Bad Taste (Part I) // Colby Brock

25 - Rebecca

          It was late, late afternoon when I heard movement in my bedroom. It was hardly anything, just the shuffling of my sheets followed by footsteps. My head jerked towards my door just in time to see the bathroom door closed. Ass, I thought, assuming he can use my shower. I listened as best I could as he passed in and out of the water occasionally. When I heard the shower door close, I stood up and walked towards the bathroom.

I stood right outside, staring accusingly at the door, ready for when he came out. But he didn't come out. "Stop hovering outside," he said loudly.

I opened the door to find him dressed in a new pair of jeans with chains and rips, and a black shirt with little holes here and there — a few on his chest revealing some kind of tattoo under that shirt. I wanted to rip it off of him just to see what had been hinted at when I examined him this morning.

He glared at me now, though. "I didn't say come in, either."

"My bathroom," I snapped. My eyes touched on his hair and I realised it was curly — still a little damp from the shower. My lips parted. He looked so much better with the curls. So much better. I wanted to jump him even more now than before, but he caught my stare and swiftly smoothed down every curl that I could see. I pouted, and he glanced at me.

"What?"

I felt the heat rising on my cheeks as I looked quickly away. "Nothing."

He moved in the corner of my eye, taking one of my hands to pull me towards him. I was backed against the counter somehow, looking up into his narrowed eyes. He was questioning me without speaking.

"Nothing," I repeated, trying to push him away.

"Rebecca, just say it," he snapped.

I rolled my eyes. "I liked the curls more."

He regarded me for a second, then snarled and moved away. He walked out of the bathroom, his footsteps leading to my room. I quickly followed to find him shoving some clothes into a backpack — it was the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd slept in. He had gotten angry because I liked his natural curls. Yes, this relationship was going to be a lot of work. So I worked to control my anger as I crossed the room to him. He was staring down at his backpack and refusing to look at me. I placed my hand on the side of his face and forced him to look at me, tugging him closer by his jeans.

"Good evening," I said quietly.

He knew what I was doing, so he sighed. His face softened. "Evening." Then he carefully kissed me on the lips for just a couple of seconds. When he pulled back, he looked completely defeated — in the best way. "This really is going to be work, huh?"

"Yes, and I don't even get paid," I sighed.

He smiled and kissed me again, this time much hungrier than before. I heard myself whimper, and it got hungrier. When he pulled back, there was lust in his eyes and longing written all over his face. I had to remember how to breathe.

"Okay, maybe I'm paid a little bit."

He glanced down at my outfit, silently checking me out, then he met my gaze and pulled my body right against his by my hips. His arms slid around my waist so I wrapped mine around his neck. "What time is it?" he asked.

"I think about four."

"Are you hungry yet?"

I shrugged. "I skipped lunch so I guess so."

"Want to go out to eat?"

I cocked my head to the side in thought as I stared into his eyes. I did want something to eat, but I wanted to make this alone time with him last as long as I possibly could. I thought he could read that in my face. "Or order something in."