how to make a mixtape :: mgc (fin.)

23. snowglobes & bathtubs

just saying this is the last chapter for a while that is smut based and u probably think im just horny but actually this is all linked to smtg hrrnnnnn
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"I cannot believe I'm taking you on a dinner date," Michael says, crossing his arms and shaking his head. We both look so out of place at the reception of the restaurant. Everyone is either in a flowing dress with a startling colour or slim fit three-piece. I'm in blue button up and Michael's wearing a flannel. "That was the stupidest bet I ever made."

I hold up my index finger, rocking back on my heels into the red carpeting. "One minute. You jizzed in one minute."

He rolls his eyes and I smile. He drops his arms. "I demand a rematch."

I take a moment to peer over one of the waiter's shoulders and stare at the tray submerged under a thick lobster. My mouth starts to water. Frickin' lobster...

"Why?" I say.

"Because that was the second time I came."

"Michael, if I get off to something, I'm pretty sure you do, too."

The waiter I was skirting around gives me a bewildered look.

"Fine. You win. But I have to say, that pretty little mouth of yours can-- Oh, reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Clifford?" He cuts himself off as a boy -- perhaps our age -- waves us over to the counter. He's wearing a tuxedo, like all the other employees. He logs into the computer perched on the table and Michael leans over to me. "Wedded couples get a thirteen percent discount."

I nod sarcastically. Luke's family owns this place, and there's no such thing as a 'discount' here.

The counter boy hands Michael a slip of paper, and points to where our table is. It's in one of the centre rows of the room, an unlit candle in the middle and the chandelier suspended above it. I race ahead of Michael and pull out a chair for myself.

He lifts up the menu over his face. I glance around the restaurant. A lot of people are on dates, almost all in formal clothing. It's like a crowded mall, here -- rumbles of sentences colliding together into an earthly hum. It's oddly serene and comforting -- until I see the table across from ours. I knot my fingers in my lap. Regardless of the circumstances, I should not feel jealous. But I do.

On the table across from us, Scout is leaning over to peck her date on the nose, laughing loudly after he tells her something and showing her white teeth. She pushed her pink hair from her glowing cheeks, her smile muting as she sees me looking at her. She bites her lip, continuing her conversation with the boy she's with. My chest contracts angrily. Do not be jealous, you're only destructive if you let yourself be.

"So," Michael says, distracting me from wanting to snap off Scout's date's hand when he reaches to touch her lips. "I think I'm gonna have the steak for the main course and the nachos for the starter. You?"

I feel like the unlucky kid the teacher picked to read out their answer. "I'll have the same."

"And drinks?"

"A diet coke will do."

He nods, but then flicks his eyes back up to me. Standing up on his way to order, he cups my head in his hands. Now it's time for Scout to stare. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I grin. "Remember when you thought I couldn't speak English and that was the only thing you'd ever ask?"

He chuckles, bending down and kissing my mouth. My lips feel molded with his, thick and sweet like syrup. It's so natural now, I ponder, letting him break away and carry off the menu. The taste of him lingers on my lips a little longer, and I touch my mouth curiously. I can barely think of a time when I wasn't used to kissing Michael.