A Marcel Imagine

Chapter 6: So, Be Real

A/N THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR THE 250+ READS!!! OMFG! I remember last week I had like 140 reads. Jeez. YOU GUYS ARE AMAZAYN! So yeah. On with the story.

Andrea's P.O.V.

I was shivering from the rain and cold the A/C brought. He ushered me to his room to find me some dry clothes. I looked around his room which was oddly neat for a males' room. Rummaging through his dresser. he gave me navy blue basketball shorts and a grey v-neck t-shirt.

"Where's the bathroom?" I asked, teeth chattering.

"Look over there in that short hallway leading to my bedroom door."

I followed where his finger was pointing, walking to the narrowing hall in his room finding another door on my right. I hesitantly went in not knowing what I'll find. Surprisingly, he kept his bathroom just as clean as room. I hurriedly took off everything except for my bra. For some reason I have to have it on without exceptions. His clothes were baggy on me, making me look younger without my curvy figure. I tightened the drawstrings and tied a knot in the back of the shirt, making my body look more defined. I peeked in the mirror, looking atrocious. My makeup was running, wet strands of hair stuck to my face; it just wasn't good. I used some of his face wash to get a majority if it off. I left the bathroom, gathering my clothes and turning the light out.

I walked in, seeing Marcel pulling his head through the shirt hole, watching his muscles flex with each movement he made. He covered his body with the thin fabric, slightly disappointing my eyes. He turned around not expecting me to be standing there; he dropped his jaw as he looked me over with hungry eyes but quickly hid his expression.

"You like what you see?" I asked.

He wiggled his eyebrows in response. We both chuckled.

"Where do I put my clothes?"

"I'll take them."

He looked through the articles, facial expression clearly confused.

"What? No bra?"

"Marcel!" I exclaimed slapping him on the arm.

"What?!"

"You're being perverted."

"I'm being a guy," he said, emphasizing the word guy with his foreign accent.

I glared at him.

"Just come on," he urged.

"Fine."

He grabbed my hand and walked me into the kitchen, dropping the clothes in the hamper hidden in a corner with the washer and dryer.

"You hungry?"

"Is that a trick question?" I asked.

He checked the fridge, which was filled to the brims of the racks with food. My mouth instantly watered.

"So what do y- are you okay?"

"Huh?"

He dabbed at the corner of his mouth, hinting at me. I nonchalantly wiped my mouth with my forearm and motioned for him to continue.

"Okay then! We have chips, dip, sandwiches, Chexmix, cheezits, ice cream, pizza, pancakes, cereal, rice, macaroni, and a whole bunch of other things that I don't feel like listing.

"Have you ever had an ice cream pancake sandwich?"

"No. Is it good?

"It's legendary," I exclaimed.

"Let's do it!"

He opened the cabinets and got out all the ingredients and materials.

"So what do we do first," he asked.