A Few Things about Love. Blake Griffin Fanfic pt. 2

;;Part 9

I was never a morning person. And yet I always end up waking at 8:30 am, regardless of what time I went to sleep at.

                When I woke up this morning I checked Blake’s clock on the night stand. 8:29. Of course.

                I stretched and yawned, being careful not to hit Blake, or wake him up. But when I turned to take a look at him, all I saw was an empty space. Blake, what the hell? I thought, disoriented. I rubbed my eye and looked again. Yeah. He wasn’t there.

                Tired, lazy, and slightly confused, I sat up. I didn’t need a mirror to tell that my hair was messy as hell, I could feel it. But I stood up anyways, and stretched again. That’s when I noticed that the balcony doors were wide open. And that I was only in a tank top and my underwear.

                “What the fu-??” I said out loud without meaning too. I ran to get out of the view of the balcony. Then I remembered that Blake’s “backyard” was a private beach. So I calmed down. (A little).

                “Ughhhhghh,” I sighed, dramatically. Yesterday was a good day. I’m just usually this grumpy in the morning. Thank God Blake wasn’t here to see this. I don’t even think I’d be like this if he were.

                The hell is he anyways? Outside, with the doors wide open, I could hear the dribble of a ball, and then the sound of it hitting the backboard. My eyes found the white and fluffy bathrobe hanging on the back of the closet door and I took it. I sauntered out onto the balcony, and on the right, about 20 or so feet down, was Blake shooting the ball.

                He must’ve been out here for a while. Even from up here I could see the sweat on his face and shoulders. His bare, smooth shoulders. I put my elbows on the balcony’s broad ledge and leaned. I just watched him go at it. It was as if he were practicing for a game tomorrow.

                He finally looked up and when he saw me, I waved my fingers at him and gave him a little smile. He smiled back, and put the ball on his side.

                “Morning, sunshine,” I said, still leaning on my elbows.

                “What are you doing up so early?” he asked.

                “No, what are you doing up so early?”

                “Just wanted to shoot around a bit.”

               "What time did you get up??” I asked, as if he were crazy.

                “Hm, about 6:30 or so.”

                Omfg, he was crazy.

                “What the hell!” I yelled, trying not to be too loud, but trying to get a point across. “Why? Why would you do that?”

                He just laughed and shrugged.

                “Get your ass back in here.” I said, sternly.

                “Haha, why?”

                “I’m going to cook you some breakfast.” I said, before going back inside. I heard him laugh one more time and I shook my head.

                Normally, I don’t cook for any guy. Unless they really deserved it. I was never one for the whole “Go make me a sandwich” joke that actually pissed me off. But this was Blake Griffin. I’d happily be in his kitchen, any day.