Being a Chef, you learned a thing or two.
1. You work well with your hands.
2. You're not afraid to get down & dirty.
3. You're all about pleasing.
4. You can satisfy every taste bud.
5. You can go on for hours without breaks.
6. You know how to han...
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"Wear the red dress." Olivia sits crossed-legged on my bed as I walk in and out of the bathroom, trying on clothes. I don't know why I'm doing this. I don't know why I said yes—like being his chef isnt already complicated enough. I understand why—the sex. I haven't been touched in forever, and Tristan was the first guy to touch me in forever. "Just wear the red dress, damn it!" she snaps.
"Fine." I flip her off, walk back into the bathroom, and shut the door.
"Why did you say yes to begin with?" I hear Sage question me.
"Because she got manipuladicked," Tiffany answers for me. I peek my head out of the bathroom.
"Manipula—what?"
"After sex, he asks you that question...you got manipuladicked or dickmatized. Either way, you look at it; that dick got you to this current situation." Tiffany looks at me through my vanity mirror. I'm not too fond of that smug look on her face. Rolling my eyes, I walk back into the bathroom.
"It's like you have your very own Chris Evans. You better hold on to him tightly because I know a few women that wouldn't mind snagging him for themselves." Sage says. I bet it's her; she is the women. I look at myself in the mirror, and this little red dress is it!
"Tell me when you're about to come out!" Olivia shouts.
"Umm, I'm about to come out," I say, confused.
"Alright, come on out," Olivia calls back.
I open the bathroom door, and my inner pre-teen JoBro self is squealing in delight. The sounds of Burnin' Up by Jonas Brothers blast through my speakers. I do a little dance while walking out of the bathroom. Olivia is dancing atop my bed with Sage, and Tiffany is lip-syncing with a brush.
"Come on, girl." Tiffany sings, pointing at Olivia, who jumps off my bed.
Singing and dancing around my room is definitely putting my nerves at ease. I can't believe I told him yes. Tristan said I would only need to pretend for dinner, but we both know that isnt going to be the truth. He and I were now crossing another line. The ladies leave my place, but not without giving me some not so much needed words of encouragement. I swear these three want to see me hitched and pregnant.
My phone vibrates, and it's a text from Tristan telling me he is downstairs. How chivalrous of him not to meet me at the door. Grabbing my things, I lock up and head downstairs. I dont see Tristan in the lobby, so I walk outside, and there he is, leaning against his sports car, fiddling with his phone. The sound of my heels against the pavement makes him look up. A smile spreads across his face, and I'm annoyed.
"You could have come upstairs." I huff, approaching him.
"You look lovely tonight. I'm loving the red dress."
"Thank you. Shall we get going?" I look at the passenger door. Oh, he better open it, or I'm going to turn right back around and go upstairs. Not a second later, he opens the passenger door. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me into his chest. I can feel the heat.
