The knocking don't stop.

You roll your eyes, push your wet hair out of your face in utter frustration and yank the bathroom door open.

Steaming like a volcano on two legs.

Your bathrobe hangs crooked off one shoulder, wet hair clinging to your neck and your mood is exactly as warm as the water from the shower you just stepped out of.

You shuffle down the hallway in oversized spa slippers, nearly tripping flat on your face.

The ones you and George accidentally took from that overpriced spa day.

You had protested, he had laughed and eventually you laughed too.

Now you wish you’d thrown one of them at his head.

The knocking grows more insistent.

You stop in front of the door, take a deep breath and peek through the peephole.

George.

Of course.

Your hand hesitates.

You’re not ready for his charming grin. Not ready for the excuses. Not ready to forgive him.

Not yet.

But you open the door.

And there he is.

Messy hair, a crooked smile. His beige jacket looks like he threw it on in a hurry and his smile is cautious, like he knows exactly how thin the ice is beneath his feet.

You keep the door only half open, your hand firm on the edge, ready to slam it into his face if he says the wrong thing.

You stare at him, eyes narrow, voice low and dangerous. “I’m mad.”

He nods.

His lips are pressed tightly together, like he’s trying hard not to flash that charming grin you usually can’t resist.

Then he pulls something from behind his back. "Here. Your favorite champagne.”

You take it, still staring.

“I’m still mad." You say.

Then you turn around and leave him there, like a heartbroken delivery guy.

Behind you, you hear him mutter under his breath. “F*ck…” Then the soft sound of the door closing and his hesitant footsteps following.

Like the floor is lava and he’s not quite sure he deserves to walk on it.

“I’m sorry, babe." He says. Like that’s enough.

You turn to face him. “You forgot our eight-month date, George! You stood me up! You forgot me! Do you know how humiliating it was to sit alone in that restaurant? I saw the pity in all the people's eyes!” You snap at him, voice sharp with rage.

He sighs.

“I didn’t forget you! It just…escalated. Kimi was on the podium, me too. Toto had shots. He wanted to celebrate. It wasn’t planned..it just happened.” He mumbles.

You blink. "You forgot the person you’re in a relationship with because your boss handed you a drink? You are really a walking emotional liability!" You say, voice thick with sarcasm, dripping almost as much as your wet hair.

You move around the kitchen island, letting the robe slip open slightly.

A controlled accident.

He follows, swallowing hard. “I tried to text you…but I didn’t know what to say. And…I figured you were already pissed. So I thought..Champagne could help. And I ordered pizza. You love pizza.”

You glance back at him. “You mean you thought you could bribe me with expensive alcohol, pizza, good sex and your ‘Baby-I’m-sorry’ eyes into forgiving you?” You pop the champagne open.

Pop.

“Uhm…yeah?” His grin is so damn smug that you almost grin yourself.

Almost.

You lean against the counter, your robe slipping even more.

His eyes drop to your almost exposed breasts. His grin widens.

“You’re such an asshole!” You snap, punching him in the chest.

He grabs your hand, steps closer and pulls you against his chest. “And you’re very hot when you’re mad.”

His left hand finds the tie of your robe. He tugs gently. “I'm really sorry, baby." He murmurs against your neck as he trails soft kisses along your skin.