Valentin and Rojo | ✓

four (2nd draft)

"Yes, Mr. Rojo?" Cynthia was my favorite. She was more like family than the help. I couldn't remember a time where she didn't work for my family. At times, it seemed like she raised me more than my father did.

"Call Dulce. We need to get Adriana in for a fitting," My father ordered. I rolled my eyes at his firm tone but said nothing about it.

"Oh, that's really not-" she interjected.

"Yes it is, Adriana. Just trust me." The girl simply stared at him for a couple of seconds before nodding.   She ducked her head down and dug her fork into her food.

I ate my dinner so fast, I nearly fucking choked. Cynthia came over to pick up my plate. "Thank you Cindy," I adorned. I happened to be the only one who called her by a nickname. When I was younger, I couldn't properly pronounce her name; Cindy was just easier to say.

I wiped off my mouth with a napkin and stood up. I gave Nico a 'we-need-to-talk' look and thankfully, he understood. "Thank you for having me over, sir; dinner was appreciated. But I have to head home now. Thank you again," Nico said.

"The pleasure is mine. See you tomorrow, Nicolas," my father said. The brunette looked up and drifted her eyes towards my best-friend. Nico stood up and as he walked passed the girl, he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. I scoffed and pushed him towards the front door.

"How long is Adriana staying?" That's the first thing he asked me when we got to the front door. I opened the door and escorted us both outside. I closed the door behind us and stared at him for a second; watching as his expression turned to one of confusion. I smacked the side of his head and he winced before punching my arm. "The fuck was that for?"

"Because you're an idiot. Remember last week?" I had asked. Nico squinted his eyes before shaking his head. I groaned and rolled my eyes. "The girl from New York was going to stay with us for a few months..." I said, hoping to jog his memory.

His eyes widened and he clapped his hands. He pointed inside the house and said, "That's her?"

"Yes," I exasperated. "You're an idiot. You fucking forget everything I tell you," I told him.

"You forgot to mention she's smoking hot!" He whisper-shouted. "You mind if I —"

"No."

"Why?" He whined. "It's not like you're going to get your hands on her. Do you know if she's single?"

"I have to live with her. I would prefer if you didn't sleep with the girl I'm living with."

"Fine, whatever you say. Have fun," he said in a sing-song voice before treading away. I scoffed and turned back to my home.

I headed back up to my room and opened up my sketchbook. Besides surfing, I drew. Anything to keep my mind off of my life. I started drawing when I was ten. At first, they were fun little doodles, but as time went on I started getting more serious about it. I started to learn about drawing realistically when I was around thirteen. Now, being twenty, I was pretty damn good at drawing. The main thing I drew were portraits; don't know why, but they were my strong suit.

Before I knew it, I had filled pages with her face. I wanted to tear them all out and throw them in the trash. But I didn't. I just stared at them. I couldn't deny the fact that I wanted her gone and that I hated her, but I also couldn't deny the fact that I was unbelievably attracted to her. I wanted her. The only thing I had going for me was that this was a product of lust and nothing more.