(Untitled)
Sometimes I honestly don't know what the hell I'm thinking. I have a nice life, I like my life. Sure, I do have the responsibility of getting a slay or two in every night, and that's stopped me from having a couple of really good evenings, but all in all, I do just fine. I have my health, my education, a nice apartment, financial stability. I don't
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Couldn't sleep all night, so out of some sort of compulsive thing, I ended up cleaning. Me. Cleaning. I guess that few months of playing house boy in the German mansion messed with my head. But whatever. I didn't think Carly'd care a ton if I cleaned the living room... so I did.
And now I'm cooking breakfast. Yes, even a guy can know his way around the kitchen. Martha Stewart, eat your freakin' heart out.
Although maybe I should have put on a shirt... I was standing there in nothing but pants while shooting a little more flame under the food cooking to get it just right. Omlettes with peppers and cheese. Somehow I just thought it'd work.
I looked up when I heard footsteps, and yawned. "Morning." I looked back to the food to make sure it didn't burn with another yawn.
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I remember him being an early riser, so its not surprising that he beat me to the kitchen. On some level, I was expecting it.
I was not expecting to find my living room shinier than it was when I went to bed. I sure as hell didn't think he'd cook; when did decide to become Emeril, anyway?
Then there's the six pack. I'm not staring, no, I'm just wondering where it came from. It's definitely not from playing football, because he thinks that sport is for "moronic skyscrapers".
Most people would call them athletes.
"Good morning, sleepyhead." I smiled, wishing that I'd changed out of my pajamas before I decided to check and see if the ex was up and about.
"I know the weather channel is fairly accurate in their reporting, so maybe I missed something. You're cooking--in my kitchen. This can only mean that hell has frozen over, so I'd just like to know, when did that happen?"
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"Hysterical." I said dryly, flipping the eggs that made up the omlette over and dropping peppers and cheese in, then waiting a second before folding it over. Down to a science. "I did a couple of months playing house boy to get cash at a German Mansion in Munich." I decided it'd probably be a good idea to not tell how long the good Mistress and I had gotten along... despite some serious kinks. "You have to learn a lot."
I dropped the omlette -- which was mine, hers was already done -- in a plate. "Plus there was the posing as a chef who could actually cook in Barcelona..." I shrugged, snatching the coffee pot when I saw it was done and pouring some. "... And the little thing in South London where I had to be both cleaning and cooking guy. Which was craptastic, but whatever."
I glanced over at her. "Coffee, or what
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So he's gotten around. If I remember correctly, that was his goal when he left town. In this instance I can't say that I trust my memory. I was too busy telling myself that I didn't need him, I didn't pay attention to the details.
"Sounds like you had fun. Not in London I guess, but for the most part."
Being pleasant in the morning isn't my speciality. Most mornings, I'm morally opposed to waking up early.
"Coffee, or what?"
"Juice, and I can get it myself, thanks. You know you don't have to wait on me."
I walked over to the refrigerator and took out the apple juice, then grabbed a glass out of the cabinent and filled it up halfway.
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"Pissed off a few people I shouldn't have, had to call in serious favors to take care of it." I nodded, and watched her go to the fridge. This felt weird. Just a little. Although if you asked me why, I couldn't tell you. Crap.
"Juice, and I can get it myself, thanks. You know you don't have to wait on me."
I shrugged, and almost said 'I like to', then realized that'd be a hugely bad idea. "It's not that big a deal. I've done things for more annoying people, and I figure I owe you at least a little." Probably not a good time to tell her about the living room. I feel like a frickin' addict or something, and it's over cleaning. Dear God, I've gotten lame.
I hope she doesn't smell the Windex fumes...
I handed off a plate with her food on it. "Won't kill you. Scout's Honor." Okay, I was never a Boy Scout, so sue me.
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Uh huh. That suggests that he was a boy scout, and I know for a fact that young, slacker Sam probably rebelled against that sort of thing. Too many organized male activities that would involve camping and athleticism.
"All things considered, that's not worth much."
I grabbed a fork and sat down at the counter. It looked...good. Not contaminated or burnt, but oddly normal and omelette-like. Breaking off a piece with my fork, I brought it up to my mouth and worked up the nerve to try it.
"It's good. At what point in your travels did you meet up with Nigella Lawson?"
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"Well yeah, true..." I grinned. "Figure of speech anyway. Bad one, but still a figure of speech all the same." I shrugged, leaning against the counter, waiting to be proved right that my cooking didn't suck.
"It's good. At what point in your travels did you meet up with Nigella Lawson?"
Nigella Lawson? Isn't that... Oh great. I might as well have been compared to Martha Stewart. "Never." I shrugged, trying not to look annoyed with the idea. "And see? You're not dead." I smirked and started out of the kitchen, heading to grab a shirt out of what I'm pretty sure was impulse. I pulled one on, came back, and sat on the counter to eat without thinking. Bad habit.
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Not surprised. An ex coming to town to kill his girlfriend would be nothing new around here, but for Sam that could be considered a little unusual. We've had our disagreements, but let's not even joke about murder, he's incapable of doing anything of the sort.
"You don't have the guts to poison me."
I continued eating as he walked out. For a minute there, I thought I'd pissed him off or something. Then he came back in, with more clothes on than when he'd walked out, and I had to stop and smirk.
"Don't tell me you're shy around little old me."
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I blinked, startled. "Wha... Oh. No." I rolled my eyes and started digging into my food, having some of my coffee as I made myself comfortable where I was sitting. Shy around Carly? Yeah right. "I didn't even realized I'd walked out without one until I woke up a little." I yawned.
"I've been kind of sleeping awake for the past couple of hours. Jet lag." More coffee, since I probably won't sleep for the next couple of hours.
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Jet lag? That's a convenient excuse. It doesn't explain the cooking or the cleaning, but I'll buy it. He's a little clueless like that, Sleepy Sam could easily forget a shirt, or a pair of pants even.
Which would have been slightly funnier.
"You're a pretty useful sleepwalker. Cooking and cleaning, yes, I did notice the living room, are things that I don't care to do very much when I'm awake."
Maybe it was a gesture of appreciation, but I wasn't going to miss my chance to comment on it. He'd make a good housewife.
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... Crap. I blinked twice, now wishing I'd went with the forgoing the whole cleaning thing.
"... I was bored." Hey, it was only sort of a lie. "And since I'm compulsive when I'm bored..." Even less of a lie. "I cleaned. I sort of kept myself busy with everything that wasn't solitary while I... wasn't around." 'Gone' and 'ran off' seemed sort of negative, don't you think?
I wonder if that's how she thinks of it. Nevermind, she probably doesn't care. What the hell am I thinking?
"So how've you been killing time?" I asked curiously.
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You mean when you ran away because you didn't want to worry about accidentally seeing me around? Right. Hearing about that almost doesn't hurt anymore. Almost.
Talk about running away from your issues.
"Interesting."
"So how've you been killing time?"
"School, sex, slaying."
Probably should have left out the middle "s", but it's not as if he's been celibate. The way that I hear it, he's been anything but. I hate coming from a small town, the rumors seem to travel no matter how far you go to get away from it.
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Sex? How much sex?
Wait... we're not dating any more. And I've done a ton myself, so it's not going to matter to me. It's really not. And hey, it's half my fault anyway. The other half would be hers.
"That's nice." I messed with my omlette for a second before I realized that I'd let things go silent. I've got a million stories up my sleeve if I ever needed to make conversation, why aern't I using them?
Because she'll probably see them as me trying to make small talk, that's why. Crap.
I kept eating. "School for what?" I asked, and realized I'd stuck myself with making small talk either way. But since I got my own version of an education my way, I'm allowed to be curious about her's... right? "Ass kickers and heartbreaker one oh one?" There, that wasn't bad. You can do this Sammy boy.
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That's funny, I could have sworn he was the heartbreaker and I was the not-so-innocent victim. He's probably not referring to that. I don't think he'd dare refer to that now, he probably means before we started dating. I don't even think I accurately remember what high school was like before that.
"Worse."
I grinned, wondering what he was expecting. Business? Theater? Criminal justice?
"Elementary Ed."
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I had just been drinking coffee, and coughed, trying not to choke on it. "Woah woah, back up back up." I coughed again. Coffee totally went down the wrong pipe.
"You? A teacher?" That wasn't meant as offensive, I just couldn't see it. That would be like me being a teacher. And I'm sorry, but neither one works, thanks much.
Then I got the grin, once I'd finally managed to recover from the whole coffee thing. "... Very funny." I coughed again, getting rid of the last of the coffee that had gone down the wrong pipe.
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To him, maybe. Should I be insulted now? No, he hasn't seen me in years. He doesn't have the slightest inclination as to what I'm like around Dan and Elizabeth.
"Put your coffee down."
Just a warning, I don't want to have him choke and die because he doesn't think I'm fit for the job. I don't want him to choke and die period.
"I'm serious."
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