Snapshot · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

7. The Many Uses of Ice Cream

The Apartment
Friday evening, mid-February
(2005) Max is 19, Liz is 18

"You want me to get it?"

"Nah, I'll do it."

Max wasn't one to argue and gladly put his feet up on the TV-table, nodding in agreement. "Okay."

Michael grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and was half-way out the door when he turned, asking for cash which forced Max to search his pockets. Finding a scrunched up ten, Michael grabbed it and was out the door, leaving Max to himself.

Well, not completely.

Her feet barely made a sound as she walked down the hallway to the kitchen, but he still knew that she was there. Max looked up from the TV and wordlessly watched her walk into the kitchen, which was merely an extension of the open-planned living room. His eyes travelled down her form as she bent over to look over the contents of the refrigerator. She was wearing miniscule shorts, which she had picked out because she thought they were cute, without having the slightest clue to how it affected his male mind.

"Need help?" he asked, smirking as she slightly jumped in surprise.

He could hear her intake of breath before she slowly turned around, smiling at him politely. One of those smiles that always aggravated him.

"I'm quite capable, thank you."

"Oh, I can see that."

Her face fell slightly and he could almost see that busy brain working away at what he meant. The second she caught onto his sexual connotation she smiled at him sweetly.

"How about you go back to doing what you do best? Drink, watch sports and scratch yourself."

His eyes widened in invitation. "Actually! I have an itch-"

Liz's face scrunched up with disgust and pressed out with utter distaste. "Yeah right."

"You didn't have a problem with it before."

He knew that he had hit a nerve when she without another word turned her back towards him again and ripped open the freezer door. And it bothered him.

As she pulled out the chocolate fudge ice cream, he placed the beer bottle on the table and sauntered over to her. She closed the door to the freezer and to a causal observer it might seem as if she wasn't aware of his presence, but Max could read her like an open book. How her body tensed up all over with every step that further decreased the distance between them.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?"

Liz sidestepped his hand as he attempted to touch her arm and causally strode over to the counter. "Where did Michael go?"

"So you're just gonna pretend it never happened?"

"I thought you were going to watch the game."

Max sighed and walked across the floor to stand close to her.

Liz shivered as she felt the heat of his breath against her neck. Frustrated with her own betraying emotions, she quite violently ripped the kitchen drawer open and pulled out a spoon. "You're in my personal space."

Max responded by pressing the front of his body against her back, his hands taking a firm hold of her hips.

"Am I?" he breathed. "Is it always so damn cold here?"

Liz ripped the lid off of the ice cream container, biting her lip to stop herself from screaming. Because if she screamed he would know that he was getting to her.