Don't Look Down

twenty-one: don't kiss me again

There's a knock on my bedroom door a half hour later. I've cleaned off my makeup and changed into a loose fitting t-shirt and pajama shorts, currently making my way through the various surfaces in my room as I dust them. I'd wanted to get a head start on Nia's manuscript, but didn't have the heart to dive into its topic nor make the trip to the kitchen island to get it.

Luckily, I keep a pack of Swiffer dusters in the drawer of my nightstand.

When I don't respond to the knock, Seth cracks the door open, popping his head in.

I should have had him replace the knob on this door when he switched the one on the bathroom. It would have made locking him out much more effective.

"Peace offering?" he says, lifting a plate of grilled cheese through the doorway.

Its enticing aroma drifts into my room, seducing me. My tummy growls. I'm starving since the appetizers at The Latehouse are inedible, but I'm still enraged with him.

I slam my duster onto my nightstand. "You are the most infuriating person I've ever known."

"C'mon. I used Gruyere." His eyes shine, he's all smiley and adorable. It makes me want to karate chop him in the penis. Especially since Gruyere is my favorite cheese and he knows it.

"That's not fighting fair."

He shrugs. "Maybe not, but you know you want it anyway. It'll be out here when you're ready."

I stare at the empty crack he leaves open in the doorway, debating whether he deserves any degree of civility right now. My stomach lets out another growl. With a snarl, I head to the common area.

I don't say a word as I sit in the middle island stool and take a bite of my sandwich.

He's standing on the opposite side, watching me. I have the massive urge to give him the middle finger but withstand so I can shove another bite into my mouth.

After a few minutes of silence pass and I've finished the first half of my sandwich, Seth's eyes go soft with something I can't quite place. "I like you better like this."

I lift up the second half of the grilled cheese and take another bite, making sure to rudely chew through my words. "Baggy and homely?"

"Stripped down," he corrects. "The make-up and the dress, it wasn't you."

I set down my sandwich and release a sigh. "I don't understand you sometimes."

"What's not to understand?"

Everything. It's like he's perfected the art of twisting me around until I'm dizzy. How can he be such a gigantic ass one minute, give me lusty eyes the next, say remarkably sweet things immediately after, follow it up with the way he's looking at me now, and remain firm in his stance we're just friends?