Live Dangerously
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
The drone of the refrigerator filled the silence.
At last he turned to her, a spoon lodged shamelessly between his lips. Her eyes narrowed as the edges of his frown quirked into a devilish smirk. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and made a seductive display of sliding the spoon slowly from his lips, finishing with satisfied moan.
"Delicious."
"That was a brand new jar of peanut butter," she stated, as though he didn't already know. "My brand new jar of peanut butter."
He shrugged, not bothered, then turned back around and went in for another scoop. "Virgin territory. I couldn't resist."
The feeling of her eyes glaring daggers in his back made him smile. But even more satisfying was the way she spat his name when she scoffed, "Grow up, Derek." He closed his eyes and savored the sensation before swallowing it down with the peanut butter.
"Speaking of which," he said between his next licks, "isn't it past your bedtime?" He leaned casually against the counter, quirking an eyebrow in her general direction. The kitchen was relatively dark, and he could barely make out the contours of her face.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at the microwave, which read half past two. "I was hungry," she says defensively.
"For me?"
She deadpanned in response. He laughed. But then, growing suddenly sober, he found himself confessing: "It's ok, Case. I couldn't sleep, either."
She stared, then smiled, then grinned. "Is The Unshakable Derek Venturi nervous?" She sauntered closer, hips a-sway and eyebrow raised.
"Does Ice-Princess Casey McDonald care?" he countered, meeting her eyes.
She snorted and dismissed the train of their conversation with a transitioning eye roll. "Look, if we're going to live together for the next four years, you should at least learn not to eat out of my peanut butter jar."
"No," he contended, waving a loaded spoon in her face, "you should learn how to share." He took another lick for emphasis.
"I'll share food," she negotiated, "but I won't share germs." She tried to set him with a firm glare, but it withered uncertainly beneath his suddenly soft expression and incredulous eyes. "Stop looking at me like that," she whispered. It was as though he were trying to undress her metaphorical layers to see into her soul. The feeling that he had suddenly, after three years, succeeded caused her to shift nervously beneath his omniscient gaze.
He moved towards her. Startled, she backed herself against the kitchen counter. "Look, Case," he began, brandishing a new spoonful of peanut butter, "you need to loosen up."
He continued drawing nearer.
"You're going to university in seven hours."
Nearer.
"For once in your life, live a little dangerously."
He had closed the space between them. One of his legs he eased between hers, using it to nudge her onto the countertop. The sudden push and release of pressure there was an intoxicating sensation. Her eyes fluttered shut, and when she opened them, she found him holding the spoon two inches from her faintly parted lips. She froze.
"Open your mouth."
The spell was broken. Her brows came together in record time. "What?" It came out as a breath, one she was not aware she'd been holding.
"Open your mouth, Princess," he said, softer.
"Wha—no!" she stuttered, halfway to becoming hysterical, mostly at the thought of eating after the most disgusting person she knew, but also at his unnerving proximity. She could feel the heat from his body and the warm stick of his breath on her skin. "This is so wrong," she said without thinking, not aware to which circumstance she was referring.
"Come on, Case. Please?"
She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head defiantly.
"You always make things difficult, Case," he sighed, but his voice was smiling.
Suddenly, he lifted his hand to her jaw, hesitating before he pressed his fingers to her skin. "Ok?" he asked.
She hesitated, glancing between his hand and his eyes. She searched him for what felt like ages. Then, finally, she swallowed, breathed, and nodded. He smirked benignly and did the same.
Then, carefully, he took her jaw in one hand and rested the spoon between her lips with the other. Placing a finger beneath her chin, he lightly lifted it upwards to close her mouth around the utensil. Slowly, at last, he pulled the spoon from her lips and tenderly tilted back her head.
"Swallow," he said. His fingers felt warm and soft against her face.
Her eyes were glued in bewildered fascination to his own. Obediently, she took an audible gulp. Satisfied with her response, he brought his fingers again to her mouth, using his thumb to wipe away some of the peanut butter left on her lips. Then he smiled an impish smile and whispered, almost proudly, "That's my college girl."
His thumb lingered a little longer than necessary. It was all she could do to breath.
