Not So Bad After All (BWWM)(EDITING)

Chapter Eleven, Storm part Three

Not So Bad After All
Book One
Chapter Eleven
Storm, Part Three
Jayden's Pov
__________________

"My calls keep dropping. This is so fucked up." Rose muttered, frustration evident in her voice.

"Here," I grumbled, flicking the TV on to the news. "Let's look at the news."

It hit me then—she was wearing my clothes. My shirt barely covered her ass, and the boxer briefs—well, that was a whole new level of uncomfortable. I'd figured she'd make some snarky comment about them, but instead, there she was, in my clothes like it was no big deal. And somehow, it bothered me more than it should.

I'd never had a girl wear my clothes before—not that I made it a habit of letting them stick around long enough to do so. But seeing her like this? It made something twist in my chest. I wasn't sure if I liked it or not, but I couldn't deny the feeling.

I snapped out of it and focused on the news. I made a space on the bed for her, not that I wanted to be close to her, but she needed to sit somewhere.

"A tornado? Seriously...?" I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to her.

"Great! And there's no telling how long this will last!" She huffed, clearly panicking.

"It's fine. Just relax," I said, trying to sound indifferent even though I was far from it.

"No, it's not fine! I'm freaking out! The phones barely work, I'm starving, my parents are stuck at work, and I'm stuck here with you! And no offense, but there's like a handful of other people I'd rather be stuck with right now..." she vented, her voice rising with frustration.

I barely looked at her, rolling my eyes. "None taken," I shot back. "Feelings mutual."

"And to top it off, I'm wearing your damn boxer briefs! Those are six words I never thought I'd use in a sentence," she said, about to pull her hair out.

I could feel the smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Yeah, I figured you'd be real thrilled about that," I muttered under my breath. I wasn't going to let her get the satisfaction of me acknowledging how weird this situation was.

She wasn't even trying to hide her discomfort, but I don't care...

Sighing, I stood up and headed for the door. "Come on."

"Why?" She asked, sounding too mentally exhausted.

"Aren't you hungry?" I shot back.

"Yeah..." She drawled.

I didn't give a damn about her comfort, but I knew I could at least feed her. "That's the only problem I'm bothering with, so let's go," I said, my tone sharp, but my actions clearly showing I was going to do more than just complain. Even if I hated admitting it, I was taking care of her. Even though I really didn't want to.

I'm a dick but I'm not abusive...

Once downstairs, she took a seat on a stool at the kitchen island.

"This kitchen is amazing. It looks so different from the last time I've seen it," she said, attempting to break the silence.

"Yeah, my dad let my mom redo it a while ago," I muttered, grabbing the ingredients to make her a sandwich. "It was either that or move to a bigger house. I don't really care for it, though. Not my style."

"What is your style?" she asked, curious.

"Dark and moody," I answered flatly, not bothering to look up.

"Hm," she hummed, clearly amused. "Very fitting."

Her voice felt like background noise as my thoughts shifted to the conversation I had with my mom earlier. The one my father had so rudely forced her to end. I could feel my jaw tighten, a fresh wave of anger flooding through me. I thought I was over it but I guess I'm not...