𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈

I stared at my eyes. They're blue, but a different shade of blue compared to always. They're lighter—as if anticipation had taken the form of glitter and blessed my eyes with a speckled layer. My brows furrowed at a realization that slapped me like a married bitch to her husband's mistress. I poked my cheek, checking if the woman before me truly is me because fuck, she looks good.

My brows arched up and with a coy smile, I nodded in approval. The last time I took extra measures to look presentable for a date was months ago. Even for dinner with Adil, I just threw on something from the weekly rotation. Adil. Fuck. Should I tell him? Was Ralph right? Am I subconsciously picking Keenan? Whatever Adil's intentions are, one thing's for sure: he doesn't deserve this. Deep down I guess I've evaluated my needs already just as Ralph said. Deep deep down, I knew who I wanted to pick.

There was a knock on the door and I felt like vomiting Keenan's chocolate churro. Oh, God. Maybe I do look different. Will Keenan make fun of it? He will, Gianna. You know that motherfucker; he eats others' shame for dinner if not microwaved pizza. For a moment, I debated on grabbing a tissue and wiping off the makeup. I debated on zooming to my cabinet, ripping my dress off, and switching to jeans and a nice shirt. I suppressed the urge to downgrade and with bile seeping through my arteries, I walked to the door, grabbing my purse and putting the strap on my shoulder along my way.

My hand shook as it hovered between me and the slab of wood that blocked Mr. Travino from my view. With the round piece of metal cold in my hand, I turned. There was a two-word line on repeat in my head. It was flashing in pink neon letters: Don't faint. Don't faint. Don't faint.

Lo and behold, Keenan stood in the hallway. There were three things that simultaneously popped into my head when my eyes met his six-foot-something stature. One, dark green really looks fucking good on this man. Two, didn't Mrs. Jaspar prohibit cigarettes in the hallway? Three, why the fuck is he looking at me like that?

In a futile attempt to de-stress, my lower lip was brought between my teeth to nibble on. Like a cliche little cunt in the similar situation, my hands fiddled with each other in front of me. My feet felt awkward. They were too close together. I spread them apart a bit. Nope, still awkward. I gaped quietly like a panicky deer. The sharpest of sighs escaped my lips. "Hi," I said pathetically. Pathetic.

The appreciative look vanished from Keenan's face, almost as if I just imagined it. That's it. I probably just imagined it. He brought the death stick to his lips, inhaled, and exhaled smoke. Then, he glared. "Are you just gonna stand there or are we going?" he mumbled.

"We're going," I stated as I lifted my chin to meet his gaze. After a beat, I had locked the door behind me.

Silently, we walked down the stairs. The heels were a bitch. Yes, they aren't six-inch stilettos, but when you rarely wear anything lifted, you're bound to force yourself to adjust. Hand on the wall, I took my time descending. Shameful. Keenan was already done with the first flight when he glanced at me, still on the first few steps from the top.

The man's eyebrows etched together. He scratched the back of his head as he sported a glare for my incompetence. Keenan butted the lit tip of the cigar and discarded it in a metal trashcan. Once I had sensed his vexation, I sent him a cringe-like smile that annoyed him further. Keenan muttered something under his breath which I was not able to pick up. Probably an insult to my stupidity. I forced myself to move faster, eliciting mild pain. Then, to my surprise, he ascended, grabbed my hand, and offered his arm for support.

Maybe I'm still hungover. Maybe I'm still drunk. Maybe I'm really just snoozing off in my bed and this is all a dream. Keenan and chivalry don't sound well together.