The Mundane Life of Willow Diaz

Chapter Eight

Tucking my hair behind my ears, I decided to leave it down and wavy. Sitting at my desk, I angled the little mirror to show my face. Getting my makeup bag out, I decided to actually put some effort into my appearance. I knew my attempts would be nothing next to Ambers but at least I'd tried.

I had very few actual make-up items in the little bag; two nude lipsticks, a bronzer, a shimmering gold eyeshadow and my mascara. Taking one of my two brushes I applied some bronzer below my cheek bones, in an attempt to subtly draw attention to them. Using the other brush, I applied my eye shadow in one swipe to my lids. I quickly added the mascara and lipstick, I mean, I looked like I'd put an effort but as for transforming me suddenly into the beautiful creature... yeah not so much. I just looked like me with glittery eyelids.

I have my wardrobe a long hard look and for the first time, I regretted not having dressier clothes. I had one skirt that was a going out skirt, a high waisted leather mini skirt I'd bought on a whim in Spain but had yet to wear. That would do. Not really knowing what to wear with it, I chose white tee tucked in. I couldn't wear my leather with it, so decided on a cropped black bomber jacket.

Staring at myself in the mirror on the side of my wardrobe door, I couldn't help but wonder, why I'd put in so much effort? Wesley's face popped into my head. No. Just no. He's an arse. I didn't like him, and I wouldn't let him be the reason I'd dressed up; I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not that he'd actually know, but it's the principle of it.

Changing out of the shirt, I slipped on my trusty black jeans, leaving the tee. Looking at myself once more I rolled my eyes at my action. No, why am I changing? He shouldn't play a part in this. He doesn't play a part in this. If I want to wear a skirt, I'll wear a skirt! I dress for myself, it had nothing to do with him. Changing back into the shirt I headed downstairs before I gave it any more thought and decided not to go at all.

I slipped on a pair of trainer socks and my black converse. Just as I tied them in bows, the doorbell rang. Wesley's irritatingly handsome face greeted me. I wanted to actually punch him in the perfect face as his eyes scanned my body. His eyes once more landed on mine and his dimples popping out as he gave me a half smile.

His hair was perfect, as usual. He wore black jeans with a grey v neck that clung to his body just right. "Ready?" He asked, his face once more emotionless. Nodding I picked up my bag and call goodbye to the family. Then headed to Wesley's car. "How was your day?" He asked as he started the engine.
"Honestly? I didn't do much, just watched telly. Murder She Wrote." I admitted, why did I tell him it was Murder She Wrote? I mean, I love that show but as a general rule, no one except Grandmothers watch it, even middle-aged housewife's usually steer clear.

"Classic, got to love a bit of Jess." He teased. My problem with Wesley is I'm never really sure if he's teasing me or being an arsehole; his face is always so bloody emotionless. Would it kill him to, I don't know, show some emotion like a normal human being?

"You watch Murder She Wrote?"

"It's a great show, I watch it with my Mum sometimes." He said, glancing away from the road to actually grin at me; those bloody dimples on full display. I was speechless. Both due to the dimples and his admittance of the cinematic value of Murder She Wrote.

I wanted to say something witty involving Cabotcove, continue this actually pleasant conversation. However, my mind for the first time in my life went totally blank. I frantically tried to think of something to say. Which meant I was silence for maybe fifteen seconds for I said, simply. "Secret Cabotcove lover." I wanted to die. I low key wished Wesley would crash the car, we would both die and forget those three words every left my mouth.

He just turned to me, a questioning look on his face but didn't comment; thank god for small favors. My cheeks felt as though they were on fire as we made the rest of the drive in total silence. Way to kill a conversation Diaz.

"Have you ever watched the Princess Bride?" I asked when the silence got too much for me. However, before he could answer I continued. "You see, the reason I ask is because there is a character in it called Wesley. He was my first crush. Wesley, I mean. I mean the Wesley from the film was my first crush. Not you. Not that you're not handsome or anything." What on earth am I saying? And can someone please make me stop. "It's just that he was ever so handsome. Not so much now. Like Leonardo DiCaprio. He was very so handsome when he was younger but he's not that handsome anymore." I'm not a talker, I'm really not a talker at all. However, the moment I get into an awkward situation where I should probably remain silent. I can't seem to make myself shut up. "I mean, have you seen it? The Princess Bride I mean, not the fact the Leo was handsome when he was younger and isn't so much anymore." My cheeks were scarlet, and I was low key contemplating just opening the door and executing a tuck and roll.

"Prepare to die." Those were the only words out of his mouth.

"What?" I squeaked, turning to look at him with wide eyes. In my semi-panicked state, I didn't make the connection between his words and the film.

He just chuckled, "That's the line, right? You killed my father, prepare to die. Or something like that." Relief flooded me, I mean I knew he would kill me but... He certainly didn't like me.

"Oh, right. Yeah, that's it. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to do." I agreed, my hands nervously playing with each other.

"You're funny, Diaz." He murmured, chuckling softly to himself and the sound sent shivers down my spine.

"Oh, well thank you." It took all my concentration to remain quiet for the rest of the rest of the journey and not verbal diarrhea anymore. He thinks I'm funny? No one's ever called me funny before...

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