Disguise♔ z.m

Twenty One

"I hope I make it on time to your place," I comment, walking into the elevator with Marcel, another person accompanying us, but it didn't matter because we were too secluded in our conversation. I had an hour extra to get ready and meet his sister. He said he was having a BBQ lunch with some family friends. Not that I was nervous, but the knots were forming in my stomach.




"I heard there was traffic," he says casually, loosening his grip around his suitcase that matched his brown shoes.




I sigh loudly, thinking about ways I can avoid the road jam.




"It might be fun, you never know," I remember Veronica saying before leaving her behind her desk.




I hope all the anticipation is worth it.




"You know what?" He asks, admirably exposing a dimple while we step out of the elevator.




"What?"




He briefly waves a goodbye to Monica and continues," You can come with me."




"But I look horrid!"




"You don't," He glances at my clothes." At that matter, you look lovely."




My cheeks turn crimson.




"Don't be modest. If you actually think you look horrible, you can always borrow something from Gemma," he mumbles the last bit when we end up at the front of the building.




Borrowing clothes from someone who had no idea who I was, might be a little awkward. What if she didn't want to? And I would have been left with an embarrassed patch of a memory?




"So?" He snaps me out of my million possibilities of Gemma not liking me. Why am I making it a big deal? I am just a friend visiting another friend, that's all.




"So?" I repeat.




"Are you coming with me?" A friend visiting another friend.




"Um," I take my time to reply, but end up rolling out the answer with an exasperated sigh," sure."




"Great," he blooms like a flower during the seasons of spring. He digs out his car keys, toying with it before looking at me and smiling. I uncomfortably look down at my shoes, pondering at the thoughts of being with him.




I notice him walk forwards, towards the direction of his car. I couldn't make out which was his in the mist of silver Audi's and Toyota's. But there was one vintage black classic that was at the far end, which caught my eye immediately.




"That's my ride," he points to the car I have been admiring from a distance.




"I never knew you were into classics," I say to Marcel. His green eyes linger at me for a while before he focuses on unlocking the doors and climbing in.