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...
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Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I wasn't a man that panicked very often.
I prided myself in being calm, collected and very cool all the time. Under any circumstance, I was always the calm one. During hits, I was cool, listened to music even, sometimes. In a fight, I was collected and didn't let my anger cloud my training.
Cool, calm, collected. That was my fucking motto.
But whenever I was within a twenty mile radius of this blonde woman, every drop of cool calmness literally wafted from my body like steam.
For the last three days of my life, I've been awake. Blinking at my fuckin' ceiling.
Because whenever I closed my eyes, all I would see is blonde hair. Ocean blue eyes with the smallest bits of dark blue in them. Dainty fingers. Boney collarbones. Tall, built legs. The roundest ass I've ever seen in my life.
And the soft smile, almond shaped eyes, pale skin. Full lips, curtain bangs and silky, soft hair.
She was ruining my fucking life.
And I fucking hated her for it. She wasn't supposed to ruin my life. Anyone else.
Many times, I'd ask every higher being: Why her?
And every time, they'd leave me without an answer.
We were standing in my warehouse. Filled with different kinds of liquor, distilled by yours truly. She was wearing this white shirt that hugged her waist and pressed her chest up, and it had a deep neckline and frilly fuckin' sleeves.
Her jeans were blue and hugged her so perfectly that I half debated on telling the woman to go back into her bedroom and change out of her fuckin' jeans.
She took the short glass from my fingers, swirling the translucent gin in the glass.
"What's this one?" She asked me, her lights different shade of blue under the yellow fluorescent lights.
"Gin." I answered her, my voice an octave lower because I was tipsy and was using active effort not to fuck this woman into next week in my fucking warehouse. She nodded her head slowly as she looked down at the gin, bit onto her bottom lip, and I couldn't help the groan that came from my throat.
She brought the glass up to her lips and took a sip.
Nose scrunch, shaking of her head, pushing the glass back at me.
"I hate gin," she mumbled and wiped her lips.
"You don't have taste then," I said and finished mine off. She rolled her eyes, and fuck if that didn't get me half hard. "Or your gin is just bad,"
My gin was not bad. "Or you're a boring blonde woman that likes white wine with her morning smoke," I poured another brand of much sweeter gin into her glass and swirled it before holding it out to her.
