Of course; she worked hard, emotions ran high, she should eat and rest. And I shouldgo.
“Do you know how to relax?” she quipped as she started chopping vegetables that appeared out of thin air, or maybe her fridge. “You’re a robot.”
“I know how to relax,” I swallowed hard.
I am the manifestation of relaxation right now.
She gave me a blank stare, one that said she didn’t believe me. “Okay, why don’t you help me, then?”
My face dropped. “Help you…?”
“Cook, Leo. Help me cook.” She took out two wine glasses, filling them to the top. “It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted, and you’re the size of a mammoth, so I think it’s safe to say that we should eat.”
I glanced down at myself.That’s a little extreme.
Alex put a glass filled with red wine in front of me, and I raised a brow. “I don’t drink. And what happened to bad coping mechanisms?”
“Well,I’mdrinking tonight, so feel free to join in or opt out,” she deadpanned. “There is a difference between guzzling down a bottle of wine because I’m riddled with despair, and having aglassof wine with dinner after a long day at work. Call Minnie if you need to; I think she’d give her permission.”
I chewed my cheek; she was being sarcastic. There wasn’t any need to call Minnie… right? Alex stared at me, waiting, and I finally relented. It wasn’t that I had anything against drinking; my vice just happened to be smokeable. I didn’t have friends to go out to bars with, and taking home a bottle of whiskey to sit in my echo chamber felt a little too bleak.
Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?
I threw back the glass, and Alex’s cheeks blew out as she tried to hold in her laugh.
“Yousipwine, not shoot it,” she cackled, and it put me at ease again.
By the time dinner was in the oven, we’d drunk half the bottle, and I went to work on the dishes. It was so… domesticated. Alex sat on a stool at the countertop, swirling what was left in her glass. Her cheeks and nose were tinged pink, and I caught myself glancing over my shoulder to watch her. She’d taken her hair down from her ponytail, and the waves framed her face.
Did Alex like having her hair played with, too?
It was an odd thing to wonder, but I couldn’t help myself. My body was buzzing, my lips were numb, and everything was weightless. Content, even. I didn’t know that was something I could feel. Every quick joke she made, every smile and snarky remark, it all felt right. I was nervous, but not uncomfortable, not itching to run out the door and retreat to the safety of the VIA.
I had only worried about burning down her apartment twice, which was progress, considering the concern only came from the fact that cooking wasnotmy forte. No flames to be seen, no smoke or sizzling skin. Her apartment was a safe haven; everything was plush, soft, and filled to the brim with items that I never considered owning. It hadn’t been a possibility before.
Could I live somewhere like this one day? Without watching it all go up in flames?
Fluffy pillows stacked on the couch, random trinkets lined the windows, and signs that read things like ‘Whip It, Real Good’ with a picture of a whisk sat next to the stove. My personal favorite was a small sign next to a butter dish that read, ‘Butter Me, Daddy’. Her space had personality; it was a home, or what Iimagined one was like, anyway. Or Alex was secretly a thrift shop thief and was on her way to becoming a hoarder.
The timer started to beep, and I dried my hands before reaching for the oven. When I grabbed the baking sheet with my bare hand, Alex appeared next to me, her face flushed and filled with panic.
“Watch it!” she hissed, grabbing my wrist to pull me away.
I paused before raising a brow. “Seriously?”
“Are you an idiot?” She grumbled as she turned on the sink and pulled my hand beneath lukewarm water. “It’s still hot; you’re gonna get?—”
Alex froze, as if the realization had finally dawned on her. I couldn’t help the smile that crawled across my lips, and I bit my cheek in an attempt to stifle it. She stared up at me with those blue eyes, and I waited patiently for the shoe to drop.
“You don’t burn,” she said.
I savored the way red crept up her neck, how her cheeks burned and how she still hadn’t released her grip on my wrist. Her fingers were small and cold, but it was soothing to someone who always ran hot. Not a single piece of me wanted to pull away. No, I wanted to drink it in. I wanted to linger in this moment.
“I don’t burn,” I repeated with a grin. “Would you like me to, though? I can play pretend for a bit, if it’ll make you feel better.”
Alcohol didn’t make me want to tease her; that had always been a bad habit of mine. But did it fuel the fire? Absolutely. She dropped her hold and spun around, as if she was going to walk off her lapse of judgement. I didn’t want her to go, didn’t want more unbearable distance. I reached around her waist, pulling her back against me.
“Don’t run away, Sweetheart,” I chuckled and held up a hand. “I still need a bandage.”
