Beatrice's jaw dropped unattractively.
"Are you fucking insane?" she screamed, glaring daggers at me.
"Nice to meet you too," I said, taking another bite. Damn these were good!
"Don't you dare talk to me!" she shrieked. She turned to Michael. "What the hell is going on? I thought that we…"
"Beatrice," Michael sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead. He looked like just seeing her was causing him physical pain.
"Don't Beatrice me!" she yelled.
"Hey!" I yelled, slamming my fork down. "Don't talk to him like that!" Beatrice got very quiet and her eyes began to sparkle dangerously. And wait, was I defending him? God, there was definitely something wrong with me.
"What are you going to do about it?" she asked, her voice dropping dangerously low.
"I'm going to kick your ass," I answered just as quietly. Michael looked between me and Beatrice, his expression growing more and more alarmed.
"I'd like to see you try." I had since begun moving closer to Beatrice and as she spoke my hands clenched into fists.
"Bring it, blondie."
"Alright, that's enough. Charlie, sit down. Beatrice, get the hell out of my house," Michael said, pushing between us. He placed one hand on my shoulder, the other on Beatrice's shoulder and we were immediately pushed apart.
"Been working out there Michael?" I asked, pointedly looking at his hand. He removed it and I sat back in my seat.
"Wait, she doesn't know?" Beatrice asked, staring at Michael. Michael's eyes went wide, and he glared at her. Ah ha! The secret! I knew it!
Beatrice turned to me with a smirk, staring at me in a superior way.
"Of course I know," I snapped, staring her down. "We have no secrets." I gave Michael a look. He glared back with a mixture of suspicion and relief. Oh, we would be talking about this later. You can count on that.
"Oh yeah, what are you going to do if he gets hungry?" I tilted my head to the side in confusion.
"Feed him?" I said, looking at her like she was nuts. And frankly, she was. Nuts, I mean. Michael hadn't been kidding when he said that Beatrice was the bitch from hell.
Beatrice's eyes went wide in amazement. "So you do know. Well, Michael, I hope you're happy with this skank."
"Bitch, get the fuck out of my house!" I hissed, getting to my feet and advancing toward her, fists clenched.
"You don't scare me and this is not your house," she hissed back.
"But I do," Michael said, deadly calm. And he was right. "And this is her house." His tone alone made Beatrice shrink toward the door. Fire burned in his eyes and I swear they flashed, becoming almost demonic.
"Now, get out."
Beatrice turned to me with white hot rage in her eyes. "You'll be sorry," she hissed. With that last outburst she was gone.
Michael closed the door behind her with a slam and turned the lock.
"You weren't exaggerating. She is a total bitch." I said, picking up my plate and rinsing it in the sink. "What the hell was she talking about? Feeding you? Psh. She is coo-coo for cocoa puffs or something stronger," I said, miming drinking a shot. "That reminds me, what secret are you keeping from me? And why the hell does the bitch know something I don't?"
"That was nice, Charlie," Michael said, ignoring my questions. "That is so unlike you."
"Yeah, don't get used to it," I mumbled. "She got on my nerves." There was silence. "Did you really mean it?"
"What?"
I glared at him.
"Are you really going to make me say it?"
"I honestly don't know what you mean," Michael insisted. I sighed.
"Did you really mean that this is my home?" Michael frowned.
"Of course. What's the big deal?"
I looked down at my bare feet, embarrassment coloring my face.
"Never mind," I said. Taking a deep breath, I looked up at him, back to my regular self. "So, what are we going to do today?"
"I was thinking we go to the mall," he said, tactfully changing the subject. "You said you needed to buy some new clothes. Unless you want to wear what your mom packed. You know," he said, smiling evilly, "I do love those thongs."
"Ha ha, nice try," I said sarcastically. With a sigh, I leaned back against the sink, crossing my arms over my chest. "So, when are we going out?"
"Whenever you get ready," Michael replied, the smirk still planted on his face. I eyed his white shirt and plaid pajama pants. He was gorgeous. And I no longer wanted nothing more than to kiss him or jump his bones. Whatever the hell he had been doing to me, he was no longer doing it. Which was good, at least he listened.
"You don't look ready," I remarked, earning an eyebrow raise. Which gave me an idea…
"I can get ready before you," I stated, pushing off the sink and moving to stand eye to eye with him. He looked amused.
"Is that a wager?" he asked, looking down at me with his gorgeous eyes.
"Yes," I said. "If I win I get Starry Night in my room." He smiled.
"You really like that painting, don't you."
"Sure do."
"Fine, what do I get if I win?"
"What do you want?" Michael tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling in thought. A moment lapsed before he was looking back at me, his devilish grin firmly in place.
"You sleep in my room tonight." My jaw dropped. "But," he continued, amused by my reaction, "we do nothing but sleep." I closed my mouth and narrowed my eyes in suspicion.
"Nothing but sleep?" I clarified.
"Nothing but sleep."
"Deal," I said, holding out my hand. He grasped it in his own.
"On the count of three then?" he asked, still looking me in the eyes. I smiled.
"Onetwothree GO!" I rushed, yelling out the last word and making a break for the hallway door.
"Cheater!" he accused as I pulled the door open, raced through and slammed it shut behind me. No way was this guy winning. No way in hell. Starry Night would be mine. Sprinting into my room, I grabbed my hair brush and untangled my hair. Pulling out the hideous yellow flower-print dress from the top of the bag, I quickly stripped off the clothes from the night before and ambled into the dress, zipping up the back. I grabbed my purse, slapped on some eyeliner and cover-up, grabbed the only flats that my mom had packed (white ones of course. How disgusting. Why did I even own this crap?) and made the mad dash back through the hallway door. No way could Michael have beaten me…
"So you're finally ready?" Michael stated from his seat on the couch. He was in jeans and a plaid long-sleeve button down, unbuttoned with a plain black tee underneath. His hair was spiked into casual disarray and he was wearing eyeliner.
"How the hell did you get ready so fast?" I gasped.
"I had a lot at stake," he replied with a smile. My eyes widened as the parameters of the wager resurfaced in my mind.
"Great," I sighed, hefting my purse onto my shoulder. "I don't get Starry Night and I have to sleep with you. This is great."
"Charlie, you started it," he gently reminded, getting to his feet and going to the front door.
"Yeah, yeah" I muttered. I know, I know. I'm a sore loser. Sue me.
"Seeing as how we're to be pretend married, I think we should both win. So, you can have the van Gogh in your room and you have to sleep in my room tonight. Win win."
"No, you won. It was fair. I'll sleep in your room and you can keep the van Gogh."
"Whatever you wish," Michael said, unfastening the lock and holding open the door. "Time to go shopping."
"Yep," I said, walking across the threshold. "Hello band t-shirts. Goodbye ugly dress."
"But you'll keep the thongs?"
"Eh," I droned, "We'll see."
"That is all a guy can hope for," he sighed, closing the door behind him and following me down the hall to the elevator.
"Yeah, well, just don't set your hopes too high."
This is a thank you to everyone who has reviewed and added/favorited this story. You're all the best :)
I'd also like to apologize for the shortness of this chapter, but the next will be longer. Promise.
Thank you for reading.
Crews