Don't Look Down

six: don't know what sleep is

I wake the next morning on my couch to a bang and something sounding like a knife on my cutting board. I'm just guessing, considering I've never used the thing.

A sliver of sunlight creeps through the curtains of my bay window, glaring right on my eyelids, making me groan. It's too bright. When another bang rings from my kitchen, I push the hair from my face and wipe the sleep from my eyes. Opening them, it takes a second for my vision to adjust and Seth's form to appear.

The last thing I remember is watching Sex and The City with him last night in silence. How did I sleep in later than him? And when did I let myself fall asleep?

"Morning sunshine."

"When did I drift off?" My voice sounds like I've swallowed a gallon of mud.

"About the time that redhead on screen tried on a set of fake nipples. You weren't fazed, but my entire world was blown. Do you women really wear those things?"

His voice is too perky and I need my boost of caffeine before I can even consider having an intelligible conversation with another human being.

Wait. I live with someone. Someone with an affinity for stealing.

Ignoring his question, I sit up, shifting my eyes around my apartment. Everything appears to be in place, but I can't be certain. Just as I stand to further investigate the smaller decorations of my apartment, he says, "I didn't take any of your precious books or knick-knacks. Would I still be here if I did?"

He has a point. Then again, he could have hidden them in his room. I bolt toward the hallway. "I have to pee."

"There's nothing in my bag either."

I whip around, seething at how easily he saw through my lie. "What if I don't trust you?"

He shrugs and points a knife in my direction. "Feel free to check, but I think you're gonna be disappointed."

As I enter his room, the first thing I see is the pristine bed, coral comforter still in place, matching pillows across the top. Did he sleep on the couch with me last night? And if so, why?

Bypassing that possibility for my more important mission, I crouch down to his bag and ruffle through its contents. There's a bag of Funyuns and another bag of Doritos, but besides that, it's empty.

My relief is fleeting. Threading my fingers through my hair, I sigh at my antics before dragging my shameful butt back to the common space.

Seth's waiting for me with his smile already in position. "Told you. Guess you don't have a reason to kick me out just yet."

I should apologize since I just accused the guy of swiping more of my stuff, but he had it coming. His actions will take time to fade and with it will come my trust. He just hasn't earned it yet.

Foregoing the apology, I sit in one of the three stools around my island and motion my pointer and middle fingers between my eyes and him. "I'm still watching you."

"You're my own personal hawk." His eyes crinkle in amusement before he lowers them to the cutting board and resumes chopping. What he's chopping exactly, I have no clue.

Wait. Are those my blueberry pop tarts and Frosted Flakes?

"Nice hair by the way."

My focus lifts from the mix and I narrow my eyes. Not only has he woken me but he's probably slept in the same space as me, stolen my food to make god knows what, and now he has the audacity to comment about my morning appearance.

"Screw you."

"Jeez. You're feisty in the morning." Setting his-my-knife onto the countertop, he pushes a sunflower colored mug my way. "Drink this."

I eye it warily, sniffing its enchanting aroma, wondering if it's poison. It's possible. Then he wouldn't need to worry about sneaking away in the middle of the night. He'd have the luxury of stepping around my dead body in broad daylight as he carries my personal belongings through my front door.

"It's just coffee," he says, resuming his methods with my breakfast treats.

Deciding the temptation overrules the risk, I sip the coffee. The frothy contents slide blissfully down my throat, soothing every rattled nerve in my body. It feels a bit like heaven.

After another sip, my aggression settles and I no longer feel like a troll, nor the need to act like one. I sheepishly glance up. "I'm actually a morning person."

"Right."

His sarcasm is thick, but considering I've been awake for three minutes and have been a bitch to him the entire three, I keep my temper at bay. "I just don't function well without coffee."

"No worries. I've got thick skin."

Sticking with the unusual ease of our conversation, I lean across the island. "What are you making anyway?"

"Muffins."

I examine the random pieces in front of him. "With that?"

He laughs. I realize it's a pretty nice sound when the laugh isn't directed at me. "Yeah, you didn't leave me much to work with. You eat like a toddler, Ellie."

And there he is again. I lift a brow. "Says the guy with a convenience store of chip bags stashed in his room."

"I haven't exactly had access to a stove." His gaze lifts, connecting with mine in a challenge.

"What's your excuse?"

With the fluorescent light from above stretching to illuminate his face, I recognize the neon in his eyes from the bar. It's wild and intimidating but breathtaking. With thick lashes framing the color, it's hard to look away. I don't, but I sit back, supplying proper distance so I'm not sucked into their vortex. It's too early in the morning to combat that lure head on.

"I don't like to cook," I admit. "It takes time I don't have and it's, well, it's messy."

"Don't worry, I'll clean up afterwards." He snickers at my admittance. "And I know I just sort of used your shit without asking, but I wanted to make you something to say thank you. You know, for letting me live with you. I'll buy groceries today."

His offer is sweet and as much as I want to deny it, the effect lingers, twirling in the base of my stomach. However, considering his first rent check is due next week, I find his promise of groceries hard to believe. "You can't possibly make that much being a server."

"With this face, anything's possible."

I roll my eyes and sip my coffee, pretending his face is nothing like the dazzling piece of artwork it is. "Does it get heavy?"

"What?"

"Carrying around that ego all day?"

He turns to grab flour from my jar and despite his attempt to hide it, I notice his shoulders rise and fall in quiet laughter.

"I don't know." He turns back around. "Is it exhausting?"

Knowing his comeback is right around the corner, I shake my head and ask, "What?" Some weird portion of me is enjoying this back and forth we've established.

"Being that self-righteous?" He tosses a few pieces of crumble into his mouth and fails to hide his grin.

My gaze lingers on his, my own smile fighting to break through. "Tell me again why I let you be my roommate?"

"My stimulating conversation, of course."

In this moment, he's right.