Fame and Misfortune (GirlxGirl)

Chapter 8

Ava

I awoke to the smell of syrup wafting in from what I assumed to be the kitchen. I climbed out of Lux's silk sheets that were probably more than my net worth and headed downstairs.

"Morning sleepyhead," she said from behind the kitchen island, cooking away at something. "I hope you like French toast."

I plopped down onto the barstool and put my head down, almost falling back asleep again. "I have some Advil for your hangover." She handed it over with a glass of water.

"Thanks."

I studied her. She wore an apron over her athletic shorts and tank top. She actually looked quite charming. There was a safeness to being in her presence.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

"Amazingly; your bed is so comfortable." I felt the need to add, "But that doesn't mean I want to move in and have lady babies with you."

She placed a hand on her chest and fake cried. "How dare you break my heart like that, Ava."

I rolled my eyes. "For an actress, you really suck at acting."

I watched her in a comfortable silence as she made us breakfast. She was so graceful with her every movement. Her rather bony—but in a nice way—hands picked up the bread and soaked it in the egg yolk so perfectly I thought I was watching it on the Food Network. "Who taught you how to cook?" I asked.

She laughed. "I'm not really cooking; just dipping bread and flipping it on a pan."

"But I can tell you cook."

She glanced up at me curiously. "How so?"

"You're flawless." My face heated up and I added, "Your culinary skills, I mean."

"Well my parents never really made dinner for me, so I had to teach myself."

I'd realized it was the first time she'd ever brought up anything about her family. "Why didn't your parents make dinner for you?"

She stiffened and looked—rather intensely—down at the bread lightly toasting on the pan. "Uhm...I don't know. They weren't really a big part of my life."

I'd clearly ventured into sensitive area and didn't want to make the girl cry or fall into a depressive coma. I stood up and walked around the island to where she stood, making the French toast. I put on the best fake smile I could muster and said, "Teach me. I'm quite useless with anything that involves food."

She perked up slightly. "Okay, give me your hands."

I stood next to her and allowed her already sticky ones to cover mine. She lead me to pick up a piece of bread and then to dip it into the bowl of yellow liquid. I nearly threw up at that smell and texture. She laughed at the face I made and after coating the bread, led it to the pan where we watched it turn from a vomit worthy substance to the best breakfast food ever invented.

She smiled. "See, super easy."

I turned around and smeared my slimy hands all over her face. Her jaw dropped. "You bitch." Then she reached out and did the same to me. I burst out in laughter, soon reaching for the bowl itself to throw at her.

After our little food fight, the French toast was ready. Still covered in raw egg, she plated our breakfast and poured us each a glass of orange juice. We sat at the kitchen island and ate.

"You know," she said, mouth full, "you're starting to warm up to me a bit."

"You wish."

"We just had an intimate moment, making French toast together. Plus, you asked me to tuck you in."