𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✰ 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 ✔

t e n ✺ netflix and...now what?

t e n ✺ netflix and...now what?

"Hey, you okay?"

I guessed that we were at Chris' house, because I had been zoned out for the last ten minutes.

"What-oh." I look at the place we were pulled up to. We were at a Publix.

"Do you live at Publix or something?" I look at Chris.

"Uh, no, I'm just getting some groceries?" Chris looked at me oddly.

"I thought we were going to your house though."

"First, a Publix trip. Then we go home."

"Right."

"What do you like to eat?" Chris asked. "I usually have TV dinners, but I figured you'd rather have something else."

"I can make hot dogs." I tell him. "Just get me the supplies, plus some chips."

"You can get them, can't you?" Chris teased. "I mean, Hot Pockets are a great backup if you're too lazy to make hot dogs."

"Really?" I look at Chris.

Chris then grabbed a pack of pepperoni pizza Hot Pockets.

"Boom."

"Don't boom me, Archer."

"Well, is there a certain type of Hot Pocket you like?"

"Usually, I like Philly cheesesteak." I shrug. "But I like almost every Hot Pocket."

Chris then went and tossed some Philly cheesesteak Hot Pockets in the cart.

"Wow." I clap. "You're cool."

Chris grabbed the cart and started walking off.

"Wait!" I started running after him. "Chris!"

Chris started walking faster.

"You...are...such...a...jerk!"

He lurched to a stop, giving me a stupid smile.

Panting, I walk up to him and gave him a measly fist bump in the stomach.

"Boom." I said in a little kid voice.

"Wow, you're so powerful." Chris joked, then grabbed a few of those gross green healthy drinks.

I wrinkle my nose. "Gross, you actually drink one of those?"

"Uh, it's practically all I drink. You don't like these?"

"No." I grab some Smart Waters. "I'm more of a Smart Water snob."

"I prefer Fiji." Chris shrugged.

"Fiji? Really? That shit tastes like...well, shit."

Chris' mouth dropped open. "Young lady! Oh, my god. You should know that young ladies don't curse!"

I roll my eyes at Chris' sarcastic comment. "This isn't the 1920s, you know."

Chris then started to mock someone from that time period as he grabbed macaroni.

"In my day, we used to work on the plantation and Daddy used to make us homemade bread. Yum, how the rye and wheat went so well together."

I snorted. "That did not make any sense."

Chris turned to look at me.  "It's bread. No matter what type of crap is in it, it is bread. And you should be thankful for it."

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