Showered and ready to go, I gave myself a once over on the full-length mirror that hung on my bathroom door. I wore a powder blue cotton dress that fitted tightly around the torso and flared nicely in the bottom, sitting two inches above my knees.
I matched the dress with mustard-colored wedge espadrilles. I hastily placed my naturally wavy dark hair in a loose wavy bun, evoking simplicity and still achieving a sexy look.
I applied tinted moisturizer, pink gloss and just enough mascara to bring out my bright green eyes with a burst of gold to pop-out. It was one of my best features, so even if I feel like death inside, I needed to look at least presentable. It’s part of my coping mechanism I learned when I was ten years old. Always look put together.
My golden-brown skin can be credited to my Brazilian/Caucasian mixed heritage. Spritzing my signature Coco Mademoiselle, I grabbed my tan Botkier tote and headed to the where Blake was patiently waiting.
I found him in the kitchen on the phone. He turned around, gave me a swift examination before ending the call. “Ready?” politely asking me, still rooted to his spot.
“To breakfast, milady,” holding out his arm to link with mine.
I smiled stupidly at him as we walked out the door and straight to the elevator.
“Figured anything out, yet?” referring to ‘his plan of action.’
“Sorted as promised—but it’s a surprise…” looking impish and smug, I nudged him.
Getting out the elevator and headed towards the main entrance, “You have got to be joking! Why does it have to be a surprise? I hate surprises!” I exclaimed. I do hate surprises. Because the surprises are horrible, every single time. So, I’m a tad skeptical about this one.
“You did agree to trust me… remember poppet?” gazing at me with a playful smile as the sunshine accentuated his beautifully sculpted features making him look annoyingly sexy as we hit the sidewalk.
A few women who passed by stared openly at him. A harried woman stopped, awed, halted in her tracks and just ogled—previous destination long forgotten—as she was rooted on the cement sidewalk.
Yeah, yeah he’s hot. So, What? I wanted to snap that woman out of her trance.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore Blake. I think he’s smart, articulate, funny, crazy talented and has a heart of gold (reserved for those he trusts). But it can be exhausting to be his friend. Lucy has the same problem. We were the only women that Blake is friends with. So, we get hounded for trivial information. Anything, to help them out they say. Right, if Blake really wanted a woman, he’d pursue her relentlessly, not the other way around, spoken out of Lucy’s very lips.
I go to a Fashion School (majoring in Fashion Marketing), and of course, the women asked about him after he once picked me up from school—parked on the curb and was leaning deliciously on his sexy car—that alone drove questions from six—Six!—adult, grown women who had their panties twisted. The girlfriends I brought from school to party with us, a few times, brought hysterics. Like “OMG, have you SEEN that ASS?” or “HOLY FUCK! He’s GORGEOUS!” or “Shit, Sienna, can you hook me up?” There’s more, but I don’t want to elaborate any longer, it’s taxing to my precious sanity.
Blake of course, never hooks-up with any of them because they aren’t lingerie model material.
Glancing at him, I shrugged.
“Yeah, right,” thinking that this surprise better not suck or I’m going back to my bed to wallow, sleep and wallow some more. Jet-lag, thoughts of Kyle… what else?
YOU ARE READING
Chapter 1 Chasing BeautifulTeen Fiction
What would you do if you had two hot men fight over you? Sienna Richards decided to study and pursue her dreams in London. Life was starting to look up when out of nowhere, her boyfriend Kyle decided to end things. She vowed never to love again. Bu...