Page 34 of Personal Foul

With that thought rattling around, I head back into the living room, plop down on the couch, and pick up the remote. I navigate to my streaming services. “Any preference?” I ask, trying my best not to act like anything she’s said bothered me.

“Huh-uh, I’m easy,” she says, her voice subdued.

I toss her a smirk. “I’m not so sure about that.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and it feels like we’re back to our banter. Or close to it, at least.

Since she’s apparently not going to express a preference, I pick one that I know has several movies saved in my queue. It takes some time and going back and forth for us to settle on a movie that’s action-packed enough for my taste and has enough story substance for hers, but eventually we manage to find one.

“You want anything else?” I ask before I hit play.

She raises her eyebrows and looks at me. “Like what?”

“A snack? Another glass of water? Something else?”

She snorts. “Something else, huh? Is that you offering sex again?”

“I wasn’t, actually, but if that’s what you’d like, I’m happy to watch the movie after.”

“God, you don’t give up, do you?”

I flash her a grin. “I’m told it’s one of my positive attributes.”

She scoffs, but she’s smiling. “Do you have any popcorn?”

“I think I might.”

This time she follows me into the kitchen, standing with her back to the island as I rummage through the pantry. I come out holding a bag of kernels. “Huh. I thought I had a bag of microwave popcorn.”

“This’ll work,” she says, snagging the bag of popcorn from me.

I watch her move through my kitchen, my eyebrows pulling together in confusion as she pulls out a glass mixing bowl and a dinner plate. “I’m not sure where my popcorn popper is, if I even have one. Uh, what are you doing?”

Rummaging through a lower cabinet, she’s bent over, her ass on display for me to ogle. And I take full advantage of the opportunity. Her shiny black pants stretch tightly across those round globes, inviting my hands. A quick squeeze wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Sadly, she straightens and sets a measuring cup on the counter next to her other supplies before pulling open the resealable bag. “We can make microwave popcorn this way,” she says, using the measuring cup to scoop out popcorn kernels. They ping against the glass bowl as she pours them in. Then she sets the plate on top like a lid.

Picking it up, she turns to me and nods at the microwave installed in the cabinetry next to me. “Get that for me, would you?”

Still perplexed, I do as she asks, pulling the door open and stepping aside so she can place her plate-covered bowl inside. She studies the key pad for a minute, pushes some buttons, and then the microwave comes to life.

“Now we wait.” She parks herself against the island again.

I glance between her and the microwave. “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Yup.” She moves again, this time to the refrigerator where she retrieves a stick of butter and pulls a knife out of the knife block next to the stove.

I eye the knife suspiciously. “And what are you going to do with those?”

She laughs. “I didn’t maim you with the throwing axes, but now you’re worried about a kitchen knife?”

I fight back my smile. “There were witnesses before.”

That has another laugh bursting out of her, and I join in. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much with a chick. Usually we’re too busy flirting or fucking to crack jokes like this. I could get used to it, though. Will she be this relaxed when she comes over tomorrow to clean?

“You could stay the night, you know,” I say. The thought’s taken hold since my earlier ruminations with the beer.

Her head jerks back in shock, and she looks all around the kitchen like she’s looking for a hidden camera in a prank show or something. A shocked laugh works its way up her throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

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