Fred
I sighed in defeat, looking down at the egg in the skillet in front of me.
"Tell me how you can screw up an egg."
I looked over at Cindy, who was standing at the counter. She just smiled and took a sip of her bottle of water.
"You don't need to go running in Chicago by yourself, Cindy."
She just shrugged out of her jacket. "Well, how else am I going to get to you? Daddy took my keys."
"Don't," I deadpanned, throwing the egg in the trash.
She just placed a hand on her hip. "Who told guys that being cold was the way to get to a girl?"
"I'm not being cold," I said, "or trying to get to you."
"You're being cold."
I just placed my hands on my waist, squinting at her. I tried so hard to understand teenage girls, but it definitely didn't work. Not in my older age, either.
"How the hell did you get in here, anyways?" I asked.
"Your door was unlocked."
It was, you went out for a run this morning.
My jaw set in frustration, I turned away from her. I opened my cabinet and pulled out two pieces of wheat bread, dropping them into the toaster.
She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. I wanted to snap at her and tell her that it most definitely wasn't her place, and she shouldn't be rummaging around in the fridge. I couldn't, though, because my view really wasn't bad.
Cindy was a rich, eighteen year old girl. She cared a bit too much about her intake of calories, and was almost too adamant about her morning runs through the city. They weren't just for her physical well-being, though, she also used them to find more men to piss her father off with.
Her hair always had to be perfectly done, and there was never a time I saw her without a full face of makeup. It was nice that she wanted to look nice, but it was a bit excessive, compared to my morning routine of taking a five minute shower and raking my hair back with some gel if I wanted to really put some effort in.
"So you don't have the vegan jelly from the market?" She asked, looking over at me.
"I didn't even know vegan jelly fucking existed," I muttered, sipping on my coffee.
I trailed my eyes down her long legs, clothed in pink leggings and a matching sports bra. Her blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail, and she of course had on her full face.
I pointed to her face. "Does that not come off with sweat?"
"Probably if you sweat," she said, closing the fridge.
I grabbed my toast and a plate. I set it to the side and leaned against the counter as I waited on her to explain her last statement.
"I don't sweat," she said, looking at me as if it was obvious.
So that's why-
"That's weird," I blurted, making her eyebrows shoot up. An amused smile crossed her face.
How do you not fucking sweat?
She shrugged. "It's nice."
"So you never sweat?" I asked, clarifying the fact for myself.
"It takes a lot of physical exertion to make me sweat."
"Is that some procedure-"
She laughed. "I thought you knew everything, Mr. King."
