My kind of Grey

Chapter 5

The sight of cotton candy, ping pong balls, fresh cream milk shakes and strawberry iced cupcakes fills me with an odd sort of thrill. The junior carnival was my favourite part of the love fest, but the last time I attended one was when I was in middle school. Apparently, seniors were considered too cool for such feasts. Bullshit, if you ask me, no one was ever too old for cupcakes. Mrs Smith, our middle school English teacher and the organiser of the fest, makes us line up in rows of two to assign us a stall to man. And my lucky stars must be in alignment or something as I let out a junglee hurray as soon as she calls out my name for the drool-worthy bakery stall.

Oh yeah!!

I quickly take my place behind the most coveted stall amidst a chorus of 'oohs' and 'damn  its' and start decorating the display cases as I wait for my assigned partner to join me. I take my first order of the day with a happy smile and turn around to load the chicken sandwich in the oven when a loud cluttering on the counter rouses me from my rainbow colored dreams signaling the arrival of my assigned partner. I turn around from my crouched position, smile in place, when the sight of  my 'partner' leaning against the counter wipes it away with a single smirk.

So much for my lucky stars.

I stiffen against the oven as I watch his unnaturally white teeth glisten in the bright sunlight. The guy must've been a vampire in another life, not that he's completely human in this life. Christian has the kind of beauty that appears ageless, I can hate him for all I want but even I have a very hard time ignoring those grey eyes that seem to fracture your very soul every time he looks at you. Which is quite often the case with me. I just don't know what to do about it.

"What, don't I get a creepy smile too"? he quips, the cloudy haze of sugary delight dissipates away just as quickly, leaving behind a weird funk. The guy maybe the most lucrative piece of man candy there is, but that hardly negates the fact that he's a grade A jerk. The scent of fresh shower and some sort of manly cologne tickles my nose as I struggle to put some distance between us, without making it too obvious. All I succeed in doing however, is make the ass' smirk more pronounced. Douche.

"It isn't creepy, you asshat. And its reserved for the kids, the good ones. Just take the order", I retort while my insides dissolve like melted butter at the sight of that snugly white t- shirt and worn out jeans with holes at all the right places. He's wearing a chef's hat of sorts which should've made him look like a clown. On him though, it just looks sexy. I feel like a perv, ogling at all that godlike perfection like a women possessed, all thoughts of gender equality and 'we should not objectify humans' fleeing from my mind like a gold snitch. I hate it, I hate him, I hate myself, I just can't help it- 'The Axe effect'.

I do it subtly too, I've practiced the art of goggling him to perfection over the years. But I suspect he knows. Ass.

I avert my gaze before the life sized Apollo catches me in the act of creeper perusal, but the sudden uplifting of his lips is enough to let me know that my red cheeks haven't gone unnoticed. I refuse to acknowledge him and he doesn't seem to mind, and for the next half hour we work in companionable routine of handing out sweet and savory baked goods to middle schoolers and little kindergarteners. Several times in the process, however, I feel his touch in the most casual and callous of ways, a little brush of fingers here, a slight wisp of touch there, the way he crowds my space as he moves around to reach the oven or wipe the counter. Little touches that may seem completely innocent to the usual observer, but manage to make me light headed all the same, not that I betray my discomfort even when my body appears electrified at each and every contact. I blame my defective nervous system in my struggle to ignore him even though he doesnt do a thing to make it easy. He's probably enjoying my nervous twitchings, even laughing at me silently, in which case I'll just have to kick his ass, which is my all time favorite solution.