09

                                    

                                          
I woke up smelling smoke.
                          
Crap. The building is on fire. I am going to die. This is the end.
                          
I bolted upright in my bed. I almost forgot that I had moved apartments. Once I regained my composure, I stood up, grabbed my phone and rushed out of my room.
                          
"Dallas! Dallas!" I shrieked, "Something's burning. The building's on fire! We need to eva-"
                          
"Relax, the building isn't on fire. God, you're so dramatic." Dallas muttered as he approached me from the kitchen. His annoyed look curled into amusement as he eyed me. "Cute shorts."
                          
I looked down realizing I was wearing my pyjamas. A pair of silk shorts and a tank. I crossed my arms across my chest and tried to ignore the embarrassment that rose to the surface. "Then, why do I smell smoke?"
                          
"I accidentally burned some cookies," he shrugged.
                          
"Of course you did." I scoffed, "Nearly gave me a heart attack too." I squinted in the light at the clock on the oven. "What time is it?"
                          
"Four."
                          
"In the afternoon?" I gasped, I was supposed to go to class!
                          
"No." He rolled his eyes. "In the morning, the sun isn't even in out yet."
                          
"What? Are you crazy? Who bakes cookies at four in the morning?"
                          
"Well, clearly not me, because they're in the trash." Dallas grumbled, "Anyway. You can go back to your beauty sleep now, you really need it."
                          
I groaned, ignoring his snarky remark as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. "No, I can't sleep now, you ruined my schedule."
                          
"Fine, then you can make us breakfast."
                          
"I'm not your servant."
                          
"I didn't say that, but hey," He raised his hand up, "It's not something I'd argue with."
                          
I moved past him into the kitchen, opening cabinets left and right, finding nothing. "Do you have anything edible in here?"
                          
"Who said Pop-Tarts weren't edible?" Dallas asked grabbing one from a drawer.
                          
I shook my head in disapproval, opening the fridge. There was half a loaf of bread and some eggs. "How does French toast sound?"
                          
Dallas shrugged, "I don't mind anything."
                          
"Do you have any sugar?"
                          
"That cabinet," he indicated behind me.
                          
I pulled it open, finding a packet of salt and a packet of sugar. This boy needed to go shopping. I tried to reach for the sugar, but the idiot had placed it on the shelf that was just out of my reach. I prepared myself to climb the counter but Dallas beat me to it. 
                          
"Need some help there, shortcake?" He snickered, grabbing the sugar with ease.
                          
"I'm not short," I snapped, snatching the container from his hands. I stood five feet and two inches from the ground, perfectly average.
                          
Dallas smirked as he leant against a counter. "Yeah, well as someone who's six feet, you're like an ant."
                          
I raised a brow, examining his build. "Yeah. You absolutely are not six feet tall."
                          
Dallas scowled, "Am so."
                          
"Are not."
                          
"Wanna bet?" He became defensive. 
                          
"Grab the measuring tape, Davenport."
                          
Scoffing, Dallas trudged out of the kitchen disappearing into his room.