The Last Time We Met - #Completed

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

The next morning I woke up with crusty eyes and drool on my shoulder. The worst part was that the drool wasn’t even mine.

“Natty, get the hell off of me,” I say, pushing her over to the other side. “You’re head weighs a ton.”

“Nnn ahd thmm pickle bagels,” she mumbled.

“What the hell?” I wonder out loud. Pickle bagels? What kind of gross invention is….

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Kingsley piped in from the hallway. I heard him before I saw him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Um, not with Natty’s big ass head drooling all over me,” I say with a chuckle. I pat Natty’s arm compassionately. “Gotta love her, though.” I removed the rest of Natty from me and stood up from the sofa.  I felt like I slept on a dragon, no matter how much I stretched, my limbs, neck and back were still sore.

“What time is it, anyway?”  I ask after a few seconds of strange silence. I noticed that TV had been turned off and it was still dark outside. The crickets still chirped their love songs.

“It’s almost five,” he tells me, taking a glance at the clock on the wall behind me. How the hell could he see it in this dark?

“In the morning? You’ve gotta be kidding me. I’m going back to sleep.”

I started to walk towards him to get the hell out of the living room. Just thinking of going back to sleep in here makes me feel all cramped and uncomfortable.

“Hey, hey,” he said, stopping me with a hand around my waist. “Where are you going? I made breakfast.”

“This early?” I was amazed and irritated at the same time. Who makes breakfast this early in the morning, anyway? “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe I am,” he says. “Come on, I made french toast.”

Hmm, French toast does sound very appealing right now. “Alright, okay. I’ll eat your damn French toast but then I’m going to bed.”

“Deal.”

We walked to the kitchen in silence and I sat down and observed him as he prepared both of us a plate. It looked and smelled delicious. I dug in right away, finishing in half the time it took him to eat.

“Can I have some more?” I asked, not ashamed to stuff my face in front of him. What can I say? I like French toast.

“Of course,” he said. “Let me get it for you.”

“No that’s fine,” I say and get up before he can. “I’ll get it this time.”

The food was in the oven and I grabbed two more slices, dousing them in butter and syrup.

“Jesse?” I heard Kingsley ask from somewhere behind me.

“Hm?” I licked the syrup from my fork before putting the container back into the cabinet.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,”

“Yeah, sure. What is it, Kingsley?”

“I—I—“ Suddenly I felt warmth behind me, and knew that Kingsley was standing very close.

“Yes?” I ask again, my voice cracking as my breath hitches up.

“I’m sorry about what happened a few days ago, I shouldn’t have tried to—“

“It’s okay,” I say immediately, an instinctual reaction. I really wanted him to kiss me, I really did, but it just wasn’t the right time, the right feelings. “Really, it’s okay, Kingsley.”