Moved (#Wattys2014)

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Sunlight from my window woke me without an alarm.  I crept from bed and went to the kitchen, making as little noise as possible.  I had decided to make a big breakfast.  Eggs, bacon, biscuits, I made it all.  When it was ready, I loaded a plate and went to knock on Racer’s door.  He didn’t answer right away; and when he did, he looked angry.

“Here,” I said offering him the plate.

“Another bribe?”  He didn’t move to take it.

“Nope.  A thank you for letting me sleep in your bed until the power was back.”  I had to reach for one of his hands and lift it for him to take the plate.  He didn’t appear very enthused.

“It’s bacon,” I said, trying to entice him.  He sighed, turned, and walked back into his apartment, leaving the door open.  I followed and sat across from him at his kitchen table.  He ate slowly, but I had patience.  His eyes drooped, and I wondered if he really hadn’t slept.  I thought last night had been the breaking point.

When he ate the last of it, I took the plate.

“Mariners are playing later.  Want to watch together?”

His eyes found mind.  “You follow baseball?”

I shrugged.  Guys in tight pants—who didn’t?  I also followed football.  Hockey I only followed when it was my time of month.  A little visual aggression was soothing.

“Yeah, come on down.”  Weariness weighted his words.

“See you later.”  I jogged up the stairs, took a shower, and changed into yoga pants and a V-neck tee.  Then I kept myself busy with studying.

When I went back down stairs several hours later, his door stood open.  The TV quietly broadcasted the anthem.  I sat in the second chair, curled up, and settled back.  Racer didn’t say anything to me so I focused on the TV and watched the game for a few minutes.  A Mariners outfielder missed a ball and cost them a double.

I groaned.  “If this is how they’re going to play, I need a beer.”

Racer snorted.  “Not happening.”

“Oh, come on.  Dad let’s me.”

“I’m not your dad.”

No kidding.  “It’s just not the same without a beer.  What if we share one?”

“No.”

“You can have the can.”

“No.”

“Just a sip?”

“No.”  Agitation was creeping into his voice.

“I promise I’ll be quiet for the rest of the game...”

He sighed.  “In the fridge.  Top shelf.”

I grinned, hopped off the chair, and did a happy dance all the way to the kitchen.  His grumbling only amused me more.  He had no idea what was coming.  I’d done this to my dad so many times.

The pfft of the can opening sounded like the next round bell in boxing.  I took a large gulp because it would annoy him, strolled back to the living room, and handed him the can.  He glanced at the river I left on the can, shook his head, and drank deep.

He finished the can in five minutes.  In fifteen, his eyes drifted close.  I waited another ten before sneaking to his bedroom and grabbing my phone.  Silencing the camera option, I stood in front of him and took two quick shots.  His head lay back in his chair, the beer held loose in his hand, and his mouth slightly parted.  Seeing him in the picture, my heart did a funny little flip.  He looked cute.  Not so angry.  I almost felt bad for him, but it didn’t stop me from sending a text to my dad.