A/N: For every girl that's ever had an unreadable guy. It may continue, depending.

&

Picture Perfect

&

"Have you ever noticed, how, on the eHarmony advertisements, all the couples look the same?" Chelsea asked the boy across from her.

The boy looked up from his coffee, perturbed. "No-oo…" he answered slowly.

"There are never any multiracial couples."

He raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So?" She said, leaning back and looking disgruntled. "Multiracial couples restore my faith in humanity."

Travis looked at her closely, setting down his coffee cup with a resounding click. "Why?"

"Hey! Look at us, I mean, we're multiracial! We should da—"

He cut her off. "Chelsea!" Snapping his fingers in front of her face, he continued. "Why would it be wrong to not be a politically correct multiracial couple? I mean, if people want to marry other people that look exactly—"

"Aha!" She cried. "So you have noticed!"

"—like them, then, be my guest!" Several people in the coffee shop were looking at them now, as their 'heated whispers' ascended to more argumentative tones.

"Travis, you're being an ass," Chelsea informed him angrily, crossing her arms. "Stop interrupting me," she glared at him, daring him to argue, "and you know I hate it when you snap your fingers in front of my face!"

Travis merely sat back in his chair, looking smug and cocky. "Whatever you say," he waved his hand airily.

"I was trying to share an opinion with you!" She snapped, standing.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he jumped up, holding out his hand. "Where are you going?"

Chelsea looked marginally placated by his obvious desire to continue talking to her. "Well, I,"

"Chels, you overreact to everything."

She frowned. "That's not true."

"Yes, it so is."

"Is not."

"Is so."

"Is not."

"Is so."

"IS NOT!" Chelsea bellowed, slamming her hands on the table. Both coffee cups rattled, and Travis's spilled a bit. "Ah, shit, sorry, here," she mumbled, scrambling for napkins before it could leak in to his lap.

Travis stood up too, and together they covered the mess. "No probs, here, I've got one."

"Trav, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean…"

"No, s'fine, don't worry—"

"I just got kind of into it—"

"No, same, it was an honest mistake. I was about to do the same," Travis admitted with a smile that made his eyes glow. "I'm not gonna disown you for almost—not even—getting coffee on my trousers."

Chelsea grinned with relief, and Travis' eyes were drawn inexplicably to her lips. She noticed, and poked him in the chest. "Admiring my luscious lips?" She asked, sauntering closer around the table.

"Perhaps," he said, deciding to play her game. He advanced, until they were almost nose-to-nose. "So what if I was?" He saw her gulp, and a smile flitted across his features. It vanished as she advanced.

"So you liiike me," she smirked, pushing herself against him and winding her arms around his neck. "You wanna kiiiss me."

It was Travis' turn to suck down a breath, feeling her warm body pressed firmly against him. "What would you do?" He murmured in her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "What would you do if I kissed you, right here, right now?"

"I thought we weren't going to do that," she sang, leaning back in a slow-dance pose, arms still locked around his neck. "I thought you said it would be too awkward the next day."

Doubts were slowly being erased from Travis's mind as she continued to stay where she was. He leaned forward, eyes hooded.

Nervousness flickered across her face, and he grinned. "Stop it," Chelsea laughed, pushing him in the chest. "Leave me alone, man-whore." Travis repressed a groan of frustration, plastering an easygoing smile on his face.

"Couldn't quite handle me?"

He watched her lips curve and her chin tuck as she huffed out a breath through her nose. "Yeah, exactly."

"I want another coffee," Travis said pettishly, refusing to search awkwardly for a new conversation topic.

"Oh, here, I'll—omigosh—here, I'll buy you one, which kind, sorry," Chelsea stammered, reduced to reality.

"Geez, way to be a doormat," he drawled, ambling to the counter and slapping down a five dollar bill. "Drip coffee, please." His phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket.

"Who is it?" Chelsea asked curiously.

"I gotta head out," was all he said in response. "See ya later."

"Peace," she said awkwardly, holding up two fingers. She looked disappointed. "I hate my life," she told the barista.