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KAYLA:Why I was disappointed.
BODI:Enlighten me.
KAYLA:You have no food.
BODI:What are you talking about? I have plenty of food in the house.
KAYLA:You have vegetables.
KAYLA:And protein shakes *barf emoji*
BODI:That’s food.
KAYLA:It’s shit.
BODI:I’ll go to the store after work. What do you want?
KAYLA:Anything with sugar.
KAYLA:Definitely butterfingers!
KAYLA:oh and Candy Corn.
KAYLA:Twinkies?
BODI:I’m not buying that crap. How can you eat that?
KAYLA:I could ask you the same question.
BODI:I’m going back to work.
When I get back later that night, I can smell her when I walk through the door. Her sweet scent is already lingering around my apartment, surpassing the smell of the takeout I brought with me.
She looks up from the couch with a wide grin, her baby blue eyes sparkling at me with excitement. She really shouldn’t look at me like that. It does all kinds of weird things to me. Weird things I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be feeling as her boss.
In general, I like being the boss. But fuck me, I hate being hers.
“I didn’t know what you’d like—that’s somewhat healthy—so I ordered Japanese.” I put the bag on the coffee table, doing my best to not shamelessly rake my eyes over her body as I plop my ass on the other side of the piece of furniture.
“Takeout isn’t supposed to be healthy.” She lowers the volume of the TV, then starts to open the containers.
“We’re not all nineteen and still surviving on junk food.” I drop my arm over the back of the couch, locking my eyes with hers, and I can’t resist glancing down. She’s wearing a grey Stanford sweater with some black yoga pants, looking cozy as fuck with her brown hair up in a messy bun. It makes me want to cuddle her, pulling her against my chest in the corner of the couch. Or bed. Whatever she prefers. I really, really hate this.
Aware of my approving gaze, she cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t mention it.
“What did you get?”
“Some ramen, beef teriyaki, chicken katsu. Tempura shrimp.”
Her eyes grow big as if she hit the jackpot. “You got fried shrimp?”
Like the ass that I am, I give her a reprimanding look. “Tempura shrimp. Yes.”
“Anything fried is a win. Are you a plate person, or can we eat this straight from the containers?”
Answering by illustrating, I open a container and reach for a set of chopsticks. “Please tell me you’re not as obsessed with fried stuff as your cousin?”
“Who? Rae?” She follows my example and reaches for the other containers, checking their contents one by one.
I nod, with a mouthful of ramen.
“Oh no, it’s not fried stuff in general for Rae. It’s fried chicken. Preferably Nana’s. And to answer your question, no.” She finds the tempura shrimp and pulls one out, then sinks her teeth into the crunchy thing. Her eyes close when her lips are wrapped around the shrimp, completely savoring the moment like it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted. Like it’s her first drop of water after a week-long drought.
Hot damn.
Did I mention I hate being her boss?
I swallow hard before licking my lips at the pretty sight, wanting to be that damn shrimp. Who knew eating could be such a turn on?
“It’s burgers.”
Still focused on her plump lips, I blink. “What?”
“What I like. It’s burgers.”
“So you like trash?” I put my focus back on my ramen to try to not torture myself.
“What is wrong with a burger?” she cries.
“Everything.”
