With a parted mouth, I was amazed by his ability to effortlessly come up with such things on the spot while I struggled to think of anything for a whole minute.
"Cheesecake?" He held the plate infront of me as if what he said was nothing, snapping my attention back to him.
"Yeah," I tried to grab the plate, but he switched it and gave me the other one.
"Here, this one looks better," he grinned, making a small smile appear on my face. Both were the same, but the one he took might've had a bit too much rum on top - it was slightly overcharred.
Having a habit of dissecting and inspecting my food before taking a bite, I took my time with my plate. I enjoy the first bite way better when I know what to expect.
And as I was deeply invested in the toppings, I noticed chopped, uniform pieces of something that were hard to identify because of the melted sugar covering them. But if I had to guess, I'd say those were chopped nuts.
George was already on the verge of putting the fork into his mouth when panic surged through me. Reacting almost immediately, I reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from taking a bite.
"Wait!" I dug my nails into his wrist.
"What?" His hand froze in the spot, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.
"What are the things on top?" I pointed at the toppings with my eyes.
George tried to bring the fork closer to his face to take a better look, but thinking he was going to taste it, I dug my nails even deeper into his skin.
"I don't know, crumbs?" He spoke, then only winced from pain, "You're gonna break my skin, stop it."
I let go of his wrist before grabbing my fork and nitpicking a reasonable amount of the things ontop. I tasted it like a real degustator, making sure to rub it against my palate thoroughly. It definitely tasted nutty, but the burnt sugar was throwing me off.
"I think it's pistachio," I tried to get the aftertaste by smacking my lips, but it didn't really help, "are you allergic to all nuts?"
"I get pistachio icecream all the time, I don't think I am," he tried to put the fork in his mouth again, but my lightning reflexes stopped him again, "cut your fucking nails, holy shit."
I gasped at his sudden reaction bit said nothing cause it was valid. I left halfmoons all over his skin.
"Scrape the toppings off just in case, I don't think I have any more epipens lying around," I could tell George was pissed after my words by the way he groaned.
"That's too much effort for a piece of cake," he was being all whiney and annoyed about it.
Sighing, I took a knife along with his plate and removed the top layer of the cheesecake. Then, I placed the scraped-off portion onto my own plate and gave him back his plate, which appeared neatly cleaned up.
"It wasn't that hard, was it?" It was funny how he was sitting there and patiently waiting.
I randomly started imagining him taking the pickles out of his burgers and putting them on mine or removing the olives from pizzas to put them on my plate, and started smiling at nothing.
I should get a life and maybe some help.
"I'm not that good with cutlery."
His words brought me back to reality. Also, that's a weird thing to admit.
"Why?"
And that's a weird thing to ask.
"I don't know, maybe it's because I'm lefthanded," he shrugged, finally taking a bite of the cake.
"Pick a struggle," I laughed, "colorblind, left-handed, with a peanut allergy and british? You got all of the recessive genes."
"What does british have to do with recessive genes, Aria?" He raised his shoulders, laughing in confusion.
"That was literally all the information I had about you."
"That's a lot of information about me."
"It's really not," I shook my head, " I still don't know your birthday, your hobbies, your occupation, your- I don't know, your last name?" There were so many things to explore, and if I kept going, the list would be bottomless.
"I mean, I can understand the rest, but what do you need my last name for?" George raised a brow.
"To see if it sounds good next to my name."
That was... impulsive.
I think it's past my bedtime again.
George's eyes widened, eyebrows raised as a smile lighted up his face. He stayed silent for a few seconds, finished swallowing his food, and then only spoke.
"I mean, Aria Davidson sounds very pretty to me."
Not me getting butterflies over something so stupid. I shoved a piece of cake into my mouth and started chewing it slowly because I didn't know what to say and how to react. And just by looking at his smile I could tell that he knew that I was flustered.
"Alright, Mr. Davidson," I put my plate on my lap and was about to ask him a question, but he was quicker.
"Are you free tomorrow?" He leaned forward.
"No, I have an exam," and I almost forgot about it.
George stole a quick glance at his watch, his eyebrows furrowing, "What time tomorrow?"
"Nine," I could already feel the unpleasant feeling of waking up early crippling through my senses.
"I should let you sleep then. It's two a.m.," George gave me that one smile of his that made him look like an actual sunshine.
And yes, my description of his smile is a proof that he should let me sleep.
"Yeah. Probably."
My eyes fixated on him, absorbing every single detail. The gentle caress of the breeze moved his messy hair, while the faint stubble on his soft skin added a touch of rugged allure. I could see his pink lips moving but couldn't hear him talking until he said my name.
"Aria?"
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply, and as I gazed up from his lips, it became clear to me how obviously I was staring.
"Sorry, I think I fell asleep," my teeth delicately grazed across my bottom lip, "what were you saying?"
George shook his head, "Nothing important," he spoke, "nail your exam tomorrow, okay?"
"Anything for George," I smiled, watching him get up and offer a hand to help me up.
How does he know that I have bad joints?
I reached out, placing my hand into his larger one, a playful giggle escaping my lips as he intentionally tugged with a force that made me rise up to my feet with no effort. In no time, I was standing infront of him, our hands now lowering but not letting go for some reason.
I looked up and saw him looking down at me, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of my hand.
"This was fun," I tried to make my voice sound normal, but it sounded strained, "thank you."
"It was," his thumb rubbing circles on my hand was relaxing and stress inducing at the same time.
"Why are we holding hands?" I softly laughed, trying to escape the tension by pointing out the source of it.
"I don't know," his voice was low, "you can let go if you want to."
I probably should've done it earlier, but even after his words, I kept my hand still.
"I know," my choice of words couldn't be worse in that situation.
"I'm home alone tomorrow. Come over?" He suggested.
"Why?"
I could just say yes or no, but chose the long route just to hold hands for longer. It was hot outside, and his hand was so pleasantly cold. It felt amazing against my skin.
"So I won't be alone."
"I'm home alone all the time, I think you can survive one day," I was clearly unimpressed by his point.
"Ask me to come over, I won't say no," his gaze locked in with mine.
"Why would I?" If there was a way to escape the eye contact without making it obvious that I was getting flustered by it, I would.
"Just do it. I know you want me to, don't be shy."
And the intimidating confidence is back.
I huffed in annoyance and finally let go of his hand, unable to understand how someone could be so effortlessly captivating.
"Goodnight," I took a step back, rolling my eyes when he laughed at how annoyed I was.
"Sleep tight, cutie."
I silently watched him leave, refusing to breathe after his stupid little word.
I just know this is gonna feel like a fever dream tomorrow.