At that moment a thousand different scenarios sped through my head.
The sandwich would hit him in the face. He was deathly allergic to mayonnaise and I was going to kill him. Or he was going to be so angry he would fire me. Wait, could he fire me?
Somehow, he managed to catch it in a way that kept a single crumb from falling onto his spotless black trench coat.
I stared, mouth agape, and felt my annoyance increase exponentially. At that point I'd rather have seen him going into anaphylactic shock than with that smug expression.
"I appreciate you sharing your food with me," he commented, "But I prefer my bread toasted."
He put the sandwich on the bench and slid it across so that it was sitting beside me.
I grabbed it, my agitation leaking through my composed (ish) exterior.
"Thanks for the memo sunshine, I'll remember that the next time I buy a sandwich."
My tone was dripping with acid by then. I made no move to hide it, either.
"Thank you." Sutton replied, "You're too kind."
I was tempted to slug him in the face but I didn't want to ruin his looks- I mean, my chances of making the ballet. Instead I continued my ferocious consumption of the sandwich, throwing the plastic wrap in the trash can beside me as soon as I'd finished.
"Ready to resume practicing?" Raphael asked innocently, standing up.
I looked up at him (damn he was tall) and sighing, nodded.
I had admitted defeat. For the meantime.
Sutton asked me if I wanted a ride home when the practice was finally over. Naturally, I declined.
Regardless of how crammed and nasty the bus could be, I made my own way back to my flat.
I showered again, making up my resolve for the second time that day.
I wouldn't let him get to me. The next day, I would be calm as a cucumber.