"Styles, meet FBI Agent Caroline Forbes. She will be on your case and with you every day until she gathers more evidence and can turn you in, or you confess," the Sheriff informs me as I glance from him back to her, and she gives me a polite smile...
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I walk downstairs, awoken by the loud music and cheers coming through my television. Already frustrated, I get off the stairs and look into the living room with tired eyes to see what I assume is that stupid Thanksgiving Day Parade that's always on every year with the singers and performers that lasts for hours, running on nearly everyone's televisions in America.
What the fuck is it doing on mine?
I hear the soft beep from my coffee machine and follow the scent of freshly made coffee and enter the kitchen, only to find Caroline in her robe, pouring herself a cup, the parade also on display in the flatscreen of my kitchen.
With the noise of the door swinging shut behind me, her attention is taken from the tv and she turns to me, coffee in hand, with a welcoming grin.
However, all my eyes want to focus on is the dip of her robe on her chest.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Caroline addresses me, looking very happy and cheery for ten in the morning.
Remember that she can be annoying, I remind myself.
"Yeah, yeah," I wave her off, going around her to grab a cup of coffee, my whole body feeling heavy and weary from my lack of sleep.
The sound of whistles, yells, screams, and blaring music emits from my kitchen television, and I take a deep breath. My patience wears thin when she leans over the counter close to me while I serve my drink, when she could've stood anywhere else, with her eyes fixated on the television.
"Why the hell are you watching this noisy shit?"
Startled, she stands up straight and sips on her warm caffeine. "Well, it's always been a tradition in my house to watch it, I guess. Ryan and I watched it together as roommates."
My eyes deceive me by giving her a once over, resting on whatever skin is exposed for too long, and she looks up at me with an expectant expression, awaiting a reaction.
"Well," I mimic her tone, my voice still hoarse from just waking up, "I'm not Ryan, this isn't your house, isn't your tv, and it's too loud and annoying for me."
I turn off the telly, watching as her lips part, as she visibly tries not to protest or look hurt. We make eye contact and I smirk, pleased.
"O–Okay," she stutters, shaking off my actions before collecting herself.
Unable to look past her revealing robe, I turn around with my coffee to leave my kitchen and maybe go out to the peace of the patio. Right before I make it out free, she stops me.
"Um, so is there anything you want to do for dinner?"
I spin on my heel to face her. "I'll fucking take care of it, or we order in," I say curtly, then leave her standing alone in the kitchen, shutting off the tv in the living room.
