30 Days

“He'd look just like you'd want him to
Some kind of slick chrome American prince…”
- Dustland Fairytale, The Killers.

“Fuck you Jack!” I yelled, chasing after him. We were baking cookies and Jack had just sprayed me with flour. The cookies were in the oven with the timer set to go off in twenty-five minutes, and Jack was so dead.

I swept a handful of leftover flour into my hands as I passed the counter and prepared to launch it at Jack’s hair. He ducked, letting the hair fly over his head and making more mess on the floor for us to clean up later. But right then, I couldn’t think about that too much, not when Jack had a glint in his eyes that I knew meant trouble.

Hearing that Jack loved me yesterday had given me a boost and I had stayed up late last night thinking about how my best friend loved me and how he could love me for being…well me. It was beyond my understanding how Jack could love me, a skinny teenager who had pink hair and like to play guitar and write lyrics, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that. Right now, I needed to get out of the way of Jack and his handful of flour.

He threw it and it burst into a cloud of white stuff in my face. I spat a mouthful back at him.

“You. Are. Dead.” I said just before launching myself at him. We fell on the floor, which was covered in flour, and I suddenly realised that I was straddling him, my knees on either side of his hips. Eh. Whatever.

I bent down and brushed my lips against his as my hands pinned Jack down by his shoulders. I pulled myself up and looked him in the eye. They were blown wide, only a thin ring of white visible to me, and his cheeks had turned red. And I knew it was the position we were in, that I was causing this reaction, and I kind of loved it. Having this much power over him was, without a doubt, intoxicating.

To shake myself out of my thoughts, I pressed a hard kiss to Jack’s lips. I heard him gasp quietly before responding to me. His tongue slipped out of his mouth and traced gently along my bottom lips. I opened my mouth and our tongues entwined. We began to make out and before I knew it, the timer was going off.

Grumbling under my breath, I stood up and extended my hand down to Jack. He accepted it and let me help him up.

As I opened the oven, steam rose up, and I grabbed the oven tray with the cookies on. I put it on the counter and promptly slapped one of Jack’s hand away.

“Not yet Jack!” I said, closing the oven.

I turned around in time to see him pout at me.

“But…they’re nicest when they’ve just come out of the oven…” Jack protested.

Later, I would say that I also happened to want one, not that Jack’s pout persuaded me. It wasn’t that at all.