PLOTTING and SCHEMING || D.R.

Chapter 3

I MADE MYSELF pretty comfortable on their leather sectional, laying down on the chaise section of the sofa. A blanket that was once draped over the back of the couch was now thrown over my legs. I took my time trying to find a good movie that was playing on their cable.

I didn't even keep track of the time, but it was the first thing I looked to when the door opened.

Don was balancing two pizza boxes in one hand, his briefcase in the other. I rose to my feet quickly, to help him as he was juggling too many things at once. This was something I did too—everything had to be carried inside with only one trip.

He accepted my help, handing over the pizza boxes so he could shut and lock the door behind him.

"Someone must be hungry," he joked. "Ripping the pizza out of my hands like that."

He set his briefcase down on one of the island seats, immediately going to loosen his tie.

"You were struggling, I was trying to help." I roll my eyes, trying to play along and defend myself. "And yeah, I'm starving." I admit.

"Well, don't wait on me. I'm gonna take a quick shower before I chow down."

I nod, trying to figure out where they keep their plates.

"Bottom drawer." He points. I grab two, setting one on the counter and keeping one for myself. "Save me a crumb or two," he jokes again before disappearing up the stairs.

Was I being fat or something?

Let's all bully the fat girl!

I shake my head, grabbing a slice of cheese and a slice of pepperoni before returning to my spot on the couch. I wasn't fat. That, I knew for a fact, because there was indeed a time, when I was fat. Like, I broke the fucking scale at my pediatrician's office. Then I got bullied, lost a bunch of weight, and haven't been the same ever since. But his joke didn't hurt my feelings, because that's all it was--a joke.

About ten minutes later, Donald comes back downstairs but I don't move my head. I keep my eyes on their little dinky television and nibble on whatever crust is left on my plate. The couch dips down, as he joins me.

"Whatcha watching?" He sets a plastic bottle down on the coffee table, and his plate beside it.

"Prison Break reruns."

"Sounds like my worst nightmare." He smirks, side-eyeing me before folding his pizza and taking a big bite.

"What, reruns?" My eyes lazily look over at him, while he finishes chewing.

"No, someone breaking out of prison." He says, his mouth still a little full.

I stifle a laugh.

"Good show though." He wipes his face off with a napkin.

"I just can't believe you actually exist." I shake my head, in disbelief. "My brother must have filled you in, right? Or he hired you."

"I'm pretty sure I'm real." His tone is sarcastic. He used his middle finger and thumb, flicking them together against his left cheek. I laughed. "I just wish I got paid to put up with his sorry ass."

"It's gotten so bad that my mom was doing research on schizophrenia and the symptoms of PTSD on military troops. This entire time, we all were concerned that you were a figment of his imagination."

He chuckles. I liked making him laugh. The smile didn't yet meet his eyes. He seemed like he needed it.

"I work a lot, so I'm sorry I haven't met you and your family sooner."

"FBI, right?" I feel like it's against the rules to ask. He nods, but only slightly. His eyes track back over to the television. "That's cool."

"Wish I could elaborate a little more--"

"But you can't. I understand."

"Not that I can't--it just gets complicated. So I find it's best to just leave it blank. The less you know, the better."

"Well, it's still cool." I felt the conversation dying out. He clears his throat, having a sip of water.

"We have game night every Saturday, with a few of our friends."

I nod. Ouch. I just got here, and he's already asking me to get out.

"I'll find something to do, meet a friend or something, it's no problem." I stand, grabbing my plate to bring it to the dishwasher.

"I was going to say that you're welcome to join us." I can feel Donald watching me. "I'm sure your brother was going to extend the invitation anyway."

Last minute, if at all. That's how Thatcher rolled through life. Making organized plans with him was like pulling teeth.

"Oh, uh...thanks." I stop once I shut the dishwasher door. I spin slowly on my heel. "I'll think about it."

"We usually have a few drinks here, then hit a brewery or something. We bring some cards or borrow their Sorry  board."

"Sounds like fun." I didn't want to make the decision right now. I open the fridge, noticing it was almost empty. "Need anything at the store? I'm gonna pick up a few things in the morning."

I noticed a pen and paper sitting in the pantry. I clicked the pen, and flipped onto a new page. Donald had gotten out of his seat on the couch now, following in my footsteps, rinsing his dirty plate and putting it away in the washer. 

"Uh, I can't think of anything right now." He shut the dishwasher door.

"If you do, just write it down." I scribbled. Eggs, bacon, bread. Coffee, creamer. I raked my mind for a recipe I could make, and jotted down the ingredients. I slid the pad of paper and pen across the island when I was finished. Before I headed up the stairs, I offered, "I'll grab the list in the morning."

"I forgot how nice it was to have a woman around." Donald offered me a small smile. If that was the best I was going to get, I would take it. I wanted to raise some annoyance--towards myself--because he hadn't meant to push me away. Rather, he wanted to include me; his best friend's sister. I wondered the deeper meaning to the sentence he just spoke to me aloud. 

"What, you guys don't buy groceries?" I paused, leaning against the door frame. "Or have girls over?"

He shrugged, his hip resting against the island counter. In this moment, I was able to get a good look at him. His hair was still drying from his shower, and he had just shaved--I could smell it when he initially walked in. His forearms had veins poking out of them, and his biceps pried through the seams of his t-shirt. It was a sight, almost delectable. He had these blue eyes, deeper than the Aegean, and I found myself wanting to splash around and drown within them.

"Just never as thoughtful about it."

I didn't want to pry anymore. But his eyes kept the conversation open. 

"I wouldn't know. I've never had a roommate." I closed the discussion, returning his small smile before turning on my heel and bounding up the stairs. I waltzed into my temporary bedroom, softly shutting the door behind me. 

All I could think about was sinking to the bottom of those blue ocean eyes, blowing bubbles through my nostrils as I held my breath and swam below. I wondered how it would feel to wrap my arm around his, the tips of my fingers feeling over the Nile River that consisted of his pulsing veins. That was a secret I'd keep for myself, and close to my heart.