The Bet (Just The Way You Are)

The Bet *Conflict of Interest

“Yes,” he replies, his mouth tugging at the corners.

“You said you’ll just heat it,” I say.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. “I cooked it earlier while you were sleeping.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll go and get it,” he says, walking away. I hear his footsteps on the stairway until they fade away from the distance.

Drake Swift concerned with Sophia Taylor.

Who would have thought this day would come?

Even though I did daydream when I had a crush on him before that he would take care of me, I didn’t believe that it will happen.

A dream can turn into a reality.

It’s impossible, but here we are, almost the same as my imagination. A wash of déjà vu washed through me. It feels weird to see your fantasy coming true. Well, it was a long long time ago.

He comes back, carrying a tray with a bowl in it.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“My specialty,” he answers, setting the tray on the bedside table and sitting on the bed beside me.

“And your specialty is . . .?”

He takes the bowl and let me see it.

“It’s a soup,” I say obviously. Of course.

“Yes, it’s a soup,” he says, “but don’t think it’s the same with others. It doesn’t taste like them.”

“Uh huh.” I should have known that he prepared me a soup. “Give it to me so I can taste it.”

“No,” he says. “I’ll feed you.”

“What?” I ask incredulously.

He shrugs, and ignores my weak attempt at getting the bowl of soup from him.

“I can eat it all by myself,” I say, shaking my head to the spoon he’s holding a few inches from my mouth.

“But I already said I’ll take care of you,” he says disapprovingly.

“But—“

As soon as I open my mouth, he puts the food inside. I have no choice but to swallow it.

“Draky!” Thank God it’s not that hot!

“What?” he asks innocently, mixing the soup and not looking into my eyes.

“Nothing,” I mutter, because I know he got me there. I did say that he can take care of me.

“What does it taste?” he asks. I can imagine him crossing his fingers.

“Just like any other soup,” I mumble, sticking my tongue out at him. To be fair, I have to say that this soup is delicious. I haven’t taste like this before. I wonder how he made it.

He smirks and looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to open my mouth. He makes a buzzing sound and makes a circular motion on his hand. “Here’s the airplane,” he says, “Open your mouth.”

I can’t help but laugh at his childishness.

“Come on,” he says, trying hard not to laugh and to look serious. “Open your mouth now. The airplane’s running out of engine.”

Smiling, I open my mouth and accept the food.

“Good,” he says approvingly.

“What are you going to eat?” I ask.