You, Me, and Us

The "L" Word

I was making pancakes. Not for breakfast but for dinner. I was bored, and hungry. And since my dad wasn't home there was absolutely no food prepared and I was home alone. Being home alone isn't as fun as you'd think. Eventually there's nothing to watch on tv, and then your friends probably can't come over, and then your stuck using your great boyfriend as a last resort.

I picked up my phone from the counter and dialed Austin's number, a couple rings went buy until he finally picked up and said," Hello?"

"Hey," I start awkwardly, poking at my pancake to see if it was ready to flip.

"What's up?" He asks. Every time we called each other, it was always so awkward, words cannot describe how awkward. As in I'm gonna walk off a cliff so I'm not in this situation anymore, awkward.

"I'm home alone, and my dads not home, and I'm hungry and bored, and please come over," I whined into the phone.

"Sure, if you want. Gimme a couple minutes," He tells me, a hear a thud in the background and I scrunch my nose trying to figure out what it was.

I flip the pancake, a sizzle echoed through the room, and the delicious smell of chocolate chip pancakes wafted across the kitchen.

"Wow your such a talented cook," I hear a voice call out, I freak out. I immediately grab a knife and turn around and point it at him.

As soon as I saw his face I gasped in relief and out my hand to my chest as I put the knife away.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I scream at him, and turn around to turn of the stove and put my pancake on my plate.

"Nothing, the door was open so I let myself in," He explains nonchalantly.

"So! There's a reason houses are given doorbells!" I yell at him, my hands moving in the air.

"Next time, just lock the door sweetheart," He winks at me, as he takes a fork out of the cabinet.

"Why do you need a fork," I ask him while I reach in to take a fork and close the drawer.

"To eat pancakes! Why else?!" He scoffs as he moves over to me, his fork reaching for my stack of pancakes.

"No!" I slap his hand away and give him a disapproving look.

"What? Why not?!" He whines while his hands rubs the hand I slapped.

"You came into the house without knocking or ringing the doorbell. Are those good enough reasons for you?" I comment sarcastically, my knife cutting cleanly through the pile of pancakes.

"I'm sorry! But you shouldn't have left the door open," He explains, but I don't care.

"Then why did you try opening the door?" My voice rises an octave.

"Okay fine. I'm sorry, I won't open doors again," He mutters, his jaw ticks, he sighs, and his ears turn red.

"Good boy!" I exclaim.

"What the hell?! I'm not a dog!" He gasps.

"Really?" I tease, a ghost of a smile appearing on my face.