The Senior and The Junior

Chapter 11: Lightweight

Christopher's POV

Ah, something smells.. incredible. I open my eyes to find myself in an unfamiliar setting. No panties on the floor in sight so it's not a hookup.

I glance over to my side at the bed stand and spot a framed photo of Dylan and his mom in front of the Eiffel Tower. "Yup, definitely not a hookup." I groan. I throw the cat-haired covered sheet off of my torso and rub my bare chest. "Wait where's my shirt?" I confusingly think to myself. I swing my legs over the bed, my feet touching the soft carpet. I pick up my shirt from the ground and head out of the room, tempted by the aroma.

Dylan's POV

I hum softly to myself, the sizzling of the bacon providing an extra step to the beat of the music. I peek over my shoulder as I hear loud footsteps near the stairs, only to spot Chris heading down the stairs putting his shirt on, his abs still visible. I rush over to my phone and turn down the music to a point where it can be faintly heard and then return to tending to the strips of bacon. "Aw, why'd you turn it down?" He groans. I peer over my shoulder to find Chris reaching for my phone. He swipes the music bar to full maximum and then heads for the drawer. He opens the drawer and then grabs ahold of a spoon and spins ever so smoothly, mouthing the words to the song. I roll my eyes but can't help but play along. "Let me help." He stands beside me, insistently. "I got it." I insist, shooing him away. "Shut it, kid. You contributed to my drinking problem, so the least I can do is help you make some breakfast." He implies, taking over the entire stove with his body. I hold my ground, staring up at him. "I'm not moving anytime soon." He talks, ignoring my presence.

"You might as well get the table set up." He goes on. I had no other choice but to comply with him and so I headed towards the refrigerator to grab the carton of orange juice.

"Why are you making such a large breakfast anyway?"

"My mom has had an emergency so she's been stuck at the hospital all night. I just want to make sure she's fed when she comes home. That's it."

After grabbing the syrup from the cupboard and setting it up on the table it seems as if Chris is almost finished. The song on my phone comes to an end, Chris rushes over toward my phone and holds it up for me to see, gesturing me over to unlock it. "And why would I do that." I chuckle in amusement. "I want to pick a song." He stands there, persistently. I snatch my phone, type in my passcode and hand it over. "Crazy in Love" by Beyoncé begins to play. This is the song Chris had requested a while back at the club last week. "You're joking," I shout to Chris over the blaring beat. "What's the problem? You sure didn't mind it at the club." He yells over the music, his back turned to me as he the pancakes.

I chuckle and then jog upstairs to retrieve my pen and notebook. Soon after Chris finishes the food, I change the music and turn it down slightly. I grab my plate and serve myself. Chris comes over with his plate of food and sits down across from me. "Courtesy of Chef Wright ." He speaks in the same awful British accent he always uses. "Well, to be fair I made it. You just finished it off." I clarify grabbing ahold of my fork. "Okay, just take all the credit." He rolls his eyes. "Lightweight." the word slips out of my mouth. "Huh?" He freezes as the piece of bacon is stopped from going into his mouth. "You heard me." I tease. "You must have me mistaken. I'm not you." He plops the strip of bacon into his mouth. "Three shots of Whiskey and you were out." I chuckle. "Shut up." He ignores me. "Okay, so." I set my fork down and take a sip of my orange juice. I flip open my notebook to a new page and take the pen from my ear.

"Why did you get into football?"

"Well, I'm not sure actually. It's kind of just been a dream of mine since I was little to play on an NFL team. I figured if I started young like most NFL athletes I would eventually get there so I signed up as soon as I could and ever since then I've been playing football. The more and more I play football and feel the exhilarating adrenaline coursing through my veins during game nights, the more I continue to grow to have a passion for football. With the help of my parents and most importantly Coach Tanner I am where I am today in my football career. A football scholarship to Stanford."

I jot down my last note and set my pen down. "Who knew someone with an actual rock for a brain would be able to speak with such intellectuality." I joke. "You're really an asshole you know that right?" Chris chomps his last piece of bacon, shaking his head. "Right back at you." I laugh. "Thanks for the room by the way." He looks up from his food.

"Oh no problem. It was either that or leave you to drive home and considering your condition you were in no position to do that anyway.."

"What's that smell?" A lingering smell mixes in with the aroma of the freshly cooked pancakes. Chris looks up, mouthful, and sniffs his armpit. "Gah! Gross." I look away in disgust. "Say.. does that smell. you know smell anything like chlorine." He nervously scratches the back of his head. "Maybe.." I suspiciously eye him from across the table. "Wait, so you're telling me you didn't hit the showers after you swam in that chlorine-infested pool?" I speak in awe.

"No." Chris shakes his head in embarrassment. "So much for the intellectual compliment." I scoot my chair out and stand up.

Christopher's POV

Dylan stands up from his chair and disappears into the hallway. He appears once more, towel in one hand and loofa in the other. "Catch." He tosses the two my way. He walks back over to the table and sits back down to finish off his remaining pancake. "The bathroom is in the hallway next to the stairs on your right." He says so nonchalantly. And with that, I'm off to shower.

What's keeping me here? I could've left the moment I woke up.