Don't Look Down

eight: don't sound so sure

We're on the couch. The Shawshank Redemption plays on my tv and my feet are tucked into each other. The previously piled plate of eggplant parmesan Seth made is licked clean in my lap and my tummy is satisfied. I'd been doubtful at first, giving him plenty of lip as he made the meal. I've not only eaten my entire meal but also my words.

Seth's conceited glee blasts my left cheek. "See what happens when you trust me?"

"Baby steps." I rise and grab his plate. Just because he's proven his reliability in the kitchen doesn't mean that's flowed into other aspects of our arrangement. He's still the same guy who stole from me a week ago and it's going to take more than decent-okay, delicious-food for me to trust him completely.

Though, he's taking leaps and not the baby steps I'd let onto. The whole 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach' saying totally stands true for women, too.

"Like I said yesterday, everyone ends up liking me. You'll come around."

"I never said I didn't like you," I say, washing off the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. I grab the sponge next and begin wiping down the island. "Just that I don't trust you."

"Then we're even. 'Cause after that shit you pulled at the store today, my trust in you is dismal."

I snicker, reliving the satisfaction of instructing him to pick out new paint for his room at the store while I had his apartment key made with a My Little Pony emblem instead of the Giants one he'd wanted.

"People are gonna think I'm a pedophile because of that thing. Or worse-a Brony." He shudders.

"You're being dramatic."

"There's a pink pony on my key."

I halt my wiping and pick up his key, revolving it between my fingers. Precious oval eyes and a jolly smile gleam from the metal. I imagine mine mimic that right now.

"Next time don't leave the toilet seat up."

His nostrils flare. "That's what this is about?"

"Not really. I just thought it was funny. But maybe I'll be less inclined to find the humor in humiliating you when you put the toilet seat down."

He shakes his head. I anticipate another verbal spat, but he surprises me by smiling. I'm certain it's a figment of my imagination. No one switches from seething to smiling that quickly. But he accompanies it with a laugh. "I'm impressed. I like a girl who can dish a little revenge out."

My mouth drops. "So you're not mad at me?"

"Oh no, I'm livid, but I'll get over it." He shoots me a conniving leer from across the room. "Just watch your back." It doesn't drop as he pats my seat on the couch. "Now get your ass back over here."

I gawk at him, trying to keep up with his rapid demeanor shifts, before shaking out of it and joining him.

As the movie plays, I fail to get comfortable. My pillow keeps jabbing me in the ribs and I don't know what to do with my hands. My couch is for lounging, not sitting, which is what I did until Seth moved in.

Sensing my struggle, he taps his thighs. "It's okay. Bring your feet on over."

I don't want to fall into a routine of spending my time sprawled over his lap, but I also can't watch the rest of the movie scrunched in this awkward position. If the movie wasn't so captivating, I'd grab my laptop and head to the island, but I need to see if Andy escapes prison. Realizing comfort wins over reason, I swing my legs onto his lap. They settle comfortably underneath Seth's warm hands-too comfortably.

It has me blurting out, "We're not sleeping here tonight. At least I'm not."

I'm going to attempt to trust him and sleep in my own room-simply for the sake of not getting too physically comfortable with one another. He doesn't need freedom, but I need space.

"You're leaving me alone?" He glances at me from the corner of his eye. "That's quite a baby step."

"I'll keep my door cracked."

"But you enjoyed our time together last night. I could tell from the snoring."

I reach under my head, latch onto my pillow, and swing it at him. "You're an asshole."

He chuckles as it collides with the side of his face. "Yeah, I am."

I laugh at his admittance of that fact. He's still smiling, and somehow, in one day, I already feel relaxed with this guy. Sure, he has barriers protecting his entire past, but who didn't have secrets they didn't want other people judging? I'm pretty sure the answer to that is no one. Especially not me.

However, with that ease still sits the nagging notion of demons hiding in his closet. I can survive a little longer before pushing, but it makes me wary. Can two people co-exist without knowing one another? That answer isn't so obvious.

Taking my bottom lip between my teeth, I chew on it until finding the courage to ask, "Hey, asshole, do you really think we can make this work?"

On top of his concealed past, we're a single woman and man. That makes things tricky, despite level heads and self-control. Even the sanest people crack under pressure. Is it only a matter of time before the same happens with us?

He reaches over and claims my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure of it."

I glance down at our interlocked fingers. The personal space issue from just yesterday doesn't register as the pulse in our knuckles mesh. Feeling it, my questions fade and confidence sweeps in to take its place. Maybe he's right. Maybe we're compatible and the rest will fall into place eventually. If not, we'll figure this out.

I just need one thing first.

"West."

"Huh?"

I raise my face. "My last name is West."

He purses his lips, refocusing on the television. "Well, Ellie West, we have a movie to watch."

I glare at him, refusing to budge an inch until I have a last name in return.

When he realizes I'm not surrendering, he sighs. "Carter."

That wasn't so hard.

"Thank you, Seth Carter. We can finish the movie now."

I attempt to swipe my hand back, but he tightens his grip, locking his eyes with mine. The contact lands deep in my chest and pulses through my veins. Electricity clings to the hairs on the back of my neck. "I think you admitted to liking me back there."

A satisfied smile curves his lips and although he's moderately mocking me, I return it. It's oddly reassuring feeling secure without my defensive scowl.

"We made small progress," I admit.

"Enough progress to let me stay in the apartment by myself tomorrow?"

I swipe my hand back and snuggle my head into my pillow, biting back my laugh. "Not a chance in hell."