Irresistible

FIFTEEN

Soon enough, I lead Sage up the stairs, I breathe a silent sigh of relief as we enter my room, finding it thankfully tidy.

We brush our teeth together, and Sage settles on my plush white bedding as I hurry to prepare for the day.

My fingers deftly weave my disheveled hair into a braid, the strands falling into place with practiced ease.

Stepping into some black flare leggings, I pull on a snug white tank top, its fabric soft against my skin. Finally, I layer on a brown leather jacket to keep myself warm.

As I swiftly dab on blush and swipe on lip gloss, I find myself catching Sage's eyes in the mirror time and again.

Curiosity gets the better of me. "What are you thinking about?" I ask, moving to my closet to grab a pair of Adidas Campus sneakers and slip them on.

Sage rises from the bed, observing my readiness. "Nothing much, you have really good style," she compliments.

Coming from Sage, who literally has her own stylist company, the praise means a lot. I always thought I had decent style, but hearing it from her boosts my confidence even more.

"Thanks," I smile up at Sage, who towers over me with her height. "But yours is better though," I add, reaching up to straighten the collar of her Nike tech jacket.

Sage rolls her eyes playfully, her fingers grazing my hips as she replies, "We'll have to agree to disagree on that one. Are you ready?"

I nod eagerly, and together we make our way downstairs to Sage's car, knowing she drove here yesterday. I honestly don't know how she drives in Manhattan, I take the subway everywhere because of the traffic.

"Would you mind if we stop at my house real quick so I can change?" Sage asks.

"Of course, that's fine," I reply with a smile, curious about what Sage's home might be like.

As we approach her sleek Range Rover, Sage graciously holds the door open for me, and we settle into the comfortable seats.

With the engine purring to life, we glide down the road, the scenery passing by in a blur as we make our way to Sage's house.

Sage dramatically passes me the aux cord treating it like some precious artifact or something. "This is the real test. Let's see if I have to drop you back off," she teases.

I roll my eyes playfully, accepting the cord and plugging my phone in. "What's the vibe?" I question, not really knowing what her music taste was like.

"Surprise me," Sage smirks, leaning back in her seat casually, her left hand resting casually on the wheel as we cruise along. With a mischievous grin of my own, I begin scrolling through my Spotify playlists, determined to impress.

I scroll through my playlist, my fingers hesitating over the options. Finally, I settle on a classic tune that never fails to lift the mood.

Pressing play, the electric guitar riff fills the car, the speakers pulsating with energy.

Sage's lips curl into a huge grin as she looks at me, her approval evident in her expression. "Good choice," she declares, and a wave of relief washes over me.

As the song plays on, I can't help but giggle at Sage's exaggerated, off-key singing.

As Sage sings, cranking up the volume with her right hand, her voice gets louder. "I should just tell you to leave 'cause I know exactly where it leads, but I watch us go round and round this time," she sings out.

When the chorus hits, I can't help but jump in, our voices blending as we belt out the catchy lyrics together. "You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye," we sing in unison.