His jaw clenches. His face is all hard lines andmuscle-yfrowns. Body stricken and still with forced control.
Austin stands behind him with a camera pointed at us.
Faking a pearly white, “What do you want for breakfast? Everyone had something catered to them, but I don’t know yours.”
He looks taken aback like I slapped him with my mood swings. This is nothing, ogre.
“Cereal sounds good, right?” I don’t step aside to make room for his words. Maybe it’s a smart idea that he doesn't talk.
Once a man opens his mouth, there wouldn’t be enough garbage disposals in the world for their bullshit.
“Cereal’s better than green smoothies that turn sweet men into ogres, don’t you think?” I say it to bother him, knowing damn well he loves green smoothies.
He looks like he might disagree with me.
There goes that jaw tick. There goes that subtle glare.
But nope, nothing. He merely nods before leaving the kitchen. It’s like one step forward, a thousand steps back. Let me tell you, I am not a runner or a track star. He can run as far as he wants, but he’ll end up back in front of me.
The cameraman follows behind him.
My shoulders slump down. Taking back the air he stole from me with practiced breaths, it does nothing but make me madder.
I have never asked him to do anything for me and here he is acting like I have an obligation to treat him as more than just strangers on a dating show? Like he hasn’t insulted my very existence.
I slam a bowl down on the counter. After dumping cereal into it, I pour the milk. Watching it slip through the holes of the unhealthiest, sugary, artificially flavoured cereal I could find brings me immense joy. I hope tomorrow Dean wakes up to a flab of fat somewhere on his body.
My stomach growls at the sight of the cereal. Damn, even my cereal looks devour-worthy.
That’s not enough to teach Dean a lesson.
I ruin everything right? I can ruin this too. Easy.
Opening the fridge, I scour through the unopened contents before landing on a familiar red bottle that has SOY SAUCE written on it in bright yellow letters.
This will teach Dean to stay far, far away from me if he wants to survive the next two months.
Dumping about half a cup of it in the milk that is now light pink, I head back into the dining room.
Rhys is talking to Katarina, who finished my broth.
Hina is on her phone.
Shaan is nowhere to be found.
And right there, onmyspot, Dean sits with his arms crossed over his chest.
My anger turns into childish giddiness. “Enjoy,” I put the bowl down.
For the next while, my eyes are constantly on Dean.
First bite, he freezes for half a millisecond, but no reaction.
Three bites in, still nothing.
When he pushes the bowl away, I know I must have succeeded because no human in their right mind would be able to finish what I gave him.
And when the convo is done and Hina’s helping me clean the table, I move to pick up Dean’s bowl only to find it completely empty.
