Freddie Bianchi and Juliette Dupont are polar opposites.
She's hot, he's cold. She makes jokes, he takes them to heart. He's only an inch taller than her, and she makes fun of him ever chance she gets.
He calls her a dumb blonde, and albeit she's he...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Freddie Bianchi wears sunglasses at night.
That's not the only weird thing he does.
He also flicks his lighter in stages of four. Every. Single. Time.
And he lights a cigarette whilst he drives. He holds the steering wheel straight with his knee. He told me to get dressed more presentably. I was offended, of course, and told him that was shitty to say.
To which his lips curled and he shrugged his right shoulder, "Who ever told you that I was a gentleman, lied to you while looking you right in your eye,"
I came out six minutes later in blue jeans and a pretty, frilly white top. He gave me a once over with his striking orange brown eyes, and then he nodded and found my eyes again. Reversing back to what he said earlier, I responded, "Bold of you to assume people talk to me about you."
He closed my apartment door behind him, and then slipped his suit jacket onto his wide shoulders. He tilted the corner of his mouth upwards. "Mm," He said, and turned on his heel, put his hands in his pockets, and walked down the building's stairs.
Now, we were sitting in a sushi place.
He had his coat over the back of the booth, and his tie was in the process of being pulled loose by his two fingers. He undid the button at his throat, and then picked up his chopsticks again.
"How's your stitches?" I asked before putting a punch of noodles into my mouth.
"I took them out,"
Instantly, I dropped my wood chopsticks to the table and chewed my noodles while pointing my finger at him. But he just dipped his head and put his own noodles into his mouth, and then flashed his eyes up to mine as he slurped them up.
God damn. I was horniness of two legs.
"You took them out? My god, Freddie. You can't take them out! I put them in literally a day ago, and-"
"I'm kidding, albi,"
My finger deflated and I watched him take a mouthful of red wine into his mouth, watching me from the rim of his wine glass. He swallowed, and when he licked his lips, I stifled a laugh at his wine coloured tongue, and teeth and the very middle of his lips.
"You make shitty jokes," I ground out and decided to ignore him as I finished my dinner.
"I don't make jokes, though,"
I narrowed my gaze at my noodle soup. "You just made one,"
His lips curled. And he took another sip. Put noodles into his mouth, and chewed.
"You actually took them out, didn't you?" I questioned him through a mouthful of shrimp. His shoulders made a movement one could only call laughing shakes. He was laughing at me? That filled my chest with a very uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling.
