The Bet

9) Butterflies

We pulled up to a long driveway lined with greenery that made me smile. This is a fitting end to a nice car ride.

It feels like she made me laugh more times in this short ride than I have in a whole year. She laughed too, and every time she let out her cute little snort at something I said, butterflies erupted in my stomach.

  Not anxiety moths either. They're school girl crush butterflies.

"Almost there," she turned to smile at me and said butterflies started acting up again.

Oh, this is not good.

. . . But it is so hard to truly believe that.

  This woman is so confident that part of me wishes it would rub off on me, and the only way to accomplish that, is to spend more time with her. The other part just wants to bask in her glory. She's funny and seemingly kind, and so in control but not intimidatingly so — No!

Get a grip, Sam

  You should be intimidated. Don't forget her place in society -- a freaking mafia princess -- and don't forget yours. . . a nobody.

In an attempt to get out of my own head, I forced myself to look for answers elsewhere.

"So. . . Is this like. . . A date or. . ." Because that's how I've been thinking of it this whole time, so it would be really embracing if it wasn't.

Her smirk was all knowing. "Would you like it to be?"

I gulped to try and stop the dryness in my throat.

"I mean, haha, the bet stated I had to come home with you tonight, might as well have a good time?" Just kill me. God, just strike me down. She didn't think it was a date. Abort, abort!

"Sounds like a great idea to me."

  My prayers to God to end me came to a halt when I realized the sincerity in her cheeky grin.

She's making it seem like this was my idea.

Blushing, I realized I kind of appreciated it. I'd never usually have the courage to initiate something like this, so getting a little bit of credit for it makes it feel like her confidence really is rubbing off on me.

~~~~~~

My heart fell into my stomach as the pancake I was flipping splattered onto Miss Camila's nice, clean kitchen floor. I looked at the mess I made with already blurred vision, biting my lip furiously to keep the tears from falling.

  I was about to spout out apologies with all my mite, but by the time I turned to her, Miss Camila was doubled over laughing hysterically.

  For a second, confusion took the place of my fear and guilt over making such a mess.

  "Well, so much for breakfast for dinner," she commented lightly. "I burnt mine, and yours just met it's untimely death," she chuckled until she saw my misty eyes and tense frame.

  Her smile fell and her brows furrowed. "Are you alright?"

  Then I felt guilty about how concerned she was and bit my lip to snap myself out of it.

  "Yeah," I forced out.

  Spilling food is not the end of the world. Spilling food is not the end of the world. Spilling food is not the end of the world.

  "It's alright. It's just a little mess," she smiled at me before going to grab a roll of paper towels before tearing off pieces for the both of us.

  We both got down to clean it up while I sent glances at her to make sure she's really not mad.

  It's not that I don't trust her, I just. . .

  Stop it. Just look at her, Sam. She doesn't look remotely upset.

  I peaked at her while she threw her used paper towels away.

  My inner monologue is right. She looks fine.

  In more ways than one.

  Okay, that's enough of that.

  I pushed off the floor to throw away my used towels, just as Miss Camila came over to let her burnt pancake slide into the trash.

  She grinned up at me. "How about we just order a pizza?"

  I analyzed her smile, it seemed genuine, so I felt comfortable letting out a hesitant smile of my own. "That sounds good to me."

~~~~~~~

A couple hours in, I had eaten enough pizza to put me in a food coma and drank one glass of wine.

That, combined with our lighthearted conversation, was apparently enough to make me feel comfortable enough to hop right onto her counter.

She turned to me and gave me a once over.

Her indecipherable look made me immediately realized what I was doing and how inappropriate it might be to hop onto a stranger's counter. She probably makes food there, after all. I hopped off the counter like it burned me.

  I had all the intentions in the world to act like it never happen, but my plans were thwarted when an amused grin fell on the goddess's face, and she strolled closer.

  My heart fluttered in my chest when she placed her hands on my waist and swiftly lifted me back onto the counter. She sent me a smile with a hidden meaning.

  Wait here.

  I watched her closely, staying firmly on the counter, as she went to grab the wine bottle and our glasses.

"Care for another?" Miss Camila asked, already pouring herself one.

I nodded. "Yes, please."

I love me some liquid courage.

"How old are you again?" The Amazonian mused while she poured me a glass.

She picked it up to hand it to me.

"Twenty three." I told her the age I tell everyone at the fight club while I reached for the drink.

This time, she raised a brow and pulled the wine away from me. "Try again."

My face heated, and I thanked the lord again for my darker skin.

No one from 'The Den' has ever called me out on that.

"I'm twenty," I amended honestly, straightening out my shorts to give my hands something to do and my mind something other than my embarrassment to focus on.

For a second I actually thought she was going to take back the drink because I'm underage, but she really just smiled at my honesty and handed me the glass. "Good —" she cleared her throat violently, "— Thank you for telling me."

  I grinned into my glass as I took the first sip of my second glass of her expensive red wine.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note

  This chapter was very fluffy and adorable, but really short lol. I'll be updating again tomorrow or the next day to make up for it;)

  Have a nice day!

~ Pepper