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My headache and body ache had gone away by the time I woke up at seven in the evening from my big fat nap.

After lunch at The Locket, Josh refused to drop me at my apartment. Instead, he wanted me to go back to work with him so later, I wouldn't have to come by his apartment. He stood leaning against his car once we left the restaurant while I stood across from him, my arms folded across my chest.

"What is your deal? You don't want me to stop by your apartment tonight?" I had asked him.

"No, I don't," he huffed.

"Why?" I lifted a brow at him before my eyes widened a bit in surprise as a realization dawned on me. "Are you expecting someone? A girl?"

He stared at me in confusion and then rolled his eyes. "No, what the hell? I just don't like having people at my apartment."

"Then you can come by my apartment," I shrugged. "Okay?"

He huffed, "Okay."

"Can you drive me home?"

He scoffed, "You want me to drive you home and then go back to work? It's impractical for me. No. Get a cab." And then got in his car.

"Josh!"

He rolled his window down, resting his elbow on the frame and staring at me. "Yes, Ms. Valentine?" he asked with a roll of his eyes.

"My ID card is still at my desk. Can you at least keep that with you?"

He paused and then nodded once. "Fine," and then drove off, heading back to work.

I groaned softly and stood there for a moment before getting a cab and coming back home.

Now that I'd woken up from my nap, I certainly hoped he hadn't stopped by earlier and I just wasn't awake to answer the door. I glanced at the clock while I got up and then went into the bathroom, freshening up. I didn't bother changing out the pajamas I wore after taking a shower and kept on the blank tank and fuzzy Minnie Mouse pajamas with a pair of socks. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, the shorter pieces falling around my face.

Entering the kitchen, I had some cold water to wake myself up and then started preparing dinner. I decided to make some spaghetti since I already had ready-made sauce and the pasta was almost done boiling when I heard my doorbell ring. I glanced at the door. "Just a second!" Using the wooden spoon, I fished out a single strand of the pasta and threw it at the cabinet. "Oh, it stuck," I said, pleasantly surprised. It usually doesn't work the first time for me.

I turned down the heat before rushing over and answering the door.

Josh stared down at me before holding up his hand, my ID dangling from it. "Here." He put it over my head with just one hand and then strolled in like he owned the place. He acted like I invited him over a billion times.

I rolled my eyes, closing the door and leaving my ID in the bowl with my apartment keys. I went back into the kitchen as he took a quick look around, standing at the counter. "I made spaghetti, I'm almost done. Sit," I told him over my shoulder.

"Lydia asked where you went," he said, rounding the corner and coming to stand beside me, peering at the food.

"Did you tell her I was sick?"

"No."

My eyes snapped over to his.

"You're not sick," he shrugged.

"I felt sick then," I argued.

"You just felt tired."

"No, I was sick!"

He eyed me blankly. "Still feeling sick then?"

"No," I mumbled sheepishly.

"Exactly."

"She'll kill me tomorrow," I scoffed.

"No, she won't."

"Wasn't she expecting the article outline by today?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "but I already gave it to her."

I paused, glancing at him. "What do you mean? We haven't even made it yet. If you said I was sick, it would have bought us some time."

"I made it while you were recovering," he snickered.

I rested my hand on the counter, turning to face him. "You made the whole thing without me?"

He watched me in amusement, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You have a weird way of saying thanks."

I took in a breath. "Look, thank you. You took it upon yourself and worked it out when I wasn't there to work with you, but I also know that if you made it on your own, that means you made it according to you. It'll probably be like one of your articles and our articles aren't the same," I rambled on quickly.

"I read your articles," he replied, glancing at the stove. "You'll ruin the pasta."

I turned the stove off, facing him completely. "You read my articles. And?"

"And I made sure to put in some of your sections, okay? I kept the way you write in mind. Remind me again what you called me here for because I was so sure it was dinner. I'm hungry."

I nudged him away and opened the cabinet he was blocking, taking out two plates and wiping them with a paper napkin before serving the pasta, taking a bit more in my plate. I left the plates on the counter and left the pot in the sink but when I came back, he was already holding the plate with more food in it and sat down on the barstool.

I glared at him, taking out two forks and pretending to stab him with it when he wasn't looking before I placed it in front of him and rounded the counter, sitting across from him. I eyed him while wiggling my toes around. I felt nervous having him in my apartment like I had to cater to him since he was the guest.

"I told you," I began, "I thought we could make the outline tonight and submit it tomorrow. But you did it anyway, so now you're just over here for free dinner."

He nodded with a small shrug and stood up. He glanced at the cabinets before randomly opening one and taking out a glass, filling it up with refrigerated water, and then sitting back down.

"Why didn't you tell me over the phone that you already did the work? I would have expected that rather than you showing up here."

He shook his head. "Why would I say no to free dinner?"

"And why would you do all the work on your own?" I lifted a brow. "That seems too good to be true."

"It is. Because you owe me now."

"Excuse me?"

"Whenever I feel like slacking off work next, you'll do the work for me. We'll call it even."

I hesitantly nodded. "Fine."

I bet a catch will pop up whenever that actually happens.

"Or I could just make things more difficult for you. Get you to do everything on this trip so we fail and Lydia lets us work independently again," he smirked at me, resting his elbow on the counter.

I stared at him, letting out a frustrated huff. We both ate in silence apart from the occasional exchange about the trip and the articles and afterward, he briefed me up with some more details about the layout he'd given to Lydia. "Since you've read my articles, isn't it only fair that I read yours?" I asked him, eating the last bite before grabbing a glass of water for myself.

"You can if you want to. They're nothing like yours."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"What do you try doing with your articles?"

"You never answer a question with a question."

"You always answer a question with a question," he replied smugly. "Answer me first."

I rolled my eyes, sitting back down. "I highlight all the best places, the most enjoyable ones, and I review everything all together. Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"

He nodded. "Then why do you sugarcoat it all?"

"What?"

"In all your articles, even the bad experiences, you make them out to be good. Sure, you don't give them high ratings but your experiences are probably worse than you let on."

I blinked in confusion. "Who would read a travel magazine just to see trashy reviews?"

"A lot of people," he retorted.

"Maybe people like you."

He lifted a brow.

"Look, all I'm saying is that nobody likes reading anyone's bad experiences."

"People who can't travel read our magazines exactly for that," he argued.

"So is that what you do with your articles then? Try to make every city sound miserable?"

"No. But I don't make every city sound like Disneyland. That's why my articles are more realistic than yours."

"Realistic doesn't mean better."

"Sure it does," he replied.

"You act like such a dick," I scoffed, my fork clattering on the plate.

He stared at me and then shrugged, "And?"

My eyes narrowed a sliver. "Are you really like this or do you just pretend?"

He just didn't seem like someone who should be so hostile.

It's his pretty face, I'm telling you.

"I don't have to pretend when I'm with you," he said nonchalantly. "It comes naturally."

I pointed at him with my fork accusingly. "See. You see what I'm talking about?"

He nodded, mumbling sarcastically, "Yeah, of course, I do," as he rounded the counter and took the dishes that were mine, going to wash them. He paused by the sink. He must have contemplated whether to wash them or not before he just left them in the sink and then faced me again. "If you're done here, am I free to go?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I holding you back?"

"Sort of," he shrugged, making me ground my teeth.

He is so annoying. I hate him, he gets on my last nerve. He would be my undoing.

"Get out," I told him.

His eyes glimmered in amusement, "Oh, looks like someone's mad."

"You are so annoying!" I groaned loudly, standing up. "Show yourself out," I mumbled, rounding the counter and turning the tap on, washing the dishes.

He didn't move from the spot beside me as he leaned against the sink, his hands holding on. I slowed in my movements when he grabbed the washcloth and took the first washed plate from me, drying it and putting it back in the cabinet.

"What do you think you're doing?" I questioned.

"Being a better guest than you were," he bit back.

I handed him the second plate, then our glasses of water, and then washed my hands while he put them away. I faced him, flicking my fingers at his face, sending droplets flying.

He caught my wrist before I could do it again and pinned my hand down to the counter. "Don't be so immature, Poppy. We both know you can do better than that," he teased.

I faked a laugh before tucking my hair behind my ear with my middle finger, smiling at him.

He nodded and then mocked me, doing the same thing, pretending to tuck his hair behind his ear in a feminine manner before he flipped me off, slowly backing away and heading to the door. I watched him as he reached the door and then paused, spinning back around. "Don't bother coming into work tomorrow." He pointed at me.

"What? Why?"

"Well, since you're sick, you should take a day off, don't you think?"

I tilted my head to one side. "I thought you didn't tell Lydia I was sick."

"Goodnight, Poppy," he said before turning back around and unlocking the door.

"Wait, should I really not come in tomorrow?!" I called out after him.

He didn't answer as the door closed behind him and he left.

I don't know if it's just around me or generally, but being a dick really does come to him naturally.

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