Not Another Diva

8 - That's What She Said

"Where do you keep the oil?" I lean into the hallway and call out from the kitchen.

"Um...not sure." Brianna's voice is faint. She's been back in her bedroom ever since I finished bringing in the rest of my boxes. After she showed me the main floor, we took a tour of the downstairs. This place just continues to impress me. The guest suite includes a state of the art home gym, a music studio and a home office. We never made it to the top floor, but Brianna did confirm my suspicions that there is a rooftop deck. I'm about to put it to good use.

"How am I supposed to make popcorn?" I call back as I return to the kitchen. I hear a door open and then the sound of socked feet shuffling on the polished concrete floors.

"It's called a microwave."

I hear the tease in her voice, but I'm about to school her anyway. "No. I'm talking about real popcorn. The way we made it on the ranch because my mom refused to buy a microwave. It's the best popcorn you will ever taste."

"You probably need to head to the store then. I don't have that kind of stuff around here." She's standing in the kitchen now, leaning on the island watching me. She's dressed like she was that first day of filming the video, hair in a messy bun, white t-shirt and sweats. Adorable.

I mentally smack myself for thinking that. Friend zone, friend zone. If I repeat it enough I might be able to convince myself. "Have you even seen your pantry? You're fully stocked for the zombie apocalypse." I scoff loudly. "I'm sure you have what I need."

There's a strange silence in the kitchen as I finish that last sentence, as though what I said meant something entirely different. If Jacob was here he'd probably add, "That's what she said..." under his breath. In order to escape the tension, I step into the walk-in pantry and flip on the light. I reach up to grab what I'm looking for and bring it back to the kitchen.

"See," I say while holding up a clear glass jar filled with popcorn kernels. "Just some oil, salt and melted butter and we're in business." I'm on a mission and I won't be stopped. I put the jar down and head back to the pantry, hunting for oil.

"Got a craving, huh?" Brianna's words hang in the air, just like mine had a few minutes before. Friend zone.

"Not exactly," I reply while moving bottles and jars around on the shelves. "But I do have a purpose for it. Found it!" I return to the kitchen, triumphant in my hunting success. "Now we're cooking."

Brianna's eyebrows twitch. She's got her arms crossed, and one fist is propping up her chin while an amused expression grows on her face. "I'm ready for the show. Impress me."

Why does everything sound like it's full of double meanings? Thank goodness Jacob isn't here. The awkward levels would be off the charts with his innuendo's. He would refuse to let these things lie silent. I go ahead and add oil to a pot, letting it heat up before adding the kernels. Brianna continues to watch, although my back is to her so I can't actually see her watch. I feel it, though. Right down to my toes.

"Are you sure this will work?" She can't shake her skepticism.

"Don't you trust me?" I laugh. At first. But then the silence behind me stops any laughter and causes me to turn back to face her. Brianna's head is turned, facing the window now, and looking off into the distance. Deep thoughts. I say nothing else, hoping that at some point she will open up to me.

I mean, that's what friends do, right? Tell each other stuff. Totally friend zone appropriate. It's not like I'm trying to find out her deepest, darkest secrets. Getting to know each other is a good thing. Especially in our circumstances, that is if I have to be her public boyfriend. What if some reporter asks me a basic question that her fans would even know and I blow it?