She chuckles. “You’re such a dick.”
“Well?” I prod, needing her to fill the space with something other than this electric silence.
Biting her lip, she states, “Obviously.”
Sure, why would you make that easy for me?I won’t make anything easy for you either. “And do you just work with analog or digital as well?” I inquire, even though it’s clear she isn’t keen on chatting with me.
Why do I even care?
Maybe because I want to get to know her better.
I’m a fucking idiot.
“Just analog.” She shrugs.
I raise an eyebrow and jest, “So, do you always process your pictures in other people’s bathrooms?”
She responds casually, “Usually, I do it in my van, but that’s not an option right now.”
I glance around once more, taking in the bucket between our feet and the old laundry wire above our heads. “You do this inside your van?” I ask her skeptically.
How would that even work?
“Yeah, well, I’d prefer to have a house with my own darkroom as well, but let’s be honest, that’s not in the cards for me, so my van and other people’s bathrooms it is,” she states with a hint of resignation. “What about you? What do you enjoy doing? I mean, do you even enjoy doinganything?”
That makes me chuckle slightly.
Oh, I would absolutely enjoy doing you.
“I… like to run?”
“Running is not something you enjoy,” she huffs out, reaching to examine one of the photos.
“What is it then? You run too,” I note, wondering why she does it so often if she doesn’t enjoy it. Maybe she’s just vain and wants to maintain her figure.
Her beautiful, toned, yet curvy figure.
“I do it to clear my head. I like that I don’t have to think about anything while I run. But I can’t say I enjoy the running itself.”
Huh. Same.
“Fine, it looks like I don’t enjoy anything after all,” I tell her with a hint of amusement. “How’s the ankle, by the way?”
It’s something I’ve wanted to ask her for days now, but it always felt wrong to bring it up or just talk to her so casually in general.
“It’s fine, thank you. How is the car?”
“You’re asking me how my car is?” I furrow my brows at her.
The side of her lip lifts just the tiniest bit before she deadpans. “Why shouldn’t I? I like your car more than I like you.”
Oh, you did not.
I chuckle. “Well, I think my car likes you more than I like you too.”
“Whatever you say, Satan.” She huffs, rolling her eyes.
There is that nickname again.
