“wait, turn back ‘round on your tiptoes t’the cabinet.”
a tsk rolls off your tongue. raising an eyebrow at the phone’s camera, you lean back briefly on the kitchen counter. the movement results in your worn-out house shirt riding up again, and a peek of bare thigh jumps out for the world to see.
caleb, unashamed and slightly grainy through the screen, stares back. his eyes are alight with that familiar violet hue of mirth—a gaze you know only means trouble.
“what? can’t a guy support his girlfriend in tryna reach the top shelf? c’mon, i’ll watch ya in case y’fall.”
“i know what you’re up to,” you accuse. “freak.”
squinting, you can make out a hand of his raising in surrender. he’s laughing, the sound music to your ears, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips.
“ah, caught me red-handed, pips.” caleb fakes a wounded tone, wiping away air tears for dramatic effect. “guess i’ll just need t’be punished when i get back from my mission, eh?”
the kettle whistles from across the kitchen. you hold back an eye roll as you move to settle the boiling water down, eventually working your way back to grab your favorite mug from the top shelf.
“keep it in your pants, colonel. you still have three days to go.”
it’s eerily quiet as you reach with all your might for the cup handle that’s just barely outside your grasp. it taunts you, teetering on the edge of the cabinet shelf—designed just high enough to forever humiliate you, until caleb, as always, comes to the rescue.
ceramic brushes your fingertips; in your excitement, you cheer all too early, and a jerk of your hand has you pushing your mug farther inside the cabinet.
“whatever,” you mumble, beginning to hoist yourself up on the counter. it’s right there, it’s so close, your fingers take hold of the handle and you can already taste your drink—
“holy shit, those panties the lace ones? m’favorite ones?”
