Polished
“It looks even, “ Adam decides out loud, holding his hand up so the light shines off the freshly dried nail polish. “Good job, Adam.”
“Because you don’t hear that enough,” Allison teases sarcastically from behind her magazine. There’s a loving tone to the comment, and Adam smiles.
“Oh, Allison. You’re such a peach,” he teases back.
“Shh. Kris is sleeping,” Allison mock scolds, magazine still hiding her face.
“Kris is always sleeping,” Adam rolls his eyes, settling them on his roommate, or as Kris put it, his “roomie.” Add that to the long list of Kris’ adorable mannerisms, Adam thinks. Kris is curled up on the corner of the sofa, one arm draped lazily over the side, hanging listlessly.
“Adam,” Allison states without looking up from the apparently interesting article she’s reading, “you’re staring again.” Adam laughs.
“Am I that predictable?” he asks. Allison sighs contentedly, turning a page.
“When he’s concerned? Yes.” Adam takes that in stride because it’s probably (see: totally) true. Allison suddenly peaks over the top of her magazine.
“You should totally paint his nails,” she suggests mischievously. Since Matt’s departure, she’s taken it upon herself to make sure that his spirit of practical jokery survives in the mansion. Adam is thrilled with the idea and hides (see: barely obscures) it behind a feigned look of shock.
“Allison,” he gasps in an exaggeration of a very O’Hara southern drawl , “I cannot believe that you’d suggest such a thing. It’s unlady like.” Allison merely giggles, because she knows that that isn’t going to stop Adam.
“Because you don’t hear that enough,” Allison teases sarcastically from behind her magazine. There’s a loving tone to the comment, and Adam smiles.
“Oh, Allison. You’re such a peach,” he teases back.
“Shh. Kris is sleeping,” Allison mock scolds, magazine still hiding her face.
“Kris is always sleeping,” Adam rolls his eyes, settling them on his roommate, or as Kris put it, his “roomie.” Add that to the long list of Kris’ adorable mannerisms, Adam thinks. Kris is curled up on the corner of the sofa, one arm draped lazily over the side, hanging listlessly.
“Adam,” Allison states without looking up from the apparently interesting article she’s reading, “you’re staring again.” Adam laughs.
“Am I that predictable?” he asks. Allison sighs contentedly, turning a page.
“When he’s concerned? Yes.” Adam takes that in stride because it’s probably (see: totally) true. Allison suddenly peaks over the top of her magazine.
“You should totally paint his nails,” she suggests mischievously. Since Matt’s departure, she’s taken it upon herself to make sure that his spirit of practical jokery survives in the mansion. Adam is thrilled with the idea and hides (see: barely obscures) it behind a feigned look of shock.
“Allison,” he gasps in an exaggeration of a very O’Hara southern drawl , “I cannot believe that you’d suggest such a thing. It’s unlady like.” Allison merely giggles, because she knows that that isn’t going to stop Adam.