[Kitchen]
*Lyla*
January 19, 2016
"Je souhaite que vous arrêter de me dire quoi faire!" I shout, marching into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and an apple. I hear Bianca and Sam following after me, keeping a distance in case I decide to use their heads as target practice.
"Don't you go sprouting your Frenchness on us!" Bianca argues back, shooting me the stink eye. "You know we don't know anything aside from "Amour" and "Bonjour"."
"Well, technically, I also know "au revoir"." Sam inputs, leaning against the kitchen counter as he offers us both a gentlemanly smile.
That doesn't safe him the harsh glare from Bianca, however. I can't help but smirk at his success in comic relief.
"No one cares, Samuel Martin Cook." Bianca's tone is domineering, reminding me of a mother disciplining her rowdy and obnoxious child.
Rolling my eyes, I take a bite of my apple and head for the front door.
"Hey! Bonjour! We're not done talking to you!" Bianca calls after me, but I manage to slip out of the house and make a mad dash for my truck.
It is safe to say that Sam and Bianca were not all too ecstatic about my accepting Matthew's invitation. I understand that there is a rivalry going on between the two, Samuel and Matthew, but I was asked to a concert. And who knows when I will be able to attend one again.
Plus, the man I am going with is not hard on the eyes.
No, but he is hard on the soul.
It is debatable that pursuing this friendship with Matthew is beneficial. Only six more days until I begin my treatment for Leukemia and will suffer the side affects of chemotherapy.
But I will go through all the tribulations, just so I will be cancer free, even though there are chances that the cancer will make a reappearance.
I don't want to think about the negative possibilities, however.
I can be cancer free and I am going to look forward to that moment.
Until then, I am going to go to a concert with Matthew Peters, because I wish it.
But for right now, I have to break the news to five more girls and bid them farewell.
~*~
"Honestly, this ice cream is sinful." I mutter around a mouthful of Double Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.
Matthew sits across from me, eating his own Blizzard, Butterfinger flavored I believe. The expression on his face makes me blush, however I don't refrain from chowing down on my guilty pleasure.
"I wouldn't peg you as an ice cream fanatic. Not with your figure." I instantly look down at my body, pursing my lips.
I am a size eight. I maintain a healthy workout, working around the stables and riding my own horse ensures that. But I indulge quite frequently. Night upon night, I will sit in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn or chips and a tub of chocolate ice cream.
I'm not even ashamed.
I giggle to myself and shake my head. "People say I have a masculine figure. Comes with the occupation, however." I shrug my shoulders.
After hours upon hours of lifting saddles, shoveling manure and tossing hay bales, I have sustained quite the amount of muscles. They're not necessarily visible unless I flex. But some of the men around the barn make snide comments about how I don't have an equestrian body, but instead one similar to a ranch-hands'.
"Are you kidding? You're beautiful. Don't mind what anyone else says."
I lift my eyes to look at Matthew, who places another bite of ice cream in his mouth. I bite my bottom lip.
He ordered a medium Blizzard, while I shamelessly ordered a large. And being the gentleman that he is, insisted that he pay.
"But I should pay mind to what you say?" Matt smirks to himself, eyes down-casting to the table to avoid eye contact.
"You do what you wish, Lyla. You seem to be the independent type. I was just saying, they're wrong."
I lean forward, my eyes widening. "But you're right?"
Matthew lets out a throaty chuckle, shaking his head as I smile at him. "Fine. I surrender."
I let out a sigh and lean back against my chair again, taking my ice cream with me. I take a few more bites as we sit in a peaceful silence until Matthew breaks it.
"How sick are you?" His question is blunt but I try not to take any offense to it.
Why does he want to know?
Clearly, he must have some sort of idea if he is asking.
"Je ai Leucémie." I mutter quickly in French. In a way, I have given him his answer. Perhaps, not in the way he would have hoped, but still an answer.
"Hmph. You speak French?"
"Gentry is my last name." I say in explanation. Matthews nods his head and leans forward, our eyes connecting and locking on to each other. I fear for a moment that he understood what I had said. It wasn't far fetched to assume he didn't know French... And it wasn't far fetched to assume he did.
"Clever evasion. But I will find out the truth."
"And why do you want to do that?" I ask, tilting my head to the side. I peek outside, noticing it is basically pitch black out now. Glancing at my phone, I read 9:15.
"Because I want to know you."
~*~
After we finish our ice cream, I insist on giving Matt a ride home. He had declined multiple times, but it is smart he realizes how stubborn I am before we start this friendship.
His house is gigantic, with three levels and a basement. The garage is in the back, so I am not able to see the front, however I am sure it is extravagant. The house holds two single car garages and a lengthy drive way. Above the garage is a large balcony where I see a set of table and chairs.
There is a light on in the kitchen, allowing me to see the completely updated and renovated kitchen. I let out a soft moan at how beautiful it is.
So much counter space!
I wouldn't even know what to do with it all!
Many fantasies of turkeys, hams, cakes, cookies, wine coolers, potatoes and other delicious ideas enter my mind.
What I would do to have a kitchen of that size.
"Did you just moan?" Matthew asks from beside me. I look over at him and give him a guilty smile.
"Not meaning to be a stalker, but your kitchen is amazing." Matthew chuckles, his blue eyes gleaming through the laughter.
Holy smokes. His eyes crinkle!
There is nothing more attractive than a guy who has wrinkles by his eyes when he smiles.
It shows just how genuine the smile is. And it gives off a friendly demeanor as well.
Matthew then grows silent and lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, a sign of nervousness and unease.
Do I make him uneasy?
"You-uh... You- uh can come in. If you- uh want." I bite my tongue to keep from laughing at how painstakingly adorable he looks right now. "To see the kitchen, I mean."
"Ah... Is this when you casually invite me in, just for the kitchen, and then whisk me away to your bedroom where you devour me with kisses and love-making?"
Matthew's head snaps over to look at me, his eyes widening with horror.
I let out a booming laugh, throwing my head back as I can't contain the bubbling feeling inside me. I have never seen such a picture worthy expression in my life. The look of complete confusion and even a little guilt really over did it.
"Oh my lord, Cappuccino. Don't do that." I arch my eyebrow at the name.
Is that what he called me early?
I could have sworn he said Muchacho.
"The look on your face was worth it." I say, lightly laughing.
"So, are you coming in?" Matthew unbuckles his seat belt and opens the door.
My car dings repetitively, awaiting me to either turn off the engine or shut the passenger door. Letting out a sigh, I decided to live on the edge and turn off the engine.
Besides, I am not ready for the night to end. I'm twenty one years old. Calling it a night at ten is just downright depressing.
I hop out of my truck and when both doors are shut, I lock it. Matthew waits for me at the walkway to the back door, where he unlocks it and pushes it open. I take a peek into the house first, until I take a step over the threshold.
"Matty! Where the hell have you b-" The woman cuts off and I screech to a halt, causing Matthew to ram into me. He places heavy hands on my shoulders to keep me from falling forward. I hiss in pain as his fingers dig into my skin. I look behind me to see an apologetic look on his features.
Was it directed to me or the woman, I do not know.
"Oh. Who's this?" I return my focus to the brunette, smiling softly at her.
"Hi, I'm Lyla. I'm friends with Matthew." I hold out my hand. Her scrutinizing hazel eyes narrow at my offering of a handshake.
"Funny. I though all of Matthew's friends were right here..." The woman looks over her shoulder, causing me to follow her gaze to a dark haired guy sitting at the couch. His face is lit, the TV illuminating off of his skin.
"Talia." Matthew bites.
Tali looks up at Matthew who is standing behind me. She lets out a sigh and shakes her head. "Clearly you don't agree with me... about needing someone stro-"
"TALIA!" Both Matthew and the guy from the couch shout. I flinch, stepping back from them.
Was she about to say I wasn't strong? Did she mean physically or mentally?
Because I am willing to show her just how strong I can be.
She doesn't know anything about me.
"The whole speech you gave me... That was just because you don't want me, yeah?"
"Talia, you're my sister..." Matt's voice is strained and I look over to see a pained expression on his face. Whatever is happening between them, Matthew is hurting.
Talia scoffs and looks over at me. "Pleasure meeting you." She then turns back to Matthew. "You're not my brother." Without another word, she spins on her heels and storms towards the staircase.
A low whistle sounds from the right and I see the man from the couch walking towards us. A small smile plays on his lips as he reaches me. "Lyla, pleasure to meet you and welcome to our house. I'm Donovan." Without another word, Donovan pulls me into a hug.
Talk about polar opposites. My head was practically bitten off by Talia and now I am in an embrace from Donovan.
"I'm sorry, Frappuccino. She's usually not like that." I step away from Donovan and look over at Matthew, raising my eyebrows.
"What's with the name?" Donovan asks.
"Hmm. Really." I nod, not keeping the smile at bay.
Matthew rolls his eyes and heads towards the kitchen.
Ah, yes. The kitchen. The sole reason I'm even in this house.
Don't forget about the man whose eyes crinkle!
"You were walking out of a Starbucks when we met and you spilled your coffee on me." Matthew answers, digging in the beautiful stainless steel French Door fridge and comes out with three water bottles. He tosses two to Donovan and I.
I let out a gasp after I catch the water bottle. "You said I didn't spill on you!"
"You told me you spilled on yourself." Donovan says, taking a swig of water. I let out a huff and cross my arms, arching an eyebrow.
"We have a liar on our hands." Donovan leans down to whisper in my ear. I nod my head, a goofy smile adorning my face.
"I didn't want to trouble you. It didn't bother me." Matthew shrugs and leans against the counter, across from us.
"Are you telling me you enjoy coffee spilling on you? Or only if it's by the hands of your lovely female companion?"
I can't help but laugh as Donovan teases him, asking if he should test the theory.
Would Matthew be more upset if I spilled coffee on him, or if Donovan did?
It got to the point where Donovan even attempted to brew coffee. Matthew had Donovan in a headlock before he could even touch the coffee maker.
Watching these two grown men fight made me smile. I admit it is refreshing to be around people aside from Bianca and Samuel. The twins will forever be my best friends, but it's nice being with people outside of our friend group.
And hopefully, I can one day refer to the two fighting men as my friends.