Since Summers

eighteen : sleepover

He looked like he wasn't going to answer me but in the end, he gave me a small, wary nod.

I gasped. "Really?" I narrowed my eyes as I watched him take a bottle of water from the fridge. "Boiling water or heating stuff on the microwave doesn't count as cooking."

He handed the bottle to me and rolled his eyes. "I can cook. Not as good as Gordon fucking Ramsay, but I can cook."

I twisted the cap and took a drink. "Uh-huh. Like what?" I could feel my stomach churn but I ignored it.

He leaned on the kitchen counter. "Like pasta and soufflé."

I shook my head in disbelief. "No way."

He shrugged. "I only cook things that I like to eat." He sounded like he was telling the truth. I guessed I simply had to take his words for it.

My stomach felt weird. Maybe another sip would help. "Why?" I took a long drink and put the cap back on.

He folds his arms across his chest as he answered, "One time when I was in a restaurant, I complained about their soufflé. The chef came and told me that I shouldn't be complaining since I didn't even know how to make one." He lifted one shoulder. "I learned how to bake a proper soufflé so next time someone told me I don't know what I'm talking about, I can tell them that I actually do."

The water didn't help. I could feel it travel from my stomach all the way up to my throat. The urge to vomit was so strong and before I could ask him where was the bathroom, I made a clown out of myself and vomited right in his kitchen. I heard his rapid footsteps as I bend down. I was so sure he ran the other way and regretted ever bringing me here.

Surprisingly, he didn't run the other way. He rushed to my side. He held my hair back with one hand as he asked, "are you alright?"

I shook my head and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Damn. I really need to stop drinking."

He led me to the bathroom where I could clean up. I heard a knock on the door and swung the bathroom door open. "Here." He handed me a small towel and a dark grey T-shirt. "You got some on your clothes. You should go ahead and change."

I put the towel under my arm and held the shirt with two hands. It was big, so big. I slid my gaze back to him and he scratched his head. "Yeah, it's my shirt. I don't have any sister so I can't steal her clothes for you." He smirked as he added, "I can steal Corbin's if you want."

I giggled. "It's fine. This one is fine."

*~*~*

I went out of the bathroom once I cleaned up. I felt so guilty for throwing up in his kitchen just a few minutes after I arrived. I moved to the kitchen, wanting to clean up my mess, but the floor was spotless. It was almost as if the last five minutes has never happened.

"Frazier?" I called out his name.

He walked out of the bedroom. He had changed his clothes earlier with a black sleeveless shirt and a pair of white shorts. "Yeah?"

"Where is my barf?" I pointed to the spot where my barf was supposed to be.

He slid his gaze from the floor back to me. "I cleaned it up."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You clean?"

"Yeah." He shrugged as if it was no big deal then added, "I do it all the time." I still had trouble believing what I just heard.