Stuck with a Punk ✔

No. 44.: After details

I don't stop teasing Annabelle about aphrodisiac, even after she puts her maple-mustard chicken thighs and potato wedges on the table. When she first put it on in the whole bowl, it looked so good I didn't even want to touch it.

"That's for lunch?" There's no way she could've done this. It must be a take-out or something, I'm pretty sure I would catch a glimpse of it.

"Yeah, why?" At first, she is honest about the question, then she narrows her eyes at me and presses her lips together "Let me guess, you thought I was gonna give you an aphrodisiac?"

I snort after I realise I've spent the last twenty minutes bugging her about it and probably caused her terrible trauma with it. "No, for real, you cooked this? When? How?"

Gracefully, she sits behind the table after she enslaved me for setting cutlery, plates and glasses "Nathan, one of these days you'll notice oven is a very handy instrument in any kitchen."

"And what makes you think I don't know how to cook?"

She grabs the fork but then puts it down only to give her stare more impact. "You don't even know the equipment you own."

Touche.

Would anyone believe half an hour ago we had a really hardcore quickie? I myself can barely believe it.

Speaking of sex; I should probably go and clean up after us, like disposing of the con-

"Jesus!" Annabelle jumps when I drop the fork and it hits the table, "What's up with you!". Then she notices something in alright and she eyes me carefully "Nathan?"

"The condom."

"What condom?"

"Exactly! What condom!" I cry and Annabelle gets up like she's ready to catch me if I spontaneously collapse in my meltdown.

When she realises why my blood pressure hit a critical point, she smiles - as if that's so fucking funny. "Plan B pill's efficiency lasts up to three days."

Oh...

But-!

"No, Annabelle, this is not okay! I'm thirty but I forget to put on a condom? What's next, cumming prematurely?!"

She tries to keep her face straight but sooner or later she breaks and laughs "The return of Nathan the Diva."

I glare at her, trying to comprehend what's so fucking funny, and calling me a diva does not help. I do so until her laughter dies down, "You done now?"

When her laughter dies down, she tilts her head and looks at me with smile lines around her eyes still present, "You want to be so tough, but you're so sensitive."

I cross my arms and to do that, I even put my cutlery down. Appear tough, no. I keep myself in control, that's the secret ingredient. And I'm not freaking sensitive, I'm not a baby. Obviously, I have feelings, but she puts it like I'm a little bitch. "Okay, first of all, I'm not so sensitive. I'm emotional, yes, which doesn't qualify as so sensitive. Got it?"

She leans back against the chair, mocking me by fakely agreeing with me. Her voice drops down creating the effect of passionate agreement "Oh, yes, I got it. Not sensitive, just sensitive. Understood."

I glare at her again, but this time I grab a knife. I'll use it if I'll have to. "You like being provocative, don't you?"

"Oh, what can one do?" She shrugs playfully while acting innocent. All together is just one huge confession. Before I figure out what to say next that wouldn't make me look like the diva that she thinks I am, she finishes her lunch and carries her plate to the sink.