248 Days

March 27th

My feelings were not dissipating. I was not coming to my senses as I thought I would, and I was becoming incredibly frustrated. Unlucky for him, as my believed insignificant crush slowly evolved into something deeper, it was easy to direct my anger towards the root of my problem: Grayson. I knew it was unfair, but I couldn't help it. His profound aptitude to remain oblivious was infuriating.

     Today's morning was just like any other; nothing special, no over the top memory recreation. I had absolutely no reason to be angry. We were sat in the kitchen, chatting as we usually did, waiting for our sleepy states to subside before making breakfast.

     When the conversation came to a lull, Grayson headed towards the kitchen cabinet. While he busied himself with pulling out dishes, eggs, bread, and a pan, I was left with nothing better to do, other than watch him. Lingering and wandering gazes had brought me great trouble, lately. He was so easy to watch. He moved gracefully and confidently, always attentive to the task before him. Since that damn kiss, I'd been paying his every move and expression extra attention. It was a near miracle that he never noticed. As thankful as I was for this cluelessness, sometimes the extent of his obliviousness concerned me. If he wasn't so dense, and at least suspected my dangerous feelings, perhaps he'd have the decency to end the friendly flirting and tone down the overwhelming kindness. I needed to find something to invalidate my feelings... but he made doing so unbearably difficult.

     Once again finding my attention fixed his way, nearly catching me in the act, when he turned to ask what I wanted on my toast, I snapped. Wrong to take out my self-inflicted anger on him? I know. Nevertheless, it's what I did.

     "I can butter my own toast," I bit, abruptly standing. Chair screeching as I pushed it backwards, I scrambled next to him, determined to take care of my own plate.

     "I know you can..." He blinked slowly. His dark brows knitted in confusion, my mind associated the expression with cute, and instantly I was further riled up. "I was just being nice," he added cautiously.

     "Well, don't be."

     "Sorry," he muttered, immediately moving to keep a distance between himself and myself.

     "Don't apologize. You haven't done anything."

     Lips parting to reply, he seemed to decide it was wiser to leave his words unheard. Scratching his head awkwardly, he attempted to go on with breakfast as usual. The unsure glances he regularly shot me, amplified my frustration. Why wasn't he the least bit irritated? He was always so careful; never got angry. I wasn't an easy person to get along with, and I wanted him to tell me so.

     "If you have something to say, say it," I said, voice considerably less harsh. "Don't let my foul mood silence you."

     Taking our seats at the table, he smiled and nodded, but still didn't dare to speak. We never had breakfast in silence, today's lack of chatter was disconcerting.

     "Are you really not going to say anything?" I asked, eyes strained on my toast.

     Grayson finally allowed himself to display some annoyance and I hated to admit that it brought me satisfaction. Throwing his hands up in defeat, he shot me an exasperated look.

     "I don't know what to say," he protested. "I suspect you'll be angry no matter what I say or do."

     "That's likely," I admitted. "Doesn't mean you have to put up with it. You could be angry too."

     "I've no reason to be angry."

     "Neither do I."

     He tried to hide it, but his brows furrowed faintly, in deep question of my behavior. He was doing his best to look at me as though he thought me sane. "But still you're quite irritated?" he confirmed cautiously.

     I shrugged, anger already fading. I never could be angry with him very long, especially when he hadn't done anything to warrant it.

     "I'm just in a mood," I offered as a poor explanation.

     Lips twitching into a small smile, I saw the wheels spinning in his head. It was never good when he got to thinking.

     "Permission to offer you a distraction?"

     The source of my problems, offering me a distraction? I thought it unlikely that his attempts would be successful. But I figured I'd let him try. I couldn't exactly tell him why I would be opposed to his potential distractions.

     "Would my permission or lack thereof, stop you?" I asked, sipping my orange juice with a knowing look. I suspected his planned distractions were related to the memory calendar, and he likely already had everything planned to the minute.

     "I've got a proposition." He smirked.

     Meeting his suddenly sparkling eyes, I tilted my chin, urging him to go on.

     "A bet." He leaned forward. "I can't tell you much about the game yet, but I figured by betting on the winner you'd be more dedicated."

     "Do you really think it's wise to bet against my winning?"

     "You seem pretty confident for someone who knows little of the game we're betting on," he noted amusedly.

     "You said you couldn't tell me much about it. You're giving yourself a better chance by not letting me plan ahead. If you're already placing me at a disadvantage, I figure I'm good at this game."

     "You're misreading my withholding of information. I don't need an advantage, Adams."

     I smiled in response to his challenge. "What are we betting on?"

     "Bragging rights?"

     My nose crinkled in disappointment. "That's boring."

     "Then, what do you suggest?" he laughed.

     "Make me an interesting offer."

     "Pizza supper?"

     "That's the best you could come up with?" I teased. "I do believe I've already won a bet allowing for any food at any time."

     "You'd still hold that against me?" he asked indignantly.

     "I'll hold that against you for the rest of my life."

     Shaking his head in humored disbelief, he rested his chin in his hand in thought. "As of next Friday, we're starting family game night, if you win, you get to pick the game every second week."

     "Now, you're getting somewhere."

     "More?"

     "Shouldn't be a problem, unless you're afraid to lose."

     Grayson laughed. "What do you want?"

     "You get to pick the game every third week," I countered. "I get first shower five days of the week. And if I'm being unreasonable, don't beat around the bush, tell me."

     Grayson blinked uncertainly, shooting me a strange look. "I feel like that last part would be asking for an argument."

     "If I deserve it, so be it."

     Grayson's face remained puckered in doubt. "This is so far from what I imagined you asking for."

     I shrugged nonchalantly. "If you don't like it, don't lose."

     "I don't plan to." With a grin he held out his hand to be shaken. "We've got a deal."