Simple Deal

Twenty: A

I saw the pictures, but I couldn't wait to go and see it with my own eyes.

I also told her to wear her swimsuit beneath her clothes, since. . . you know, there's a pool.

First, we'd swim. Then, we'd be served with food for an hour straight and then we'd slow dance, and when it reaches midnight, I'd bring her out to the balcony and we'd lay together and stargaze. When she's tired, we'd go up to the second floor where all the rooms were. We'd go to the last, the biggest, and we'd sleep until it's morning. . . really early morning before returning to the hotel.

It's a great thing I'd managed to compromise with Scooter. Since he had supposedly done me wrong, he couldn't call me or text me—hell, he couldn't find me to discuss about work because tonight was my night. And by my night, I usually mean it's a night all about me. . . but of course, that's what he knows.

What tonight was known to me was the night I got to spend some quality time with my baby girl. . . no disruptions; nothing.

My guards were going to be with me, but they won't be next to me. They'd stay out all night long on the beach, and I swear to God it's the dumbest thing all of them could ever come up with. But, they told me if that's the best way to keep my safe then they didn't give two fucks so I'm pretty much a lucky guy.

By the time I'd gotten myself ready for the date, it was ten minutes away from five in the evening and it took me five out of it just to find the bouquet of ninety-nine red roses I'd ordered. Turns out, it had been by the sofa the whole time and all I searched for were the tables and the bottom of it. 

All right, prank me at this time. No problem. Fucking cunt. But I had to go, because it was time.

Beth:

"Everything is gonna be okay," I've been chanting one of those encouraging quotes in my head these past few minutes as I stared at myself in the mirror, in this huge bathroom. All I saw my own frantic and stupid facial expression staring right back at me. 

Waterproof mascara? Check.

Waterproof eyeliner? Check. 

Lip balmed lips? Check.

Was that it? Yes, that was it. 

"Beth, this is just a date," I told myself calmly, hoping I could just shut up and stop fussing over this already, but no. My inner sass bitch had to start screaming at me: THIS IS PRACTICALLY YOUR FIRST DATE, AND YOU KNOW IT. AND WHO'S YOUR DATE? OH, JUSTIN BIEBER. Please, realize and differentiate your emotions, Beth. Do not, humiliate me, ever.

How could I tell myself that? How's that possible? Okay, okay, I just need to breathe. It's just another day with Justin! Just the guy I really love! The guy that makes me smile all day! Just normal stuff! In a day. Activities. . . romantic ones. . . productivity. . . intimacy. . . date.