Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 67
I had a really bad feeling
about this, so I clenched
my teeth together and
glared at him. “I hate
surprises.”
“You hate everything,”
he offered, taking
forkfuls of pancakes
dripping in syrup and
stuffing his mouth
without pausing. “Oh,
sweet heavens. If living
with you means having
someone cook me
breakfast every
morning, sign me up.”
“First off, there’s no
sign up sheet for you to
sign,” I said. “Second, do
you honestly think I’d
want to spend time
with you, let alone live
with you?”
He grinned. “Oh, I’m
sure. I know you have
trouble admitting how
much you actually like
me.”
God, he was so full of
himself. I just shook my
head and rolled my
eyes. We’ve had this
conversation roughly
fifty times before and I
don’t exactly want to
get into it yet again. I
resolved to be quiet,
but I susrprised myself
by saying, “Thanks, by
the way.”
He tilted his head a bit
to the side and actually
swallowed his food (a
miracle) before asking,
“What for?”
“I always cook for
Mom,” I said, looking
down at my plate,
suddenly wishing I
hadn’t said anything in
the first place. I couldn’t
bear to look him in the
eye. “But she’s never
around. It’s kind of, um,
nice to actually have
someone eat what I
cook.”
“Yeah?”
I didn’t dare look up.
“Yeah.”
Then, silence, but I
swear I could hear his
grin.
—
It took another round
of Seth chasing me
around the house and
threatening to sniff me
before I agreed, panting
and exhausted, to go
along with this surprise
of his.
I had also locked myself
in the bathroom when I
admitted defeat
because he had keys to
the bathroom and I
literally just trapped
myself inside.
“Fine, okay?” I had yelled
through the door, trying
to catch my breath. “I’m
going.”
And so, an hour later,
we were in his car, him
driving and me scowling
in the passenger seat.
He told me to wear
something comfortable
when I was getting
ready, which ay least
made me feel a bit
better because I didn’t
have to worry that we
were going to
somewhere fancy or
weird.
I started to fiddle with
his car’s radio, trying to
find something decent
to listen to.
“I have some CDs in the
glove compartment,” he
said when he noticed
the look on my face as
Nikki Minaj came on the
radio. I could tell by the
shape of his lips that he
was trying not to laugh.
The glove compartment
opened with a muffled
pop and a bunch of CDs
were inside. I’d
expected to find them
messily stashed but
they were pretty
organized, considering
it’s near impossible to
organize stuff in a glove
compartment.
Some were regular
albums and I could tell
that some were mixes.
I got curious about the
mixes, so I chose to
ignore the All Time Low
album.
I pulled one of the
mixes out. The case
had no cover but the
golden CD inside it was
plain, save for words
Catching Juliet written
with a black marker.
He looked over for a
second and I swear I
saw his hand tighten on
the steering wheel for a
second.
I put it in, daring for him
to say something about
it. To tell me to play
something else, maybe,
or just not play
anything at all, but he
didn’t. He just looked
straight ahead, focusing
on the road through the
windshield.
The first track played.
It was Yellow by
Coldplay.
He was quiet. Too quiet.
I waited for him to say
anything, but he didn’t. I
rested my head against
the window and let the
music fill my head. The
next track came. It was
Dare You To Move by
Switchfoot.
{{comment.anon_name ?? comment.full_name}}
{{timeAgo(comment.date_added)}}
{{comment.body}}
{{subComment.anon_name ?? subComment.full_name}}
{{timeAgo(subComment.date_added)}}
{{subComment.body}}