coffee table while he watched tv. If his dad ever asked him to play video games with him.
I flinched at the sudden clank of him dropping the knife in the sink.
Jackson looked around the counter for a few seconds before letting out an annoyed huff, throwing his arms out beside him.
I rested my chin on a fist and watched him with an amused smile. "It's in your hand."
He looked down at the lid and turned to glare at me, then screwed it on the jar with another huff.
"That's not what I'm lookin' for," he grumbled with a pout, continuing his search on the counter.
He's so cute.
I hummed as I got up, feigning concern as I walked up next to him.
"Bread, jelly, peanut butter..." I nodded with a serious face as I inspected his work, before looking up at his squinting eyes. "I think you're done here, chef."
Jackson let out a slow, sarcastic laugh as he took in my teasing smile.
"Not considered a chef if people don't actually eat my cooking," he raised a challenging eyebrow, making the smile fall from my face.
I should've seen that coming.
Before I had a chance to come up with a snarky response, his face lit up as he glanced behind me. "Aha!"
