My Roadtrip

breakfast

I wake up from the loud knocking on my door.

Who could possibly be waking me up this early in the morning ?

But one look at my phone and the time, I realize it's already 11 o'clock, which means that I've slept quite long after the dinner with Justin yesterday.

Just the thought of it makes butterflies tingle in my stomach and a big smile appear on my face.

But I still had a bad sleep, considering the nightmares I had. Actually it's a topic, I don't really like talking about.

So I won't.

The knocking continues, this time louder and more impatient, which is why I finally get out of bed and walk towards the door of my apartment.

Quickly, I brush a little through my hair and open the door. I almost collide with the same hotel-worker who carried my baggage here one day ago.

And who collided with the wall afterwards, because he couldn't take his eyes off of me.

"Oh, hi", his brows raise up while he looks me up and down and I realize that I'm still in my pajamas.

Which, to my misfortune, happen to be some rosé colored shorts and a top.

And nope, I'm not wearing a bra under, which is why his eyes start to linger on a specific place.

I cross my arms over my chest and raise a brow.

"Can I help you?"

The hotel-worker frees himself from his rigidity and points at the large table with wheels behind him, which is already laid with all kinds of fruits, crossoints, buns, waffles, orange juice, etc, etc...

"Isn't here room 55?"

"No, this is 54. 55 is right beside mine"

"Oh, I'm sorry. My mistake", he looks into my apartment and then again at me. "Well, I was told that Mr. Bieber ordered for two, for you and him, so he'll probably await you for breakfast.."

My heart starts to pick up speed.
"Really? Oh okay, well then, just tell him I'm going to be there in a minute!"

Without awaiting his response, I close my door quickly and race into the bathroom. I quickly wash my face with cold water, so that I don't look as tired as I probably did just a moment before and brush my teeth real quick.

After that I just put on some bra under my top and leave my apartment as fast as I can.

First I knock on his door, and because he doesn't answer, I just open the door and call for him.

"Justin?"

No answer.

Was the hotel-worker kidding?

But that wouldn't make sense, because then, he might get fired because of his unprofessionalism.

I walk further into the living room of his apartment and realize that his apartment is almost the same as mine. Just that the colors are a little darker and there's less decoration.