12, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫

"Nice place."

"It's small but it's homey. I've been living here since upper sixth form so I'm sorry if it looks like a tip," I mutter, biting my lip.

It's a little bit embarassing to have a guy in my apartment when there's Chinese takeout stuffed to the brim in the bin and dead chargers everywhere in the living room.

"It looks great," Clay says, entering my flat.

He looks around at the walls. They look really shitty because I went through a phase in sixth form where everything had to be coloured; and white paint wasn't enough to fix that grave mistake of painting the entire flat. Then there's the posters and records littering the walls. They aren't even cute in that grunge aesthetic way. They're just...there. Everywhere.

"You hungry?" I ask, walking over to the fridge.

Clay follows behind. "I could eat." He leans against the kitchen counter.

"I want to bake," I blurt.

"You wanna bake?" He sounds amused again.

"I have loads of ripe bananas because I'm unhealthy and never eat them. We should make banana bread."

And so we do.

I preheat the oven and grease the loaf tin. I get Clay to do all of the mixing. When we're done, I pour the mixture into the tin and leave it in the oven to bake for about an hour.

In the meantime, we talk.

Clay decides to smear some flour on my nose, so I throw the rest of the bag on him. The entire kitchen looks like a right state, but I don't care; I laugh loudly, running around the kitchen counter, knowing he's about to hunt me down with the diamond sword equivalent in real life--the hand mixer.

"Oh, Aspeeeeen," he chuckles as he follows me around the counter.

"Oh, Dreaaaam." I take a torch out of one of the drawers, turn around and shine it in his eyes.

"Az," he groans, and I laugh. He wipes his eyes to get the flour away from them, making him look like he's wearing a face mask, and opens them. He closes them shut again, laughing. "Everytime I open my eyes, flour falls back in."

I snort again. "Sorry. Hold on."

I take the kitchen towel, wet it thoroughly and return to Clay. I wipe the excess flour off of his face, and his hands drop to his sides. He watches me carefully, a small smile forming on his lips. I can't help but stare at them for a moment.

He catches my stare, and I blush, hoping it wasn't too obvious.

"Here," I say, pushing the towel into his chest. "I'm eighteen. Too young to be a mum."

Clay chuckles, taking the towel and wiping the rest of the flour off. He runs it roughly through the flour-covered strands of his hair, turning his head into a damper, messier dark brown.

Fuck, he looks even hotter with wet hair.

"So, uh, why did you decide to fly to London instead of straight to Brighton?" I ask him, biting my lip. I've been wanting to know the answer to this question for a long time. I mean, what's the point of dicking around and giving me the responsibility of looking after you? Urgh, men.

He raises his brows. "Where did that come from?"

"It just popped into my head. You didn't tell anyone why."

There's a long pause.

His green eyes are filled with amusement. "You know. It's cheaper to fly to London."

"I don't think a guy that'll fly half way across the world is that concerned about the price of things," I argue, folding my arms at him.

He stops messying his hair and puts the towel down.

"You got me."

There's another silence as I figure out what to say. 'You got me'? What, do I get a prize too? Is this Hide and Seek? Maybe an arcade game?

"Why are you actually here, Clay?" I ask, my voice coming out like a whisper.

Slowly, he steps forward. He's even taller from up close and it's a little intimidating. We're only inches away.

My eyes can't help but glance at his lips. And for a moment, as his gaze lowers further down from my eyes, I notice his are on mine too. I step forward too, unable to help myself.

And kiss him.

It takes a second for him to respond, but he kisses me back. It's a sweet kiss that quickly turns heavier when he steps forward, my back slamming into the counter.

We pull away; I'm breathing hard against his neck, and he looks away at the clock.

"Was that too soon?" I ask, looking down at my feet.

Clay's head flicks back to me. He leans down, cornering me against the counter again. He puts his hands on either side of me and, after one last gaze at my lips, kisses me again.

I put my hands on his chest as he wraps his around my waist, pulling me into him. I let my hands roam through his wet hair, and untangle them when we pull away.

He looks down at me again with his eyes soft and I think he's going to say something romantic.

Instead, he flicks my fucking forehead.

"You're such an idiot," he says, amused. "If I thought whatever was going on between us was happening too fast, then I wouldn't be here right now."

"You're the idiot, idiot."

God, I sound like Nick.

"Mhm."

I rub my forehead, feeling the heat of my blush spread all over my face. "You can stay over tonight, if you want."

He raises his brows.

I see the cocky look on his face and roll my eyes. "Not like that. The sofa's actually pretty comfortable. But you can have the bed, if you really want, World Record Princess--"

"The couch is fine," he murmurs, a smile playing on his lips.

"Really?"

He nods and laughs. "I would have said yes if you offered me the floor."

I smile.

Then I start to smell something burning.

@azzpen

i'm a good woman

💬 178 🔁 315 💜 12,242

└─────── ──➤