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!"
"You're just a mean animal hater."
I was boiling. He frustrated me. He was like this annoying splinter in your foot which refused to come out. And then you get an infection and have to lose an entire limb.
Before I could come up with a witty remark, Lucy walked in. Her sleepy eyes travelled from him to me, and she sighed.
"You guys bicker like an old married couple," her frustrated voice yawned. She made her way to the fridge, and opened a bottle of water.
"Morning," I tried to sound cheerful.
I got a thumbs up in response.
Sigh.
Even Lucy Rivers had her quirks.
*
Now we were doing the dishes, Lucy had gone off to college. Nate and I were the only ones at home. Home. It felt so weird thinking like that.
"You just like him because he's young and runs after soccer balls," Nate asserted.
And yeah, we were still arguing.
"He's a good soccer player, Nate," I corrected him. I was getting tired of this. No matter how hot Nate was, I was never planning on sucking up to him. "He knows how to play soccer quite well. And he just doesn't run after balls."
"Cause he likes to play with them too," he chuckled.
I ignored his comment.
"He's twenty." He wiped a plate clean. "And he's got a son."
"At least he works!" I was defending Neymar a lot today. I wasn't a big fan of his. I only got to know him through the World Cup.
He sighed. "You're spoiling soccer for me, redhead. I'll stop here."
For the first time in a long while, there was silence.
And it was this comfortable kind.
Not the kind of silence where one needed to start small talk to end the awkwardness.
"Nate?"
I, apparently, hadn't quite gotten the memo. Told you my brain was slow.
"Yes, redhead?" He seemed busy in doing the dishes. He didn't even look up.
"What do you do for a living?"
I had found out that he was twenty one. Lucy told me he worked, but I never got the time to ask where.
"How does that concern you?" His voice came off distant. Like he didn't want to talk about it. His expression was grim and aloof.
"I was just- just curious." I looked away.
"You know what they say, redhead," he began. He wiped the last plate clean, put it in its place and met my eyes with such intensity that my knees began to tremble. "Curiosity kills the cat."
Drying his hands in the hand towel, he walked to his room and shut it behind him.
"And knowledge brings it back," I whispered.
*
It was one in the morning. I was thirsty and had forgotten to fill up the water bottle I kept on top of the bedside table.
My brain wanted to go to the kitchen and gulp down two bottles of water.
My body, however, was super lazy and didn't want to move.
As if my body weighed a hundred tons, I lifted it up and walked out the room, leaning on the wall for support.
"Water," I croaked as I opened the door.
My eyes flew open. I was wide awake now. Why on earth was the kitchen just outside my door?
Nate was making coffee. Shirtless, again.
Why couldn't he just put on a tee? Did he want to look like Jacob Black? Well, to be honest, Nate would be a better Jacob.
I gulped down my own saliva, and turned back. I can die of thirst rather than face him after what happened in the morning.
I had glued myself to the room so I didn't have to face him. Other than the occasional going-out-to-the-kitchen-and-coming-back-like-a-ninja snack breaks, I hadn't stepped out.
I skipped dinner as well. He, by getting offended by my question, had made me embarrassed.
"I'm good with computers," Nate called out.
I was startled. I turned back.
"And you're bragging about yourself because?" I asked.
"I'm a beta tester," he sighed.
"Oh." Was all that came out. Why didn't he just say it before?
"What I'm not good with is direct personal questions," he cleared his throat. He wasn't looking at me. "And maintaining personal relations."
"Oh." I repeated like a parrot. So that's what it was. It made sense.
Him clearly stating that I shouldn't fall for him.
Him getting offended by me asking him what he did for a living.
"I'm sorry, Riley," he apologized. It was a sincere apology devoid of sarcasm and all things that made Nate who he was- an arrogant, stubborn, know it all, annoying and moronic jerk.
For the moment in locked in time, I saw Nate as someone who could feel. But had tried to shut everything out.
Someone who was vulnerable to human emotions. As contradicting as it sounded in his case, he was a human. It was only then that I realized.
And for some strange reason, my heart was beating faster than any drum solo in this world.
The silence between us only heightened the rhythm.
"Call me redhead, idiot," I smiled and headed to the fridge.
Even though I couldn't see his face, somewhere at the back of my mind- I had a feeling, no- I knew he was smiling too. If I were to witness it, he'd stop immediately.
"So," I began after gulping down the last mouthful of water that had remained in the bottle and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Cease fire?"
Arguing with him on a daily basis was getting exhausting.
I turned to look at him. He was standing outside his door. He had his back faced towards me. His hand on the door latch.
I waited for him to say something.
He turned the latch and entered.
I sighed.
Seriously, Nate was right.
Since when did he start caring about me?
"Ceasefire," he echoed back, which startled me and shut the door behind him.
Now. That was a relief.
There was only one worry that remained.
My stupid heart trying to make a world record for beating the fastest.
***
Apologies to all the Neymar and Taylor Lautner fans! I didn't mean to be rude or defame them in anyway. Sorry about that.
Thanks for reading this chapter too :D
And erm... If the text comes out all weird, let me know? There seems to be an error at this end.
-ramencook