Vintage Cameras & Arrogant Jerks

5. Call Me Redhead, Idiot

5. Chapter Five:  Call Me Redhead, Idiot

*

It had been two weeks. But what I felt was that I had been here for a time much longer than it actually was.

Maybe I was inside a time vortex and I didn't know about it. Now wouldn't that be something?

I'm not saying that each minute seemed longer with the Rivers. Just that time went by too quickly. Too quickly.

Now, I'm confusing myself.

In these two weeks, Nate and I had argued about everything. I mean, everything. Whenever we spoke to each other, we tried to bring the other one down. Somewhat like the conversation we were having at the moment.

"That foul was intentional," I protested. Trying hard not to lose my cool while chopping potatoes. Who knew what I'd do with the knife I held in my hand? I might just maim him.

"I wasn't talking about the foul, redhead," he shook his head. He reached up for the Tabasco inside the shelf, I ducked down and tried not to get overwhelmed with his perfume. He smelled nice. "I was talking about Brazil's poor performance against Germany."

No. 'Nice' was an understatement. He smelled so good.

What the hell? I cursed myself for thinking that.

Regaining my focus, I rambled on. "You clearly undermine Neymar and his skills, Nate. He's one of the best players around."

"You think Brazil is all about Neymar," he sighed. He took out the bottle and poured it on top of the spaghetti he was currently making. "And, redhead, Neymar didn't play in that match."

"He played," I corrected him.

"He didn't," he shook his head as if disappointed by my ability to remember facts. "It was after the foul you were going on about."

I pursed my lips. I wasn't going to win this round either. He was such a know-it-all.

He poured some more Tabasco into the spaghetti.

"Hey!" I stopped him when I saw the spaghetti turning to a bright red color. How spicy was he planning to make this? "You do know that all of us are going to eat that?"

"So?" He raised his eyebrows, looking confused. It was cute sight. Shirtless Nate with a confused expression. "Luce has gotten used to it."

"Well, I haven't," I took the bottle away from him.  Inwardly telling myself that I was definitely not used to him being semi naked the entire time.

"Since when did I start caring about you, redhead?" He smirked, stirring the spaghetti with a wooden spoon. He brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted it. Smiling, he put the spoon back into the pot. "Want to taste some?"

"No." No way was I going to eat something that hot. "I don't want my stomach to become a volcano."

"You have a weak stomach," he shrugged and turned to look at me right in the eyes.

One observation I had made about this jerk was that he loved eye contact. And everytime he did that, butterflies seemed to appear. Right in the stomach.

"You have the stomach of a pig," I retorted.

"Pigs are considered to be holy in some places."

"Well, not here."

"Now you're undermining the pigs 'cause they're cuter than you."

"Pigs are not cuter than me!"