but the sky is never gray | frank ocean.

peri-peri

❝ I'd rather be smoking weed, everytime we breathe...❞
                   - Rihanna. James Joint.

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Rowe's pupils zeroed in the creased toe of her yellow Retros, observing how the line deepened and shallowed with every bounce of her bared knees.

Almost like an accordion, she thought. Fascinating.

The sudden shaking of the table under which she peered startled Rowe into nearly falling out of her seat.

"Bloody hell!" She exclaimed, slightly embarrassed once a familiar face came into view. "Couldn't start off with a 'hello' then?"

Christopher's cheeky grin was like an energy shot to her heart, which already pumped quickly from the embarrassment of being caught studying her foot like she had some kind of fetish.

"No." He wrapped his arms around her like they were old friends, then sat in the booth across from her. "Did I scare you?"

Rowe crossed then uncrossed her legs, careful not to flash him her hot pink thong (even a not-so-little part of her desperately wanted to). "Me? Scared? Never. You're the least scary person I know."

"Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or a nudge to do better."

"I would say do better, but that might not end well for me, yeah?" She felt her own cheeks widening as a result of his infectious smile, and tried her best to ignore it. It wouldn't do to get caught up in people she barely knew. "You ready to order?"

Chris's broad hands reached up to run through his close cut fade. "Kinda hoped you wouldn't ask me anything like that, 'cause I have no idea what to get."

"What, no wings places in America?" She teased.

He chuckled, a soft melodic sound that granted Rowe an odd sense of comfort. "We're not in America though, are we? Heard y'all are a little...scarce with the seasoning."

It was Rowe's turn to laugh. "Maybe the white folks."

The pair sat, talking and laughing until the alarm of a grumbling stomach knocked them both back into reality.

"My bad. I'm starving and we still haven't even ordered yet, 'cus someone won't tell me what to get."

"You're annoying," with a flourish, the laminated paper menu was brandished onto the table between them. "How about I show you what I'm getting, yeah?"

The victorious smile that crossed Christopher's face revealed his tiny gap, and Rowe nearly swooned then and there.

Maybe it was her British upbringings, but teeth with visible imperfections always drew her in more than the ones you would see in a dental advert. Hell, now that she pondered it, all of her exes had at least one thing in common: a fucked up smile.

She loved it.

Her peripheral vision was clouded by a black 'Aphex Twin' long sleeve (Rowe would have to remember to ask him what that meant later). "Scoot over," a gentle, yet commanding voice prompted.

"Why?", her locs shifted and swayed as she adjusted her position, not waiting for an answer.

The menu crinkled, the faint sound of a disrupted sheet of plastic making its way to both their eardrums. Chris let his eyes roam his options before a response even began to make its way out. "Can't read upside down," he stated plainly.

Rowe sunk into her seat as Chris continued to eye unrealistically perfect images of chicken, trying her hardest to ignore the familiar yet foreign warmth of a man.