SHE

I stifled a weary sigh when I realized I was being left alone with Joanne, and from the narrow eyed glare she was giving me, I would say the feeling was mutual. She hovers in front of me like I was some sort of experiment she was trying her best to understand.

“Should I be worried?” I ask, meeting her eyes.

“How did you become his sous chef? In fact, how did you sneak your way into his life?”

I eye her wearily, her eyes had become even more razor like, and I don’t think she realizes, but she was bearing her fangs as she spoke. The understanding dawned on me then, she was protecting her friend, her person.

With a sigh, I start, “He asked me to, both times, he even had an apron made for me.”

Her slitted eyes widened to the point where I feared they would bulge out of her head, then what was I supposed to tell Abed, or worse Clay?

Then as if she talked herself into it, her shoulders draw back into themselves, and she falls into her seat beside me.

“He did?”

Turning my upper body, I f