Smoke Break /Georgenotfound/

՜՞՜15՜՞՜

"Are you sure about this?" I was convincing George that lighting the cheesecakes on fire for a show wasn't worth it, but he had already poured rum on top of them.

"They explained it once when I ordered this, we should be fine," I think the keypoint was the word "once".

I quickly collected my hair in a bunch and threw it behind my shoulders, repositioning my body behind his back as he took out a lighter from his pocket.

Over his shoulder, I watched his hands - mesmerized by the way his thumb smoothly yet forcefully rolled over the metal striker twice, igniting the fire from the second try.

I expected him to light the desserts immediately, but he kept looking for a better angle by turning the plates.

After a few seconds of silent waiting, impatience started to creep in as I couldn't understand what was causing the delay.

"Do it, pussy."

George slightly turned around, brows pulled together as he looked at me judgementally, "Says the one hiding behind my back."

"I'm not hiding, I'm taking precaution," trying to make it unnoticeable, I attempted to wiggle away from him, but he swiftly stopped me.

"Actually, I don't want your hair to catch fire," he shifted his position, aligning his back and shoulders in a protective stance that shielded me.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, fighting the overwhelming urge to giggle. He reignited the fire, a slight flinch betraying me as he cautiously approached the plate with it.

"Okay, here it goes," he leaned back with his words, close enough that his back met my chest, and we both squinted at the upcoming flame. Which, fortunately, didn't turn into a disaster.

"Yaay.." I stared at the blue fire, watching as it covered the plate and enveloped the dessert completely. I was impressed, but deep down, I half-expected an explosion.

"Why did I think it was gonna be bigger?" He spoke, lighting the other plate as well - this time more confidently. And that was exactly my point. We both expected a disaster.

"That's what she said," I quietly mumbled under my breath, already knowing that he was going to overhear my words.

"That's exactly what she won't say," his voice was equally low.

"What?" My neck snapped.

"What?" And he was just copying me.

I blinked blankly. Then gave up on it, "Whatever."

While the cakes were still on fire, he handed me one of the cocktail glasses, taking the other one for himself.

"How's your alcohol tolerance?" He shifted his sitting position so that he was now facing me instead of having his back turned towards me.

"One cocktail won't get me drunk surely," I let go of a small laugh, softly clinking the edges of our glasses before bringing it close to my lips, "cheers."

I expected him to take a sip with me, but his gaze was lingering on my lips. Almost like he was waiting for me to drink it first.

"What? Did you poison it?" I flashed a playful smile, narrowing my eyes with suspicion.

"I might've," he spoke with a subtle tilt of the head, "it's payback for the cookies."

Inexplicably, I found myself feeling comfortable enough to take a sip even after his words. It tasted like a normal espresso martini. From what I could taste.

"How was it?" Though I lacked an explanation, he still wanted me to describe it.

"Hmm.. bittersweet and smooth," I started off strong, "with subtle hints of arsenic."

After a momentary pause, George closed his eyes, allowing a laughter to escape his lips. He swiftly regained his composure, immersing himself in his character and continuing to play along.

"Dammit, should've used cyanide."

"They say it tastes like almonds," I took another sip, "and it's also used as rat poison. That would get rid of me in a second."

"C'mon.. you're too cute to be a rat," he sipped his drink and did not make eye contact with me, saying it in a way that made it sound casual.

"What do you mean? Rats are so cute," I might be under the influence of the videos I've seen of pet rats recently, but I'd love to have one right now.

"Rats are so disgusting," and looks like we don't agree again. I'll just quietly accept our differences instead of fighting with him like the last time, "so do you have any pets?" He changed the topic, but stayed in it at the same time.

"I have two dogs at my parents' house," this made me miss them even more. Not my parents - the dogs, "you?"

"I have a dog back in London and a cat here - well, it's my friend's cat, but she's mine."

Now that we're halfway through our drinks, it's time for the most important question.

"Cats or dogs?"

"Cats."

And he didn't even need a second to think.

"I'd be surprised if we agreed on something," I shook my head, "dogs are better."

George's disagreement was palpable, evident in the furrowed lines on his forehead, "Name a single reason why dogs are better."

I'm the biggest living proof of the superiority of dogs. And I won't hesitate to show him.

I gently gathered the tousled waves of my hair, which were flowing onto my neck, and pulled them aside, revealing the skin above my collarbone, "You see this scar?"

"I can't see shit," he complained, putting his empty glass on the table to shift closer to me, "I mean.. just barely," the way he had to lean closer to inspect my neck made me nervously empty whatever was left of my drink and put the glass on the table, next to his.

"That's a cat bite," I released my hair, and a few strands rebelliously fell back into place, once again covering the spot, "and all I wanted to do was pet it."

Although it may not resemble a conventional bite, the mark on my skin was not caused by a clean bite. The cat's owner tried to pull it off me, resulting in the skin tearing and leaving behind a scar that appears more like a cut than a bite mark.

"No way a cat did that," I wasn't surprised by his confusion. What I was surprised by was the sudden contact of his fingertips with my neck as he gently pushed my hair away to look at the scar again, "what kind of a cat does that? Was it holding a knife?"

"Actually, it was a hairless cat. I regret even attempting to pet that ugly creature."

I let go of a breath as he finally moved away, feeling the heat kick in as we didn't have anything cold to drink anymore.

"You literally like rats," he snapped back, "hairless cats are cute."

"At least rats don't bite," I knew what I said wasn't accurate generally, but it was accurate in my case.

"Oh they do, darling, and they spread nasty diseases too."

I'd tell him to stop educating me on things I was studying in college, but he called me darling and my mind went blank.

I swallowed hard, looking away and trying to find a distraction. The distraction was right there on the table.

"Smells like burnt sugar," I changed the topic. Even though the fire was long gone, the charred surface of the cheesecakes remained prominent.

"All I smell is mango."

I wonder what it is.

"What, you have a problem with mangos too?" I looked at him with a half-lidded gaze, ready to roll my eyes once he says yes.

"Not really," he shrugged, "other than the fact that it almost made me behave like a hairless cat."