Coz he was sunshine, she was midnight rain
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Ivy Kennedy
She's a legend before twenty-Hollywood's golden girl, the youngest self-made billionaire, and a model who owns every runway she walks. Ruthless. Unbreakable. A force of nature. The world se...
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He steps out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, flexing his veiny, muscular hands in the process. Grey sweatpants hang low, showcasing the perfect V-line, shirtless, might I add. Good lord, he has the body of a Greek god. He drops the towel from his shoulder and notices me, shocked, yet maintains his stone-cold expression. He didn't think I would stay.
His damp hair falls perfectly around his chiselled face
"What do you want, Ivy?" he says, going back inside to put on a shirt probably. Okay, first of all, ouch, it's Storm, you idiot. You don't get to call me Ivy.
"Answers," I say, following him inside the closet.
"Well, then too bad you're not getting any. Leave."
The urge to kill him is getting really strong right now.
"What did I do?" I ask, choosing to ignore his comment. He scoffs loudly.
"You don't even know what you said," he says, putting on a shirt while leaving the room, so I follow. Since when do you follow boys or ask them what you did wrong, Ivy Kennedy? What the fuck is actually wrong with you? Now that's the real question.
"So now I know that it's something I said. Okay, good work. Now I just need to know what." He turns back and looks at me like I'm insane.
"Just leave. It doesn't matter," he says. Now it's my turn to scoff.
"Listen, I'm not leaving till you tell me what's wrong, and I'm not going anywhere until you do, and I'm gonna keep rambling absolute bullshit until you do."
He doesn't reply and starts walking downstairs. "And where the fuck did 'I won't annoy you' come from? I never said anything like that, an-" He stops walking and turns around. I didn't, since I was looking away, causing me to bump into his chest.
He takes a deep breath.
"Leave, Ivy."
He starts walking again. Just sit the fuck down already.
"I will when you tell me what I said to make you mad."
He enters the kitchen and places a pan on the stove.
"You know I'm trying to have a fucking conversation with you like an adult person, and you-" He turns around and stares me dead in the eye. He crosses his hands on his chest.
"Finish your sentence," he says, taking a step closer, and I take one back. Not because I'm scared of him. I trust him enough, but again, I've always trusted the wrong people.
"Just tell me what I said."
He takes a deep breath, his face unreadable. "Being with him for show is the last thing I'd ever want to do. It's insulting to me."
He says each word slowly. That's when realization hits me; it all made sense why he was upset. He doesn't know the reason I said that. Taking a step closer, I try to take one back but get stuck as I feel the counter behind me. I look up to see his piercing gaze and quickly look away. Hearing those words, "Oh, that, it's just-" How the hell do I explain my sob story to him now?
