Smoke Break /Georgenotfound/

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We were sitting on the opposite sides of the couch, both silent. We've been sitting like this for an hour now.

The initial half-hour was enjoyable. I felt great, truly happy, and everything George did was incredibly amusing to me. However, my head started hurting really badly, and I became extremely thirsty.

I glared at the glass of water he had placed on the table for me, but I had no energy to sit up straight and retrieve it. Additionally, my ankles were hurting so badly from the bedazzled stupid straps wrapped around them. I was experiencing discomfort on every possible level.

"Do you want it?" George asked, observing my fixed gaze on the water.

"Yeah," I admitted, not budging an inch.

I expected him to hand me the glass due to his question, but he remained half-laying on the couch.

"Then drink it."

By the way, he's terrible at whatever job he's attempting to do... supposedly taking care of a drunk person.

"Thanks for granting me permission. I might have choked to death from thirst if you weren't so kind."

I realized I was sobering up as I hadn't giggled even once in the past few minutes. The urge to straddle George and kiss him was still there but not so intense. It was being gradually replaced by a persistent annoyance that his attractiveness gave me. Additionally, my head was starting to hurt intensely.

George chuckled, sat up, and leaned to grab the glass, handing it to me. I made sure to roll my eyes before taking it, cause why the hell did he need to smirk at me like that.

"I see you're sobering up," he pointed it out, reading my thoughts once again.

I gulped the water down and handed the empty glass back to him. He took it without complaining and placed it back on the table.

"How do you see that?" I narrowed my eyes.

"You're back to rolling your pretty eyes at me."

Unironically, I rolled my eyes at that as well.

I wished I had fallen asleep drunk and woken up with no memory of what happened. I could already sense the extra space George's ego was occupying in the room after the events. Not only had I been desperately trying to make out with him, but I had also confessed that I wanted him. I knew for a fact that he wasn't the type to let any of that slip.

However, my main concern at that moment was the physical pain I was going through.

My shoes were becoming unbearably painful the longer I stayed in them. I leaned down, attempting to remove them, but my dress was riding up my thighs, my hair was getting in the way, my fingers were shaking really bad, and overall, I lacked the patience for the task.

George appeared to notice my struggles but remained unfazed, scrolling through his phone. It didn't take me long to quit trying  - quite literally, seconds.

And we sat there in silence for a minute or so before he spoke again.

"Do you want your shoes off?" There he was, stating the obvious once more.

"Are you going to grant me permission to take them off?" I looked at him with a touch of judgment, recalling the earlier situation with the glass of water.

George shrugged, "Was planning to offer assistance, but you know, if you need permission..."

"I'll take the assistance," I didn't hesitate to swing my legs across his lap because we were sitting in the perfect positions for me to do so, "thank you in advance."