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frank was in a bad mood. he’d burnt three blt melts and cussed out cecilia twice and it was barely five o’clock.
it was thursday, and unusually slow for a week day. the kind of slow where you roll and then re-roll napkins just to have something to do.
everyone’s a little restless, and frank is in a mood.
you’re getting the brunt of it.
“table fours been waiting” you call through the pass through window.
“i heard you the first time,” he snaps, not looking up at you.
your hands find their way to your hips and you’re biting back before you can stop yourself. “who do you think you’re talking to like that?”
he’s slamming the spatula down on the counter like it personally wronged him. “you wanna cook it yourself ?”
you raise an eyebrow. “sure. maybe it won’t be as burnt as your last one.”
he’s looking at you like he’s annoyed, but he’s got this glint in his eye that makes you squirm. you are so not into this.
“someone’s real mouthy tonight,” he barks. the rest of the kitchen falls silent.
“you’re dramatic,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes.
“you’re trying to piss me off.”
“i’m trying to do my job.”
rico passes you a tray, prepped and ready for your table fours. the kitchen air is awkward as you smile and walk out to the front of house.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
you ignore him for the rest of your shift. order tickets are passed through rico, and you can hear frank banging pans in the kitchen.
he’s practically vibrating by close. you clock out without looking at him.
it’s just your luck that it’s raining. the bus doesn’t come for another twenty minutes and you’re guaranteed to be soaked through if you start walking now.
franks voice comes from behind you, quiet and softer then you’ve heard it all day.
“you taking the bus,” he asks
“yeah.”
“it’s late.”
“i’ve done it before.”
he shrugs like he’s never wounded your pride in the first place. “i’ll give you a ride.” that makes you scoff. “‘m serious. can’t have a creep takin’ advantage of my angel.”
you consider telling him no. you could always just brave the rain and start walking. but he gives you a look and you sigh. he’s a convincing son of a bitch, you’ll give him that much.
his car is loud. the windows rattle when he accelerated; and the brakes are obviously due for maintenance. you can feel him staring at you as you look out the window.
“you’re ignoring me.” he says finally.
“am not.”
“are too.”
“you’re an asshole” you huff
“yeah.“
he pulls in front of your apartment, but you don’t get out. not yet.
“wanna come over?” he asks, all casual like. “we can watch something. i’ve got beer.”
you should probably say no. you figure he thinks you’re easy because you’re young and dumb. you should absolutely say no, but you don’t.
“you’re in a bad mood,” you counter.
“not anymore.” he shrugs and your stomach flips. now’s your chance to shut him down.
“fine,” you say instead.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
his apartment is smaller than you thought it would be. it smells like cigarettes and laundry detergent, and there’s a draft somewhere. he’s got a pile of clothes on an armchair and an ashtray in desperate need of being emptied out.
he tosses you a beer and you sit in the far side of the couch, making sure to leave a thick margin of space between you.
he puts on some dumb horror flick that you’re too nervous to pay attention to, because you’re distracted by the way he’s inching closer.
his knee brushes yours and you don’t move. then his arm stretches behind you and his fingers find their way to your hair.
“you’re still mad at me.” he murmurs.
you take a sip of your beer. “you were being a dick.”
“i was stressed.”
“you’re a jerk.”
he studies you in the flicker of the tv. your heart flickers over itself.
“yeah,” he breaths. you ignore the way his eyes drip to your lips. “but you like it.”
you say nothing at all. you shouldn’t be smiling, but you are and it’s giving you away. his hand slides from the couch to the back of your neck and you freeze. this is real.
“you gonna keep pretending you don’t wanna kiss me?” the way he tilts his head is driving you crazy.
he doesn’t wait for your permission. he’s got you by the chin, kissing you hard on the mouth. it’s teeth and tongue and something that’s been simmering there for months.
you’re not sure when you end up in his lap, but your hands are tangled in his hair, and he’s kissing down your nick like he’s starving.
“you ignored me all night,” he says. lips soft against the too high hickey that you’ll have to cover in the morning.
“you deserved it.”
he smirks, you shiver, and the rest is a blur, it’s messy and impatient. teeth nipping at skin and the couch creaking under the weight of it all.
he kisses you like he argues, sharp, and mean, and like he’s trying to come out winning. you dish it right back.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
you wake up tangled in sheets that smell like him. for a second you consider sneaking out through the fire escape, but you don’t.
he’s making you breakfast like it’s the most natural thing to do. like this was inevitable.
you tell yourself that this was just a hook up as you sit at the counter in one of his band tees. you swear it’ll never happen again as he slides a plate of eggs in front of you–made just the way you like them.
whatever this was, was a one time thing. a thoughtless mistake that you wouldn’t be making again.
right?
he leans over your shoulder, mouth brushing your ear. “same time tomorrow?” he says it like he already knows the answer.