I look out the backseat window of Danny's the car and after noticing this was my stop, I trample over Max's body, scurrying to get to my house.
But just as one of my hands clutch the doorknob and the other rustles my bag for the key, I hear Max's footsteps running after me.
"Wait, Camille?" I hear Max say, quickly slamming the car door shut and sprinting after me, "If you wouldn't mind, I want to catch a movie and if you'd want to come . . . that'd be great?"
I hesitate not knowing what to say. Was he asking me out?
"Sure, what time?" I smile, turning around to face him.
"Around 9 tonight, I'll come by your house," Max replies, returning the welcoming smile.
Was he serious? What happened to the 'I'm so tough and I hate you' kind of Max?
I nod, awkwardly trudging into the empty home.
I glance up at the clock, sighing at the time. It was already seven and I had to get ready for the movie.
I limp over to my room, rustling my closet for something decent to change into. My hands lightly fondling over any possibility.
I flinch at the delicate black lace fabric of an a-line dress in front of me. It was simple and sexy, but classy and gentle at the same time.
I tug at the hanger, gradually pulling the dress out and wiggling my body into it.
After grabbing a pair of black ballet flats and checking my appearance in the mirror, I hear the doorbell echo, signaling that Max was here.
I hastily fetch a cream cardigan and dash to the door.
"Hey," I say, clearly out of breath.
"Hey," Max replies, examining my body slowly.
I don't know what to say, I'm not good at starting conversations--I'm not good with words. I never know exactly what to say, or when to say it. I'm one of those people who would rather be in utter silence, then talk about random shit that no one cares about.
"Are we gonna get going?" Max mumbles, breaking not only the silence, but my thoughts.
"Oh--yeah sorry," I reply shyly, stepping out of the house and locking the door.
♡ ♡ ♡
Once we finally arrived at the movie theater, Max purchases two tickets and a large popcorn.
We walk into the theater without speaking, find seats, and wait as the movie starts.
"Wait a second, Max . . ." I start, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion, "is this a horror movie? You know how much I hate them."
He laughs, turning to me with a breathtaking smile.
"Indeed it is, I picked it just for you."
"I hate you," I whine, hitting him softly on the shoulder.
"I know . . ." He answers, as the lights dimmed, signaling that the frightful movie was starting.
I hide my face into Max's chest, already petrified at the screen. I really hate horror movies.
♡ ♡ ♡
"Never again!" I exclaim, following Max out of the theater and into the lobby.
"Come on, it wasn't that bad," he reassures me, while holding the door open.
"No it really was that bad," I repeat, catching up to Max until we were walking side by side.
He laughs, looking down at the floor for a split-second; and I quickly realized why as he took my hand into his, intertwining our fingers.
"Camille," Max pauses, looking up at me, "I'm glad you agreed to come."
"Why wouldn't I?" I ask, my eyes freely wandering the stars above.
"I don't know, I'm kind of an ass to you all the time." He replies, ruffling his burnt-caramel colored hair with his free hand.
I briefly laugh at his response, "only in the best way, Max."
"Really?" He questions, his eyes widening.
"Mhm," I mumble, still walking beside him on the empty streets at 11:30 pm.
I was glad that Max invited me for this movie tonight . . . I was also glad I saw my house in the distance, because sleep is nice, really nice.
♡ ♡ ♡
"I'm coming!" I shout from inside the warmth of my bed, confused as to who would be ringing the doorbell so early in the morning.
I groan slightly and quickly throw the covers off my body, sending a shiver to run down my spine.
I slowly slide my feet into my slippers and slump downstairs in only short-shorts and an oversized t-shirt.
I turn the doorknob, revealing a blissful Mitch.
"You've got to be kidding me," I moan, "why are you here--and couldn't you come like two hours later?"
"We're going shopping," Mitch quickly changes the subject, his eyes resting on my pajamas.
You've got to be kidding me. I've never heard a guy say that and not be joking.
"Uh, why?" I reply, pulling on Mitch's arm, while shoving him into the house and locking the door behind him.
"They didn't tell you yet?" Mitch asks, his brows arching in confusion.
"No . . ?" I question, remembering how lethargic I probably looked right now.
"Oh biggums, we're going to Vegas!" Mitch's eyes twinkle, catching me off guard.
"When? What?" My mouth literally falls open, as I'm taken aback at the astonishing remark.
"We're leaving tomorrow and staying for five days."
"I really didn't know, thanks for telling me but I don't think I'm going to go," I reply with a considerate smile.
"Come on Camille, it'll be fun!" Mitch exclaims.
I ignore the question, completely, "let's just go shopping for right now."
I leave Mitch alone on the couch as I sprint upstairs to get dressed.
I wiggle myself into dark wash skinny jeans, as I curl the sleeves of the white tee I paired with it.
I limply curl my lashes and apply mascara to them, while tightly grasping my black vans.
I dash down stairs to see Mitch standing by the door, phone in hand.
♡ ♡ ♡
"Let's go to Chipotle," Mitch turns to me, as we pass an overcrowded Chipotle restaurant.
I nod, following Mitch into the line of people.
Once we got our food and found a free table, we could finally eat.
"Mitch--" I start, getting cut off by a 12-year old boy who wonderingly walked up to us.
"Are you the BajanCanadian?" The little boy excitedly says, grinning ear to ear. What was he talking about?
"Yeah buddy! You want a picture?" Mitch answers him, returning the blissful smile.
"Yes!" The kid replies, as he hands his phone to me, as if asking for me to take the picture.
I nod, snapping a picture of Mitch and the over-thrilled fan.
"Is she your girlfriend?" The boy asks, his eyes scanning over me and Mitch.
I choke, "oh no, no I'm not his girlfriend."
Mitch rousingly winks at me, "she only wishes she was."
I let out a giggle at his comment, while sarcastically snickering, "you're like 20 years older than me Mitch."
"Not even," he laughs, waving bye to the fan.
"So, I see you're pretty famous, hm?" I say in a jokingly tone, after making sure the boy left completely.
"Yes I am," Mitch says proudly, slumping back in his chair.
"Getting a bit cocky, are we now?" I reply, slightly shaking my head.