"Jesus, I don't know how you drive here," I said as Chicago carefully maneuvered the sleek Porche through the thick traffic.
If I thought I was nervous yesterday for Thanksgiving, then I was definitely nervous today.
We were going to meet her close friends for dinner over at Venice Beach, which seemingly struck nervousness through me yet again.
Chicago laughed, "Trust me, you get used to it—especially when you grow up here," she said, flicking her signal on as she guided the expensive car off the exit.
I breathed in a slight breath when the beautiful beach began to come into view—signaling that we would be meeting her friends in the next few minutes.
I anxiously fidgeted with my hands. Why am I so nervous right now?
My eyes darted down to my lap when Chicago reached over, gently placing her hand over my hands that were fidgeting together. The act was subtle, but somehow her warm hand over mine felt completely soothing—it made me forget what I was even nervous about in the first place.
"Your nervousness is making me nervous—and they're my friends," Chicago said, laughing slightly as she spared me a brief reassuring glance.
I smiled as Chicago gave my hands a gentle squeeze, letting her presence known, "You think they'll like me?" I asked, turning my hands over to hold her one.
Chicago smiled, "They're going to love you—possibly more than they love me," she said, turning into the sandy parking lot. "You seem to have that effect on people," she murmured, and it was almost so quiet, I questioned if I had even heard the words leave her mouth in the first place.
Soon we were parked and exiting the car—the plan was to eat lunch at a local oceanfront restaurant with her friends, and then Chicago and I would chill on the beach.
It was our last day here, and so far it felt like I had made the best of LA—considering, Chicago gave me a little tour earlier in the day.
As Chicago and I walked side by side, I adjusted my flowy dress that was covering up my sage green bikini—luckily, since this restaurant was oceanfront, there really wasn't a strict dress code.
Even so, my dress seemingly could be worn in a regular restaurant—and Chicago's outfit also seemed to be semi-appropriate. She was wearing tan Nike swim shorts with a matching sports bra and a white linen short sleeve button-down shirt over it. If she would've buttoned up the shirt then it would've been declared appropriate for a normal restaurant.
"Ayee, look who it is," a soft voice called from the table—causing my eyes to easily divert to the woman who stood up. She had bronzed skin with long dark wavy hair that touched her lower back as she wore a two-piece teal bikini with a sheer white cover-up.
Beside her was a dark-skinned man dressed in flower-patterned swim shorts and a white t-shirt that was cropped at his lower stomach.
Chicago dapped the girl up before giving her a brief hug, "What's good," she said, smiling as the man stood up as well—also giving him a dap up and a hug. Chicago motioned to me, "Guys, this is Sloan," she introduced me, easily making their eyes dart to me.
The girl smiled, "I'm Kleo," she said, smiling brightly as she held out a hand.
I took her hand but was startled when she pulled me into a full-on hug.
"Yeah... we don't just do handshakes around here," the guy said as Kleo let go of me. He held his arms out as well, "I'm Quincy."
I smiled, giving him a hug that he was clearly initiating. Chicago was right yet again.
