𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 ★ pedri gonzález

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙫𝙚, olive

❝ and he says you look beautiful tonight. ❞
⇄ ◃◃   ⅠⅠ   ▹▹ ↻

Where is Isabel when you need that woman? I can't for the love of God pick an outfit. Which isn't something that's abnormal. Yet, I always have Isabel to help me. That woman is a Goddess when it comes to choosing clothes.

"Ya sharmouta. (Bitch.)" I mumble to myself as I stare at my clothes, both my hands on my hips. I wish I could just leave those leggings and oversized shirt on with my uggs and go out.

I hear a knock on my door. "Can I come in?" Pedri asks from the other side of the door. He pops his head in first before opening the door wide open and coming in. "What's wrong?" He frowns, looking at my pose.

"Nothing, what do you want?" I ask, clearly frustrated. I hate picking clothes sometimes. It gets me all infuriated and irritated for no reason.

"What's up with you? Why all cranky?" He insists, walking closer to me.

I turn to his direction, looking at him instead. "Nothing, I can't pick my clothes. What's up?" I answer, brushing off the subject, just wanting him to get to the point so I can focus on choosing clothes again.

He stands next to me and looks at my closet. I'm hoping he doesn't want to borrow anything, I'm not sure I'm his size.

He reaches for one of my tops, and also grabs a skirt from the side. Definitely not his size. "Here. Doesn't that match?" He holds them up for me.

He mixed a sheer see through top and mini-skirt that are both black. They do match. And they look so cute. "Who thought Pedri González had a knack for choosing women's clothing?" I take the two items from his hands.

"Isabel raised me good." He credits his younger sister. I close the closet and open the drawer next to it to grab another bra since the one I'm wearing isn't really see through appropriate.

"Wait here. I'm gonna get changed." I tell him, pointing at my bed and heading towards my bathroom. Walking into my little washroom, I think, why did I tell him to wait on my bed instead of just asking him to get out?

I ignore it and start getting undressed. I start by removing my leggings. It's pretty hot right now in Barcelona so I don't opt for some panty hose.

I slip on the short skirt and immediately remember my thigh-high heels that would look amazing with them. The skirt reaches high enough to hide the tattoo right at the bottom of my waist.

I then remove my shirt and throw both clothings into my laundry basket. I reach for my back to unhook my bra but fail at first. This is not what I need right now. Pedri just helped me before I got too irritated, I don't need to get vexed now.

I relax my arms, taking a deep breath. And then try again. It's not working though. My God! I hate this. I am not asking Pedri to help me. That's for sure.

I keep on trying and trying, frustration growing more and more. "Mother-" I start talking to myself as this bra fails to unhook. What's wrong with it?

"You okay in there, Liv?" I hear Pedri's voice echo from my room. It's simple. He's just here, he can do it in one swift move.

No. "Fine. Fine." I answer, denying the temptation to simply get help.