Arabelle Vine, a 22 year old photographer in Seattle Washington, is happy with her current life. She has friends, a great family, and a job she loves. But Arabelle wants to be more than just content with her life. She wants excitement, and she wants...
Song: Know No Better by Major Lazer (my favorite song at the moment)
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The bell above the door to the gym rings as I enter.
The smell of sweat and gym mats wafts through the air and I'm hit with the sound of blaring music.
I cross my arms and lean against the closed door when I see Roman still working out.
His back is to me and I watch as the muscles in his back and arms flex repeatedly as he assaults the punching bag.
The tattoos on his back practically come alive and tell a story as they move along with his muscles.
I would sit and drool for a few minutes if I wasn't currently pissed off at him.
"Roman Xavier King!" I shout over the loud Eminem song blaring throughout the gym.
He doesn't hear me and continues to pound his fists against the punching bag, the chains holding it up clang together.
I walk over to where his phone is set up and unplug it from the speaker. The music stops and all that's left to be heard is the echo of his gloves banging against the punching bag.
He stops and his head jerks towards me.
He gets a sheepish look on his face when he sees me standing there, a pissed off look on my face.
"Shit." He takes his gloves off and looks at the clock above the door.
"Four thirty Roman." I throw my hands in the air, "you had one job when I dropped you off here this morning. I asked you to be done practicing by three forty-five and take a shower, clean yourself up, and get dressed with the clothes you brought here with you."
"I know, Beautiful." He walks towards me, "and I'm so sorry, I just got caught up in my head and couldn't step away from the punching bag."
"Excuses." I mumble as I dodge him and walk towards his locker. "What's the code again?"
"Your birthday."
Okay. That is like the cutest thing ever.
I pretend to not be affected because I'm supposed to be mad at him, and I focus on turning the lock. It unlocks with a small click and I pull out the clothes that are hung up inside.
"Clean yourself up," I shove the clothes into his chest, "and meet me in the car in ten minutes."
"Yes ma'am." He places a chaste kiss on my forehead as he walks past me into the bathroom.
I walk out to the car, having left my jacket in the car I'm instantly hit with the freezing cold air.
I'm wearing a black tight long sleeve cropped shirt—that dips a little low for thanksgiving— but it's new and I wanted to wear it. I've paired it with a red skirt that has beige designs on it. It reaches my shins and has a small slit running up the left leg. I have on my oxford doc martens and my signature gold jewelry.
