Worthy

Chapter Eight: Clubbing

Bree

Fluttering my eyes open, I saw the blinding sunshine seep through the curtains.  I yawned loudly, rolling out of the bed with nothing but a black Calvin Klein sports bra and black sweatpants. That night of sleeping in a normal and comfortable bed was well needed because those five dollar, plastic-covered mattresses at rehab did nothing. 

I grabbed my toothbrush from my things, and slowly left the bedroom. I looked around and found a bathroom, handling all of my business in there.  Once I was finished, I looked for Chris as I walked into the living room.  There was no sign of him.  I took a deep breath, looking around until I smelt a familiar smell. I walked past the kitchen and stopped by a door.

Slowly pushing the door open, I saw Chris shirtless facing a white canvas with something on it. The strong smell of marijuana hit my nose. Without Chris noticing, I crept behind him, placing both of my hands on his shoulders.

"Damn, good morning." Chris took the blunt from in between his lips. He turned toward me and hugged me. I noticed how perfect his messy curls looked.

I hugged back. "Good morning. What are you up to?" I asked looking at the canvas.

"I was just gettin' back to my painting. I had a lot of ideas come to me at rehab." I nodded, sitting on the counter. He bit his lip, looking at my physique up and down, placing the blunt in between his lips again.

He exhaled the smoke from his mouth, and I nearly melted. He was simply perfect. My mouth slowly opened a little as I admired the amazing tattoos that were all on his arms, chest, and neck.

"Bree." Chris said my name, snapping me out of my daze. "What you want? I'm about to order us somethin'." I frowned.

"Order something? Why can't you cook something?" I asked with a laugh.

"I mean, you can cook. I don't cook." He shook his head. "You making us something?" 

"Boy, I am not about to slave over that stove alone. You're helping." I jumped off the counter, grabbing Chris' hand. He chuckled, following me to the kitchen. "What do you even have in here?" I asked, rummaging through the fridge.

"I don't know, I usually eat out. I let my cousin stay here a couple days while I was away, so everything in there is what he left." Chris shrugged, putting his blunt out. His eyes were kinda low due to his high.

"Well," I said, pulling out bacon and eggs, "I hope you like pancakes." I took pancake mix out of the pantry.

"You can really cook, huh?" Chris looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

"You'll be the judge of that," I winked at him, preheating the stove.

An Hour Later

"Damn." I watched as Chris demolished his food. I could barely finish cooking, he kept stealing food off the stove. "You like it?"

Chris nodded, stuffing pancake and bacon into his mouth. He opened the syrup and drizzled some in his mouth. I shook my head, watching.

"Only time I eat a home cooked meal is wit my mama, I needed this." I walked over and sat next to him on the couch, playing in his dark brown curls.

"Damn." He put the empty plate on the coffee table, laying his head on my lap. "Keep doin' that." He instructed, closing his eyes.

"I gotta go pick up my car at the hospital soon, and go check on my condo." I said to him.

"Where you live at?" He looked at me.

"Santa Monica." I nodded his head. My house was about a thirty minute drive away, since we were in Los Angeles.