Once our fingers interlocked, he rose our hands to his mouth. With our eyes locked, and the backs of my hands being traced by his fingertips, my body turned into a breeding ground for goose bumps.Īnd as his smirk returned, my whole reason for being mad slipped away from me at an alarming rate. He paused, and while he thought about, whatever he was thinking about, I made another grab for the bowl, but this time, he got a hold of my hands, and within the span of like five milliseconds, I made the mistake of looking up, and got caught right in his trap. I slapped it away, damn near at my wits’ end with his cryptic ass questions and this childish ass hand game. “What?” I kept my eyes on the bowl, reaching past him to grab it. “Camilla, look.” He followed my movements, trying to trick me into making eye contact with him. So the more I reached for it, the further he pushed it away. He must’ve caught wind of my annoyance because his trademarked smirk was gone, and his tone was kind of serious-kind of like a person who wanted to have a real conversation, but I knew better than that.īut I did want my bowl back and he knew it. I wasn’t done topping the pizza yet, though, so I tried to get the bowl back, but he kept it away from me, adding on to his ever-growing list of tonight’s infractions- No, make that this week’s infractions. The chef’s assistant clapped his hands, instructing everyone to head over to the baking station. “Somebody’s gonna end up with chicken and cheese and shit in their hair.” “You keep this up.” He chuckled a little. When I grabbed the chicken pieces and sent them flying in a similar fashion, he took the bowl from me. He watched as I tossed them around, letting them fall where they wanted, regardless of where, the floor included. I grabbed two handfuls of cheese and dumped them on the pizza, followed by those tomatoes he’d finally finished slicing. And when his response was a request to take me out again, I thought it worked, and if I gave him the chance, he would finally say something real, but clearly I was wrong. So later that night, when he texted, asking if I was thinking about him, I made another still-not-my-boyfriend comment to see if he’d get the hint. This whole thing was just… annoying and frustrating, and I just wanted him to say it-what he meant or at least how he felt- ‘cause I had a feeling… that whatever it is… it’s the same thing I’ve been feeling too. So I said the first thing that came to mind which was, “Is that not how you feel?” But then he got all quiet in his I-don’t-want-to-answer-your-question way-and went back to stroking like we weren’t in the middle of a conversation that he started!Īnd I would’ve let that go had this been his standard flavor of nosiness, but this was different, part of his new MO where he baits me into these conversations that question what we are, then backs down whenever it’s time to elaborate on what he means. That part wasn’t new, though-he’s always in my business, especially when he thinks I’m too compromised to deny him access-so I said, “You’re not my boyfriend, Amir.” Like I always do, but then he stopped, and in this tone that was almost offended-like, he said, “So that’s how you feel?” And it threw me off because that part was new. We were in bed, at the hotel, and like mid stroke, he asked what I was doing when I missed his call earlier, and why it took so long to call him back. Unlike him, and this wishy-washy stuff he’s been on lately. At least with that, I knew exactly what I was getting. So I let it go, and moved on to saucing the pizza. But if I did, I knew he’d play dumb-just like he always did.
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