In which an unknowingly hilarious girl just can't seem to leave him alone, and he can't understand why.
(Or)
I groan and flop into the chair in front of the hoodie clad boy, more like man. Over here lookin like a graffiti board, hah.
Kidding, his ta...
After five minutes of watching Jax cook whatever the hell is he is cooking, he grabs a plate from a cabinet that looks way to high for my reach, and uses a spatula (probably the same one his clumsy ass dropped) to pick up something that looks like a brown square.
He slides it onto the plate and moves to another pan with another plate that he grabbed. He slides something else onto that one and repeats this process once or twice more. After stacking a bunch of plates tall with food, he goes to the fridge and grabs a large glass pitcher full or what looks to be orange juice.
He looks over to me, still perched on the counter top, and motions to the glass. I nod, smiling. He doesn't smile back, but he doesn't look mad or upset. Kind of neutral. He opens another cabinet and grabs a hug board looking thing, which I see unfolds into a mini table thing.
"Could you-" I cut him off and nod, swiftly hopping off of the counter and grabbing the folded board, motioning for him to pile a few plates on top of it. "Are you sure?" He asks, looking directly into my eyes kind of worriedly.
I nod, smiling at him, and he does so, giving me a plate with sausages, one with eggs, one with hash browns, a bowl of strawberries and one with blueberries, a small pitcher of what looks to be chocolate, a glass cup and a glass mug. I balance them all with both arms, and watch as he points to the hall.
"Bedroom, please." He says, smiling lightly, which I return. I follow his directions and walk down the hallway slowly, and into the bedroom I'm starting to love. I walk toward the little table beside his huge probably larger than king size bed, and set the board thing on it.
A few seconds later Jaxon walks in and has three other plates, and the pitcher full of orange juice in his arms. Panicked and kind of paranoid, I quickly walk up to him and grab two of the plates, knowing I can't carry the pitcher.
"Wait wait, stay still, don't move. Don't move!" I say hurriedly, rushing to the opposite side of the bed to set the plates down.
"Calm down, angel, I'm not moving an inch." He chuckles, watching me running back around the bed to grab the other two plates and return them to the others. He smiles at me and walks to the side table nearest to the bathroom, setting the pitcher down.
He then walks into the kitchen and comes back a few minutes later, a larger board thing that looks almost identical to the one I carried with the plates and cups.
"Too small," he murmurs, unfolding the board on the bed so it sets up to hold the food. Then, he takes the small pitcher, two cups, and three plates off of the smaller board and puts them on the larger one, doing the same with the rest of the plates. He takes the huge pitcher and pours orange juice into the two cups, before setting it back onto the side table.
I smile and gaze at all of the food piled down, a delicious looking breakfast I wish I could get used to.
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