Care to Command

30 Onions

Chapter 30

***

I can't freaking believe last night happened.

Kissing Lucas? Cuddling Lucas? Watching movies with Lucas?

What is this alternate universe? What does it all mean? I have so many questions.

1) Are we dating?
2) If we are, do we have to report it to HR?
3) What would that mean in a month when one of us gets promoted?
4) Or is this all just a fling?

I want to ask Lucas all of this, but I can't. I'm scared. But I should. Right?

I can't believe I used to talk shit about Casey yet here I am, a million times worse. Obsessing after a kiss. Is it the Lucas effect? Is something wrong with me? I feel like this should be easy.

Easy. Ha. That's a concept that doesn't apply to me.

It's Friday morning - if you can even call it a morning, it's 6 fucking AM - and here I am, doing yoga in my room, because it's on my 'to-do list.' As if I can focus on vinyasa, savasana, or whatever the fuck sana when all that's floating in my brain is Lucasana.

This is why we're single.

Tell that to my ovaries.

Who? Us? Bitch we're nonexistent. You tortured us last night with your stupid ass kissing.

Well, what did you want? Rip my clothes off and jump on him?

Uh, yeah? Get with the program.

All of you, shut up. Namaste.

~

By 7 AM, I'm starving and head to the kitchen. I hate eating other people's food. The thought of being indebted or being a freeloader ruins my appetite. But I remind myself that it was Grant's offer and it's not like I haven't sacrificed an excessive amount of personal time for the last couple of years for his benefit.

Cereal options are scarce. Fruit loops? No, thank you. Might as well shove a cup of sugar down my throat. And the bran one for digestion smells like a retirement home.

Eggs? Sure... but, come on. Just eggs are boring. I smile to myself when I spot juicy, red tomatoes and fresh basil. We're making a Mediterranean omelet, bitches.

I boil some water and pour it in a bowl, then set a second one with cold water. Criss cross the booties of tomatoes and put them in the hot bowl, then the cold one for easy peeling.

Roll up the basil and delicately slice, make sure to keep the aroma. Voilà. Bon Traval. Otlichno.

"G'morning..." A gruff morning voice grumbles behind me.

I look over my shoulder to see shirtless Lucas in black shorts, hair a mess, eyes sleepy.

"What are you doing?" He says unhappily, taking in the mess of the kitchen.

"Don't worry, I'll clean it up." I turn back to the cutting board, my heartbeat increasing.

"You didn't have to cook. We could just get food on our way back." He mutters.